Loose Cannon
by manatee-vs-walrus
Summary: He survived the war—now it's time to grow up. Fourteen months after the Battle of Hogwarts, an overheard, off-the-cuff comment turns Harry's life upside-down. Goodbye Auror training, hello Chudley Cannons! And witches ... lots of witches (but no harem). Warning: Many tropes were harmed in the writing of this fic, and Cursed Child never happened. OCs galore. NO MORTAL PERIL.
1. Chapter 1

They were greeted by a scowling goblin.

Skipping introductions—and anything resembling a welcome—the goblin turned towards his assistant and snapped, 'Speartooth, take Mr Weasley to set up a new account. Mr Potter, Miss Granger, follow me.'

Ron grimaced nervously at his friends before following Speartooth without a word. Harry and Hermione, unsure what to expect on their first visit to Gringotts since their break-in fourteen months prior, hurried to keep up with the goblin's surprisingly brisk pace. He led them at length to a private office with a large desk, free of paperwork but adorned with a heavy marble obelisk and an exquisite (yet sturdy) metal clock. If they had been used as murder weapons, they had been thoroughly cleaned.

'My name is Trapskin, and I have been tasked with unfreezing your accounts,' he said, clearly not agreeing with the decision.

'Thank you, Trapskin,' said Harry, 'and please extend our gratitude to Director Ragnok for his leniency.'

Trapskin shot Harry a withering gaze, and Hermione discreetly elbowed Harry and quickly added, 'We humbly bow to Director Ragnok for his unflinching negotiation with the Ministry, and we are grateful for the opportunity to once again do business with Gringotts after our well-deserved yearlong ban. May our shared profits abound!'

Mollified, Trapskin nodded and opened a drawer, pulling out several envelopes and a small box.

Holding up an envelope and facing Hermione, he said, 'These are the records for your account, Miss Granger. As you know, it was opened in July of 1991 and subsequently frozen in May of last year, upon your shameless breach of these most hallowed halls. Normally this would result in a lifetime ban and forfeiture of your assets, but the Ministry provided satisfactory restitution on your behalf and, given your "extenuating circumstances," Director Ragnok saw fit to allow your return.'

He handed her the envelope and said, 'You may once again access your vault, Miss Granger.' With a slight growl, he added, 'Your own vault, that is.'

Hermione reddened and murmured her thanks, taking the envelope without opening it. Harry supposed she wanted to keep the meeting as brief as possible.

Turning towards Harry, the goblin handed over the second envelope, which was slightly thicker than Hermione's. 'Mr Potter, these are the records for your vault, which you first accessed in July of 1991. It contains all the gold from your deceased parents' estate.

'The envelope also contains details of the remaining Potter property—specifically the ruins of a country house in Yorkshire which was destroyed during the First Wizarding War.'

Surprised, Harry took the envelope and glanced at Hermione. He supposed that was where his dad had grown up, and maybe where his parents lived before hiding in Godric's Hollow.

Trapskin continued, handing him the final envelope, which was thicker than the others. 'This contains documents pertaining to the Black family, of which you have been named sole heir. If I'm not mistaken, you've already taken possession of the Black family townhouse in London.'

'Yes, that's correct.'

Trapskin nodded. 'The townhouse and its contents are the primary remaining Black family assets, along with a minimal amount of gold still in their vault. They were once an exceedingly wealthy family, but their assets diminished considerably over the last centuries—through no fault of Gringotts stewardship, I might add. The Blacks proved rather… difficult to work with.'

'No surprise there,' said Harry dryly. 'I suppose generations of inbreeding and insanity don't make for sound financial planning.'

An amused smirk from Trapskin. 'Indeed.'

Opening the box, he pulled out a small jewellery case. 'This contains the Black family ring, which now belongs to you. In addition to granting you access to the Black family vault, which is one of Gringotts' deepest and most ancient, it identifies you as the current Lord Black.'

Harry's eyes widened in shock. 'Lord Black? You must be joking!' His mind quickly noted that this would be a truly epic prank on Padfoot's part, though he suspected it was just dreadful enough to be true.

'I am not joking. You can see for yourself by trying on the ring. Assuming it accepts you, of course.'

Hermione frowned. 'What happens if the ring doesn't accept him?' she asked.

'Here in Gringotts, the ring would simply fall from his finger. However, if a false claimant tried it on without goblin oversight, his hand would fall off with it.'

Unconsciously tightening his hands, as if to keep them attached to his body, Harry said, 'Well then, I may as well try it on.' He took the box from Trapskin and, with a nod from the goblin, opened it.

The ring was hideous—heavy gold, with a gaudy, emerald-studded snake coiled around a large faceted onyx. If this really were a prank, Sirius couldn't have chosen a more godawful ring. With a grimace, Harry pulled it onto his left middle finger.

The ring momentarily glowed blue and adjusted slightly to fit Harry's finger. _Merlin, I think it just got bigger,_ thought Harry with a shudder.

Trapskin nodded approvingly. 'You are indeed the rightful Lord Black. Note that this affords you no special privileges at Gringotts, as the Goblin Nation does not acknowledge wizarding peerage. But certain wizards hold fast to the system, and you may find it brings you some attention within your world.'

_Brilliant_, thought Harry. _Just what I needed: more attention._ Hermione stifled a chuckle.

'I believe this concludes our business. Mr Potter, Miss Granger,' nodded Trapskin, rising from his chair and leading them back towards the lobby. Harry and Hermione walked behind him, exchanging relieved glances. They had imagined the worst in returning to Gringotts (though what could be worse than an enraged dragon?), so their brief interview was a pleasant surprise.

Reaching the lobby, Trapskin motioned and said, 'The cart goblins have been instructed to lead you to your vaults, which I assume you would like to visit.'

'Yes, thank you,' said Harry, eager to leave.

'Thank you again for your service, Trapskin, and may fortune's blade divide your enemies from their treasure and their lives,' said Hermione with a small bow.

Trapskin bowed in return and walked off. Harry and Hermione made their way towards the aforementioned cart goblins but stopped first near the counter where Ron was opening his account.

While waiting for Ron to finish his transaction, Harry turned towards the wall and tried to discreetly remove his new ring. It wouldn't budge.

_Just my sodding luck_, he thought. _I'm probably stuck with this monstrosity for the rest of my life. _He rotated it around his finger, but even with the stone and serpent hidden, the ring was hard to miss. He should have asked Trapskin if there were a way to conceal it, but he'd been in such a hurry to leave that he hadn't thought to enquire. He hoped Hermione could tell him later.

Anticipating his thoughts, Hermione turned to him and whispered, _'Obscurio totalis_,' while holding her wand to the small ring she was wearing. The ring vanished, and Harry quickly did the same to the giant pure-blood barnacle on his left hand—to his relief he could no longer even feel it. Hermione tapped her ring once more and whispered, _'Revelio totalis_,' returning it to view.

Ron, having successfully opened his account, walked from the counter to his friends. 'I reckon I'm a full-fledged adult now! I know it's nothing new for you lot, but I used to dream about the day I'd get my own vault at Gringotts. And I even have money to put in it! They let me do my deposit at the counter so I'm all set.'

All three of them had hefty deposits to make that day, having lived the previous year on a cash-only basis. Harry had insisted on a three-way split for all the bounties and rewards he'd received for defeating Voldemort, plus he and Ron were earning salaries for their Auror training.

'We still need to go to our vaults,' said Hermione. 'Do you want to come along for the ride?'

'No,' replied Ron, shaking his head. 'I've had enough Gringotts for one day. Just the lobby is enough to make me twitchy, after last year. I'll go meet George at the shop and see if he's up for a pint.'

'Excellent, we'll find you there,' Harry said, and Ron hastened towards the exit.

Although Ron had mostly got over his jealousy towards Harry, now that he finally had his own money to spend, Harry was relieved not to have him around for the next bit. Harry had always felt sheepish about his overflowing vault, and he wasn't yet ready to discuss the Lord Black business either. But he had no problem with Hermione accompanying him, and they walked together towards the carts.

The goblin barely looked at them and asked only for their vault numbers, which they provided. The Black vault, however, predated Gringotts' numbering system—or perhaps numbers altogether—and was merely referred to by name.

Hermione's vault was first, and she quickly dumped a heap of galleons from her newest bottomless handbag (her old beaded purse, somewhat tattered after their year on the run, had met its end on a bonfire the previous autumn). 'It's a relief not to be carrying that around anymore, even if it was charmed featherweight,' she said.

Next stop was the Potter vault, where Harry emptied his own expandable pouch. He had no idea how much gold was in the vault other than 'a big pile.' But now that he actually had a future to plan for, rather than certain death from Voldemort, he was more than a little curious to know just how much he had. He hoped the documents provided by Trapskin would say more.

Their final stop was the Black vault, seemingly miles deeper than the others. Harry was surprised by how anxious he felt as they careened along the twisting tracks. Hermione must have felt the same, since she unconsciously grasped his hand as they approached the Thief's Downfall, and they both relaxed after passing underneath without incident. Harry was glad for her company—who but Hermione or Ron would understand how he felt?

They reached the vault at last, and the goblin curtly informed him he'd need his ring to enter. The ring was once again visible thanks to the waterfall, and so he pressed it to a large, matching onyx on the door, surrounded by an equally hideous jewelled serpent. The snake let out a hiss and the door opened.

Torches illuminated automatically, and Harry's eyes widened as he looked inside the vault. If this was what Trapskin considered 'a minimal amount of gold,' Harry wondered how large the Black fortune had been in its prime. The heap was roughly twice the size of the one in his own vault, and for an instant Harry felt insulted by Trapskin's implied slight towards his Potter inheritance.

More interesting, though, were the artefacts piled on the back shelves. Harry suspected some of them were goblin-made, and he wondered whether their anonymous escort was watching. Hermione, however, was drawn straight to the books.

'Oh, Harry!' she exclaimed. 'All those books! May I come see?' Her eyes glittered with longing.

'Yes, by all means! But mind you, don't touch anything—it's probably all cursed.'

Hermione was hardly listening, though, dazzled as she was by the bound volumes. Harry protectively inserted himself between her and the shelf. 'Maybe I'd better pull them out myself, since I'm wearing the ring?'

She snapped back into consciousness and said, 'Merlin, yes! Good point. I can only imagine how the Blacks might have warded their heirlooms from the likes of me. Uppity Mudbloods, you know.'

Harry winced, thinking of the scar on Hermione's arm, carved by one Bellatrix Black. At least Hermione could laugh about it.

'Pull out that one,' she said, pointing to a huge leather tome near the top. 'If that's what I think it is, I'll definitely want a closer look.'

Harry pulled it out and cautiously opened the ornamented cover, which was too dark and faded to read. Hermione stood a safe distance back.

In the flickering light they looked at the first page. It had a large illuminated drawing of the Black family crest, with the word _Grimoire_ written underneath in ornate calligraphy. Hermione moaned reverently.

'Oh yes, please! That one! Can we take it home with us?'

Harry laughed. 'Only if you promise to take care of it. I'll not be feeding it and walking it at all hours, you know!'

Hermione giggled and smiled at him. 'You have no idea how I've longed to see an old family Grimoire. Ron's mum has the Weasley Grimoire, and a copy of the Prewetts', but it's terribly bad manners to ask to see another family's Grimoire. Even if I marry Ron I might never have access, since they would probably go to Bill or maybe Ginny.'

Harry's smile faded when she mentioned Ginny. They had broken up the month previous, and he was still grieving.

Embarrassed at her thoughtlessness, Hermione said, 'If you're done here let's go find Ron and George. I could use that pint he was talking about."

"You can't fool me … you'll probably order a half-pint of cider and not finish it,' Harry teased.

'I daresay you're right. Let's go.'

After tucking the book into his pouch, Harry exited the vault with Hermione, sealed the door, and together they climbed into the rickety cart. Their taciturn driver pulled the lever, and they travelled upwards along the spiralling tracks.

-––—––-

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes still blazed in a riot of colours, and fireworks still danced in the large display windows. But Harry's heart always sank a little as he approached the shop, remembering the twin who was no longer there.

Lee Jordan had stepped into Fred's role as Co-Mischief Manager, alongside George of course, and he was filling Fred's shoes admirably. Harry knew, however, that Lee had taken the job mostly out of kindness. The previous summer George was understandably a wreck, and the shop was closed during the months it should have been most profitable. The war was finally over and kids were out of school, but Weasley's was still boarded up.

George would probably have let the shop slide into bankruptcy, and Harry, without access to his vault, had been unable to cover the bills—it would be several months before the bounties started rolling in. But Lee, who was also still grieving, finally took matters into his own hands.

George was spending nearly all his time holed up in his room at the Burrow, emerging only for the occasional meal, barely speaking to anyone. To make matters worse, his family—Mrs Weasley in particular—could scarcely look at him without tearing up. He reminded them too much of Fred.

Lee had made numerous attempts to reach out, to no avail. Tired of being rebuffed, he eventually blasted through George's locked door, grabbed him by his only ear, and Apparated him out of the house and into a meadow not far from the Burrow. Too depleted to Apparate back, and too dispirited to find his way home, George stayed outside with his friend.

They spent much of the following week rambling over the countryside surrounding the Burrow, rain or shine, mostly in silence. However, there were occasional deep conversations—and a gut-wrenching bout of sobbing—before Lee finally persuaded George to come back to the shop.

Returning to the shop unleashed a second wave of agony. The first week was so bad that George kept finding himself unexpectedly in his bedroom at the Burrow, due to accidental magic. But Lee persisted, retrieving George every time until things settled down.

Within a month George and Lee had moved into the twins' old flat above the shop, and they were able to reopen in time to make a few Galleons off the back-to-school crowds. The circles had mostly disappeared from under George's eyes, and he was once again able to function, albeit somewhat absently at times.

A year later, Lee seemed content in his unexpected role as George's partner, and no longer his caretaker. Harry occasionally recalled Lee's ambition to become an announcer on the Wizarding Wireless Network, and he once asked him about it, but Lee just shrugged and said, 'It'll keep.'

Harry's reverie was interrupted by an explosion of confetti as he entered the store. For about fifteen seconds the air was thick with it, blocking even Hermione from view, but then it sparkled for a few moments before disappearing completely.

'Self-cleaning confetti!' cried George triumphantly. 'It's part of a new line of products we're hoping Filch won't ban.'

'What, don't tell me you've gone legitimate,' said Harry with mock alarm.

'Perish the thought, no! These are mostly for parents who want to owl gifts to their kids but don't want their little angels to break the rules,' said George reassuringly.

Lee added, 'We're even considering a decoy programme, where parents think they're sending Hogwarts-approved gifts, but we actually fill the boxes with rule-breaking classics like our Skiving Snackboxes and Teleporting Parchments.'

Hermione reluctantly took the bait. 'What are Teleporting Parchments?'

George explained, 'It was Lee's idea—they're for when you're late finishing an assignment. Instead of handing in your essay parchment, you hand in a Teleporting Parchment, which is linked to your essay and charmed to be covered in your handwriting. Professors seldom grade homework right away, so you've got time to finish your essay and then switch it magically with the parchment on the professor's desk.'

Lee added, 'You can reuse the same parchment twice more, but after that it stops working. Otherwise we wouldn't sell enough to make it worth our while.'

Hermione sighed and shook her head. 'I don't know if I disapprove more of the flagrant rule-breaking or the planned obsolescence.'

Ron called out from the back of the store, 'Oh good, you're here! Can we get that drink now?'

Lee turned to George and said, 'You go ahead, I'll mind the shop until closing and then clean up. If I'm not home when you get back, I'll be out with Katie and the others.'

'Brilliant, thanks.' said George. Turning to Harry and Hermione, he asked, 'Where to?'

'The Leaky Cauldron?' suggested Harry.

George rolled his eyes. 'I realise you mostly live under a rock, Potter, but there are pubs in Diagon Alley other than the Leaky Cauldron.'

'Yeah,' piped Ron. 'How about the Twisted Niffler?'

'Excellent choice, brother mine. If we get there soon we can even grab a spot on the terrace.' George grabbed his jacket and led the way out the door.

'Couldn't we sit inside? I'm not fond of terrace seating,' grumbled Harry.

George scoffed, 'Scared of autograph-seekers, are we? Oh, the price of fame!' He flung his hand dramatically across his forehead.

Hermione swatted George and said, 'You try being mobbed every time you go out. It happens to Harry whenever he's in public.'

'Well then, it won't matter where he sits, so we might as well enjoy the nice weather,' said George with finality. Harry sighed but said nothing.

The four soon arrived at the Twisted Niffler, which had a very pleasant terrace indeed. George steered them to the last available table, where he and Hermione sat down while Ron and Harry went inside to order drinks. As they waited at the bar, Ron asked, 'How'd it go with the goblins? I forgot to ask earlier.'

'It was fine—better than I expected really. I put my foot in it once or twice, but Hermione was perfectly prepared as always with bloodthirsty goblin pleasantries.'

Ron laughed, 'She's been studying inter-species diplomacy, you know. Getting ready for her apprenticeship with the DMLE. I think she's even started learning Gobbledegook.'

'Don't let her hear you say that, I made the same mistake. "_It's the Goblin language, Harry. Calling it Gobbledegook is highly pejorative and will cause irremediable offence,_"' he imitated, using the precise tones Hermione always used while lecturing.

'Thanks for the warning, mate! I get into enough trouble as it is,' said Ron, grinning.

The barkeep poured their drinks, and Ron and Harry carried them back to the table, where they found George asking Hermione about some tricky charms he'd been tinkering with at the shop. They looked up when Ron and Harry set down the drinks.

George turned towards Harry, who was settling into his chair. 'Cheers,' he said, raising his glass.

'Oi!' protested Ron. 'I bought the drinks, not Harry.'

'I know,' said George with a smirk. 'I was thanking him for the whole killing Voldemort thing.'

Several nearby patrons looked up at the word 'Voldemort,' which most people were still afraid to say, and their eyes popped at the sight of Harry. Hermione ducked her head and laughed, 'Now you've done it. Harry's barely sat down and his cover's already blown.'

They could see a couple of people fishing through their bags, most likely looking for a spare parchment and quill. Harry attempted to slouch into the shadows but Ron, who had outgrown his complex about Harry's fame, just chuckled.

'You're doomed. May as well face facts and start carrying around a stack of signed photos like Lockhart."

'Only if you sign them too, Ron. Golden Trio, you know,' grimaced Harry.

A middle-aged witch approached the table, tentatively holding out some parchment and a self-inking quill. 'So sorry to bother you, Mr Potter, but could you sign this for my son? He's a huge fan and even has your picture on his wall."

Harry reddened but took the quill. 'Yes, of course, what's his name?'

'Thank you,' she said brightly. 'His name's Benjamin, and he's starting Hogwarts this September. He's already asked me for a Gryffindor scarf, even though he hasn't been Sorted yet.'

Sighing, Harry signed the parchment and thrust the quill at Hermione. 'You'll want their names too. They were with me nearly every step of the way.'

'Is it true you three met on the Hogwarts Express?' she asked. 'That's what Benjamin told me, but you can never believe all the rubbish they print.'

'Yes, that part's true,' confirmed Hermione. 'But not the part that says we made an Unbreakable Vow then and there to defeat Voldemort.'

'Or the story where we became Animagi in our second year, or the bit where Harry wrestles the giant squid into submission, thereby earning his undying fealty,' added Ron.

'What a disappointment, that's one of Benjamin's favourites,' said the woman sadly. 'I suppose I needn't tell him that, though.'

She stood for another moment, apparently hoping the conversation would continue, but the friends kept quiet with the hope that she'd catch on and leave them to their drinks.

'Right, thanks again,' she said awkwardly. In a more serious voice, she added, 'For everything.'

Harry nodded kindly, and the woman left.

Hermione glared at George. 'Don't say we didn't warn you. Is this really how you'd like to spend the evening, getting accosted by Harry's legions?'

'Er, no. Shall I put up a privacy ward?'

'I prefer Notice-Me-Not Charms, as long as we don't expect table service,' said Harry.

'Right then,' said George, who hastened to perform the charm. 'Anyway, where were we? Oh right, Hermione was walking me through some tricky enchantments. Any chance I can borrow you before the Ministry devours all your free time? Charms were Fred's speciality, not mine. I'm more of a Potions man, myself.'

'Potions, you?' burst Ron incredulously. 'Did you even get an O.W.L. in Potions?'

'I most certainly did! Outstanding, in fact,' he said proudly. 'My sources inform me that Snape hexed a hole in his wall when he found out.'

'Your sources?' asked Hermione, sceptical.

George leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. 'Peeves.'

Harry nodded in admiration. 'George Weasley, you never cease to amaze.' George smiled and doffed an invisible cap.

'Right,' said Ron, finishing his drink. 'Hermione and I have to run. She insists on taking me to the Muggle cinema tonight. Something about a matrix.'

'It's called "The Matrix," and I've heard it's got quite good special effects,' said Hermione.

'What are special effects?' asked Ron. 'Never mind, I'm sure I'll find out. George, see you tomorrow at the Burrow. Harry, see you Monday!'

The friends exchanged their goodbyes, and Harry and George waved as the pair walked off.

After a silence, George said, 'We've missed you at Sunday dinners. Mum especially—you were her best eater, after Ron of course.'

'Yeah, well…' he sighed. 'I can't very well show up now Ginny's chucked me.'

George frowned, 'Was it as bad as that? She said it was mutual.'

'That's very kind of her, but no, it was definitely her idea. Said we'd grown too much apart, and that I'd become a different person since the war ended, probably because I didn't return to Hogwarts last September. Never mind that I saw her loads, thanks to my Invisibility Cloak and the Room of Requirement.'

'I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that last bit,' scowled George with mock disapproval, drawing a laugh from Harry.

After a pause George asked, 'Why didn't you return? I know why I wouldn't have gone back, but why didn't you?'

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. 'I just couldn't pretend anymore. Couldn't pretend I was a normal teenager, doing normal stuff. It was hard enough during fifth and sixth year, knowing Voldemort was out there and then having that bloody prophecy hanging over me like a guillotine.

'Ron might have helped if he'd been there—it's hard not to feel like a kid when we're together, slacking off and obsessing over Quidditch. But then the Ministry offered us spots in the Auror programme, and when they said they'd waive our N.E.W.T. requirements, Ron made up his mind on the spot.'

George laughed. 'Ron never was the academic of the family.'

'No, he really isn't,' agreed Harry. 'So if I'd gone to Hogwarts, I'd be around Ginny, which would have been great, and Hermione of course, though she'd have driven me round the bend with N.E.W.T. preparation and the rest.

'But to go and live in Gryffindor Tower, with so many people missing … Colin, and Lavender … And the forest where it happened ... And even missing Snape, the bastard,' he added with a chuckle.

Another long silence. 'And then going into the Great Hall every day, remembering where they'd laid out all the bodies … Fred, and Remus, and Tonks … I just couldn't do it.'

George nodded, understanding. 'Yeah, I couldn't have done it either. Maybe I'll go back someday, but …' He trailed off.

After a silence, George looked up brightly. 'Anyway, about my sister who chucked you.' Harry laughed, and George continued, his tone turning serious, 'I reckon she never got over the whole Boy Who Lived rubbish. Not entirely, anyway.'

'Yeah, I suppose not,' agreed Harry. 'Instead she got the Man Who Survived. Not the same thing at all.'

George's expression grew somber, and for a while he was silent. Eyes downcast, he muttered, 'And then there's the Twin Who Survived.'

Taken aback, Harry looked carefully at George. He normally didn't talk about his loss.

'How are you doing?' asked Harry tentatively.

George sighed. 'Depends who you ask, I suppose. Ask one version of me and he'll tell you I'm doing fine. Ask another version and he'll tell you to bugger off. And then there's a third one who won't even reply. I think he's still hiding out in the Burrow somewhere.'

Harry said nothing, suspecting George just needed someone to listen.

'I'm quite good at going through the motions now. I can thank Lee for that, he's been an absolute lifesaver … But, Merlin, it's so lonely, even with Lee. You have no idea ... You've known loss, obviously, but I don't know if anyone who's not a twin can understand.

'I was so lucky. _We_ were so lucky,' he corrected. 'To have another me, right there with me every day. The best of me, and the worst of me, all the time. We'd quarrel, you know, mostly when others weren't around. But even then, there was a connection right down to our core. A kind of safety. Like everything was all right as long as we were both there.'

George sighed. 'I feel like an oak tree struck by lightning, split in half. I don't even know how I'm still alive, why I didn't drop dead in the same moment. For a while I wished I had. Still do sometimes.'

George was turning his empty glass over in his hand. 'You know, I hear his voice in my head all the time. Most of my ideas at the shop come from that voice, not from me. He's almost here, almost with me, but maddeningly out of reach.'

'That sounds like the Resurrection Stone,' observed Harry. 'It drove people mad, and I can understand why. So many times after the battle I wanted to go back and find it, see everyone again, say goodbye. Hermione had to stop me. She knew.' He paused. 'And I knew. It's not the same, never can be.'

George put down his glass. 'Yeah.' They were silent for a while.

'So, dinner?' said George unexpectedly. 'I think they have a menu here. Shall I lower the Notice-Me-Not and see if we can get the waitress over? I daresay she'll notice you soon enough,' he added with a nudge.

'Ugh, go ahead.'

Two autographs later, they'd ordered sandwiches and another round of drinks—butterbeer for Harry this time. George cast the Notice-Me-Not again and resolved to keep an eye out for the waitress when their food was ready.

'And how are you doing, Harry? Auror training treating you all right?'

Harry fidgeted with his beer mat. 'Fine, I guess.'

George eyed him suspiciously.

'Really, it's fine,' insisted Harry. 'It's just … not what I expected.'

'How so?'

'I guess I was imagining colleagues like Tonks, and instructors like Mad-Eye. But of course they're gone, and now it's either people who are star-struck, or petty arseholes who want to take me down a peg.'

'What about Kingsley?' asked George.

'Kingsley's all right, but we only got him back as Head Auror a couple of months ago, and he's almost never involved in the day-to-day.'

'Gotcha.'

Harry continued, 'So there's one instructor, Auror Woodbridge, who fawns over me like a first-year. Like, when I don't know some charm I should have learnt at Hogwarts, he practically congratulates me. He'll clock me on the shoulder and say, "_Well, I suppose you were up to more important things than practicing the Spinsucker Charm_," and then gives me full marks for an exercise I should have failed. And then my other instructor, Auror Murdoch, is the exact opposite. He criticises everything I do, from my Shield Charm to my Patronus.'

'Your Patronus?' gasped George. 'Your Patronus is legendary! We sell glow-in-the-dark Prongs pyjamas at the shop and can barely keep them in stock! Adult sizes included.'

'No matter. According to Murdoch my Patronus is "_too showy, waste of power_."' Harry rolled his eyes. 'Right, always good to dial things back when Dementors are around.'

'Indeed,' said George. 'I hear they prefer a light touch.'

Harry chuckled. 'Exactly. Anyway, that's Auror training in a nutshell. What's funny is I don't mind all the parts I'd been dreading, like the early training sessions or even calisthenics. And I love the teamwork. But the big picture? Not so much.'

'Early training sessions? Calisthenics? Call me crazy, but it sounds like someone misses Quidditch training with Oliver Wood!' said George, grinning. 'Oh look, there's our drinks, I'll lower the charm.'

George lightly flicked his wand, and a moment later the bewildered waitress spotted them, setting down their glasses before turning towards another customer.

Harry sipped on his butterbeer. 'Wood, eh? I think you're onto something. Maybe I should just chuck the Auror thing and pursue a Quidditch career instead,' he laughed. 'Sounds good right about now. Do you think the Chudley Cannons would have me?'

George burst out laughing, and several heads turned towards their table. "Oh blast, forgot to put the charm back up. Hang on.' He raised the Notice-Me-Not again and said, 'With the Cannons' current standings, they'd be lucky to have anyone who can fly twenty yards without crashing.'

'Excellent, there's my fallback career then.'

'I'm glad we've got that settled,' said George. 'Any other major life decisions troubling you? How're things at Grimmauld Place?'

'Not bad. Kreacher's been a lot more lively since the war ended. Still nutty as a fruitcake, of course, but he loves when I have guests over. I didn't entertain much this past year, since I spent most of my free evenings at Hogwarts with Ginny, but I may as well start, now that I'm at leisure.'

'Shall I consider that an invitation then?'

'Absolutely! We've managed to clear most of the Dark magic from the house, thanks to Bill and Kreacher.'

George grasped Harry's arm, eyes wide with panic. 'Please tell me that doesn't mean we've lost Sirius's charming mother,' he implored.

Harry laughed, 'Alas, no. Walburga is right where you last saw her, looming over the entrance hall. In fact, she called me a "half-blood excrescence" just this morning. I threw a scone at her.'

'And here I was worried you were suffering for lack of company. I'm glad you're in such good hands.'

Harry shuddered, 'More like talons. Oh, speaking of talons, looks like our food is ready. Kindly drop the charm!'

'Sorry, my charm is a flame eternal,' said George, smiling suggestively as he dropped the Notice-Me-Not Charm.

Their waitress noticed them, and she smiled coyly back at George while setting down their plates. 'This one's a bit of a flirt, eh?' she said while motioning towards George, who waggled an eyebrow in response.

'That he is,' said Harry cheekily. 'You can find him at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, just down the Alley. Never a dull moment, guaranteed.'

'I might just do that,' she said, winking.

After restoring their privacy, George glared at Harry. 'Are you trying to get me a date?'

Harry, unsure whether George was amused or annoyed, asked, 'Do you want one?'

George laughed and bit into his sandwich. After swallowing, he said, 'Hard to say. Lee tries to get me out, of course, and we've gone on some double dates. But … it's hard to imagine getting serious with anyone right now, the way I am these days. Lee can tell you … I get rather moody sometimes.'

Harry snorted, 'Don't you remember what I was like during that year with Umbridge, and then after Sirius died? I was moody as hell. I'm still moody, come to think of it.'

'This is true,' agreed George. 'You can pull it off though. Black hair, you know.'

'Yeah, worked great with Ginny. She couldn't get enough of my moods,' Harry said ruefully.

'Ginny is just one witch. I'm sure there's another one out there for you.'

'Yeah, maybe.' They were both quiet for a while as they ate.

'You know,' Harry said abruptly, 'I've often wondered why wizards get married so young. We're supposed to have longer lifespans, when we take a break from killing each other, that is. But my parents got married when they were, what, nineteen? Probably the same for your parents, right?'

'Yeah, most likely,' replied George.

'So what's the rush? I suppose my parents got married during a war, so that might have hurried things a bit. But with Contraception Charms, there probably aren't a lot of shotgun weddings …'

'What's a shotgun wedding?'

'Oops, Muggle expression. It's when the girl gets pregnant and her dad threatens the father with a weapon to get him to marry her.'

'Ah, a wandpoint wedding! Which, now you mention it, probably explains why my parents got married so young. You may have noticed,' George said wryly, 'that they were perhaps not so skilled with Contraception Charms.'

'Pretty skilled at something else, I'll wager,' Harry sniggered.

'Oh dear, walked right into that one. Anyway, getting back to your question, I have no idea why wizards marry so young. I assume Muggles marry later?'

'Historically no, but that's changed this century. I read that in Britain nowadays, Muggles usually marry in their late 20s. I'm sure Hermione could tell you more.'

'No way, really? Their late 20s? How do they manage without Contraception Charms? Oh, scratch that, they don't. I suppose that's why there are so many of them.'

'No,' corrected Harry. 'Muggles have other types of birth control. Not as easy as charms, of course. Though maybe your parents should have tried some Muggle methods,' joked Harry.

'That's perfect! Dad would love that!' roared George. He changed his expression, looking suddenly like Mr. Weasley at his most jovial. _'"Molly, I've got hold of some Muggle contraception. Shall we give it a go? I wonder how it works!"'_

Harry, choking with laughter, attempted his best imitation of Mrs Weasley. _'"Arthur, I won't have you trying any of your Muggle nonsense in the bedroom. It's bad enough we have a shed full of plugs! I won't have you putting a plug up my—"_

George, near hysterics, smacked Harry on the arm before he could finish. Resuming his impersonation, he said, _'"Don't be silly, Molly. I think it uses batt-ries."'_

By now they were both doubled over, and they needed a minute to settle down. Wiping his eyes, George said, 'We seem to have got off topic. What was the question again? Oh yes, why do magicals in Britain marry so young?' His expression changed, becoming more thoughtful. 'I reckon it's mostly tradition. Wizards are mad for tradition, after all. And you said Muggles used to marry younger, right?' Harry nodded in confirmation. 'Right, that's it then. Mystery solved. Anything else you want to know?'

Harry drank the last of his butterbeer and leaned back. 'Why do we need to follow tradition? I'm not yet nineteen, and you're just twenty-one. Haven't we plenty of time? At least until the next Dark Lord turns up …'

'Always the optimist, Harry.'

'My point, George, is that just because you're not ready to get married, you needn't forego dating entirely. As long as you're not misleading the girl, why not have some fun? Isn't this what we fought the war for?'

'No… I'm pretty sure we fought the war to stop a noseless nutter from wiping out all of Great Britain.'

'Fine,' growled Harry. 'But commitment-free dating was definitely our secondary goal, no question.'

'I hear that's why McGonagall joined the Order,' said George, causing Harry to burst out laughing again.

'Oh, I miss Fred,' confessed Harry. 'He would have loved this conversation.'

George smiled fondly. 'Yes, he would have done. By now he'd have plans underway to reenact our parents' contraception talk at Sunday dinner. Possibly involving costumes, and props.'

'No doubt,' grinned Harry.

George pushed his empty glass aside. 'Another round, or shall we call it a night?'

'I should go. I expect Hermione will come round first thing tomorrow to get her hands on the Black family Grimoire.'

'You're kidding! Where did you get that?'

'Gringotts, this afternoon. The only way I could keep her from reading it then and there was by pointing out it would likely try to kill her.'

'And how will you prevent that tomorrow?' asked George.

'Er–' Harry paused. 'Can you keep a secret?'

'You insult me by even asking!' George protested. Noticing Harry's expression, he added, 'Of course, you have my word.'

Harry looked around to make sure the Notice-Me-Not was still active, and then he revealed his ring.

'Great Merlin's balls, what is that?' exclaimed George. 'Oh no, don't even tell me… I can guess. Anything that ugly has to be a pure-blood sigil of the highest order.' He paused a moment to consider, then took his eyes from the ring and looked up at Harry. 'Does this mean I'm addressing the new Lord Black?'

'Got it in one. My newest unearned honour.'

In a serious voice, George asked, 'Does Ron know?'

'No, I haven't told him yet. But I'm not as worried as I once would have been. He's grown up a lot this past year.'

'You're probably right. Just asking out of habit, I guess. You're sure it's not a prank from Sirius?'

Harry laughed, 'That was my first thought too, but the banker assured me it was real, and I was able to open the Black family vault with it.'

'Blimey! That must have been a sight! I suppose that's where you found the Grimoire?' Harry nodded. 'And some gold, I assume?'

'Yeah, but I'm not keeping it. I've already decided to give it to Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin. She was a Black, after all.'

'Ah, good idea. You'll hang onto the house, though?'

'For now. I'm hoping the ring might give me new leverage over the Lady Walburga.'

George sat up, excited. 'If you can get her off the wall, can I have her? She'd be brilliant in the shop window! I can see it now, _"Vermin! Filth! Vile scum! Come one, come all, and enter Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for all your blood-traitor needs!"'_

Harry burst again into laughter. 'She's all yours,' he promised. 'Anyway, about the Grimoire ... I'm hoping I can use the ring somehow to let Hermione access the book.'

George thought a moment. 'Yeah, that could work. There's probably some blood trick to convince the book you and Hermione are married, and then it will eagerly part its pages for her.'

'I'm impressed you've managed to make an old book sound so … naughty.'

'Another one of my many talents,' said George. 'But yes, that ought to work. It wouldn't be a binding marriage ritual, of course. You'd just be pulling one over on the book.'

'Great, I'll suggest that to Hermione. And thanks, as ever, for your ingenuity at duping old parchments.' Harry smirked and pushed back from the table. 'Let's get the bill and head out. I'm sure the waitress is wondering what happened to us, or to you anyway.'

'Sounds good,' said George, rising from his chair. 'And Harry,' he paused, looking thoughtful again. 'Thanks for listening.'

A short while later, Harry was home at Grimmauld Place, where Kreacher was overjoyed to discover that Master had not yet eaten his pudding. The house-elf promptly served an elaborate trifle he'd prepared 'just in case,' and Harry tucked in with enthusiasm, causing the ancient elf to literally glow with pleasure.

'Will Master be expecting Miss Hermione tomorrow morning? Kreacher can stay up all night making the French pastries Miss Hermione likes,' said Kreacher eagerly.

'Thank you, Kreacher, but you know Hermione insists you get a proper night's sleep, as do I.'

Ears drooping, the wrinkled elf gazed poignantly up at Harry. 'Would it be all right if Kreacher punished himself for staying up all night against Master's orders?'

'No, Kreacher. Punishments are forbidden, as you well know. Besides, I'm sure Hermione would be happy with the usual fruit and scones.'

'Shall Kreacher make extra scones for Master to throw at Mistress's portrait?'

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. Although Kreacher had long since accepted Harry as his master, he had never before spoken disrespectfully of his late mistress. _Was this the ring's effect?_ wondered Harry. The ring wasn't even visible.

'Yes, Kreacher. Some extra scones would be lovely … and perhaps you could burn a few,' he added mischievously.

Kreacher's eyes shone rapturously as he bowed. 'Yes, Master! With pleasure!' he replied, and then scurried around to clear the table.

Feeling rather stuffed from two generous servings of trifle (Kreacher had insisted), Harry ascended to the library. The old-fashioned gas lights ignited with a _puff_ as he entered, even though, as he had discovered months earlier, the house was not connected to a municipal gas line. He took a seat at the large table and pulled out the two envelopes he'd received earlier, containing documents relating to the Potters and the Blacks.

He'd intended to start with the bank statements, but inside the larger envelope he found a second envelope with his first name handwritten on the front. He opened it and was shocked to find a letter from Sirius, written only weeks before he'd died.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope you've reached a ripe old age by the time you read this, but the way things are going I suspect you'll be reading it on your seventeenth birthday. In which case I apologise for not being there when you needed a parent, poor substitute though I am._

_First and foremost, I want you to know how much you mean to me. And not just because you're my best mate's offspring, or even because you remind me of James (which you do). You're a remarkable young man in your own right, combining the best of your parents. You've been dealt a difficult hand, worse perhaps than mine, and yet you've shown rare courage and strength of character. Being your godfather has been __by far__ the most rewarding experience of my otherwise wasted life._

_My only hope during these dark times, even as I anticipate my untimely demise, is that Voldemort will be defeated and you'll be able to enjoy the life you deserve. And you_ _do__ deserve a good life, in spite of what you've been led to believe. I urge you to choose happiness, wherever it might find you._

_I also hereby apologise for leaving you the Black family ring, with its attendant responsibilities. Feel free to ignore the Lord Black rubbish—I know I would have done, except maybe when demanded as a prank. But I hope you'll take your role as Head of House seriously (pun intended). House Black needs to be steered into the Light, and I can't think of anyone more qualified to do it. _

_I've also arranged for you to inherit the house immediately upon my death, even if you haven't yet reached majority. I wish I could leave you a more cheerful home than 12 Grimmauld, but hopefully it's better than the hellhole where you grew up (even though it's my fault you were stuck there in the first place). My greatest regret, worse even than convincing your parents to replace me as Secret Keeper, was to run after Wormtail that night instead of looking after you._

_Merlin, this letter is depressing! Here I am, dead as a doornail, and I've still found a way to wreck your birthday. Old Prongs really knew how to pick a godfather, didn't he? At least I've left you a fat pile of gold, some of which I encourage you to squander (a Black family tradition). But I hope you'll also look after Remus if he'll let you, the proud bugger. _

_I should sign off ... Kreacher is spoiling for another fight and I hate to disappoint him. _

_All my love,  
__Sirius_

Harry was overcome with emotion. It was almost painful to read new words from Sirius, reminding him of the man he'd lost. And he hated how Sirius had tortured himself for believing he'd failed Harry—as if Azkaban hadn't been punishment enough.

He didn't know what to think about Sirius's advice that he choose happiness. _How do I even go about that?_ Just being alive and having a future felt like an unimaginable gift. Was happiness even a choice? If it were, he'd still be with Ginny.

But he laughed through his tears as he read the two closing paragraphs. He desperately missed Sirius's irreverent humour, as well as his affection. Harry had been fortunate to have Sirius in his life, if only briefly. And he was moved by his godfather's wish that Harry guide House Black towards the Light—he silently resolved to make it his lifelong tribute to Padfoot's memory.

Harry glanced over the financial statements but found he couldn't concentrate after reading Sirius's letter, so he decided to examine them later and look at the Grimoire instead. He removed the heavy book from his expandable pouch and set it down at Hermione's preferred workspace.

The cover was dark leather, with large metal hinges at the binding, and the edges were heavily adorned with tarnished silver and what looked like semi-precious stones. Harry opened the book and noticed that the inside cover was inset with a small, engraved rectangle of gleaming gold. Perhaps this was for the blood ritual George had theorised?

Turning slowly through the pages, he saw that the entire book was handwritten. There was no table of contents—apparently spells had been added one by one over the centuries. The oldest spells were legible but extremely hard to read, due to the ancient calligraphic style. Harry frowned, wondering whether Hermione would be able to decipher it. He tried following the elegantly cramped text by running his finger underneath, and, to his amazement, the letters shifted and spread into more familiar forms. The writing was still old-fashioned but highly readable, and the text he'd suspected was Latin had turned into English.

Harry grinned and, for roughly the millionth time since his eleventh birthday, he felt a surge of delight at an unexpected new bit of magic. Perhaps this was an advantage of being raised outside the wizarding world—he'd never quite got over his astonishment that magic was real. Ginny had often been amused by his childlike glee at some silly magical toy she'd never thought twice about, like the battered self-stacking blocks she and her brothers had played with, or the storytelling mobile hanging over Teddy's cot.

With great interest, he started reading through the various charms and potions. There were quite a few recipes, and Harry's first thought was to show them to Kreacher. But a closer look revealed ghastly ingredients like 'Basilisk tongue' and 'Hag's hair,' and, most alarmingly, a recipe for Dementor bone soup, with a scrawled note in the margin that said, _'Excellent for nursing mothers.'_

Shuddering, Harry slammed the book shut and resolved to leave it for Hermione, who was blessed with both insatiable curiosity and, as he'd discovered during those long months camping, a cast iron stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note:_

_Thanks for reading! I should warn you, however, that this fic is unusual and perhaps not what you are looking for. For example:_

_1\. _Loose Cannon_ is, above all, a coming-of-age fic. There are heaps of subplots, mostly comic, but the main story is about Harry, Hermione, and Ron growing beyond their war-stunted adolescence._

_2\. It's going to be _very_ long. As of February 4, 2020, I've written 750K words, and it shows no sign of stopping. Most of these words are dialogue, which I'm told I do well, but that might not be your cup of tea._

_3\. If you are looking for a typical Super!Harry, you will not like this fic. My Harry is quite powerful in his own way, but he's not the next Merlin._

_4\. If Harry/Hermione is your One True Pairing, you may have to wait a while. My original plan was to ultimately make this a Harmione fic, once they both grow up some, but I'm not going to pair them if it doesn't feel right. One of the big mistakes in canon, IMO, is that JKR decided early on that Hermione and Ron would eventually marry, even though they never developed plausible chemistry. I won't do that to my Harry and Hermione, so we'll just have to see how things turn out._

_5\. This story has loads of original characters. If you don't want to read about Harry and Hermione dating OCs, don't read this fic._

_6\. Harry and Hermione are young and occasionally do stupid and/or immature things (Harry in particular). This is a part of growing up, which I'm trying to depict honestly. Furthermore, they might start behaving in ways that seem out of character in relation to canon, but that's also part of growing up._

_7\. Some of my subplots are absurd. But hey, absurdity is fun!_

_I've probably said enough for one Author's Note, but please read my bio if you want to know more about my writing process and how it affects the story._

-––—––—––-

Sunday morning, bright and early, Hermione entered the kitchen of her parents' house. Technically it was her house as well, but ever since she'd started attending Hogwarts she'd felt more like a visitor than a resident in her childhood home.

Her parents were already awake, drinking coffee and reading the Sunday papers. Her mother, Emily, spotted her first and said, 'There you are. When did you get home?'

'A bit past eleven. Ron and I went to the cinema, and then we got a bite afterward.'

Hermione's father, Daniel, looked up and asked, 'Did you end up seeing "The Matrix?" What did you think?'

'It was brilliant, the best I've seen in ages. Ron loved it—he's already planning to drag all our friends to see it as well. I admit some of the battle scenes gave me a start, but I kept my eyes closed and got through it.'

Emily and Daniel exchanged glances. They still found it hard to accept that their teenaged daughter was a combat veteran.

'Would you like some toast?' asked Emily. 'Or I could make you some eggs.'

'No thanks. I'm heading to Harry's shortly and Kreacher will insist on feeding me breakfast.'

'So soon? It's not yet eight o'clock. Surely that's a bit early to turn up on a Sunday,' said Emily.

'Harry won't mind—he's on an early schedule for work. But more importantly, he's got a new– er, old spellbook he knows I'm dying to get my hands on. It belongs to his godfather's family, and they're one of England's oldest wizarding lines.'

'Well, we all know there's no keeping you from an old book,' said Emily fondly. 'But do stay for coffee at least.'

'Gladly. Wizarding cuisine is a solid half century behind ours, and morning coffee hasn't really caught on yet.' Hermione noticed her mother's small smile at the implication that she still identified with Muggles, at least as far as food was concerned.

'I don't know if your paper has arrived yet,' said Emily. 'It wasn't here when I came down.'

'Then it must be a late edition. The _Daily Prophet_ isn't quite as strict about deadlines as the _Telegraph_ or the _Guardian_. They'll hold the presses if something juicy comes in at the last minute.'

Hermione poured coffee into a large mug and placed it on the table before walking over to the fireplace in the lounge. The _Daily Prophet_ had recently begun offering Floo delivery to select subscribers, and Hermione had shamelessly exploited her fame to jump the queue, granting them an exclusive, in-depth interview. She'd insisted on the right to approve all photographs and quotes, and fortunately Rita Skeeter was not involved, so there were no gross inaccuracies or lurid insinuations.

Just as she entered the room, the fireplace flared green and the newspaper appeared, rolled and neatly tied with a ribbon. She carried it back to the table and sat down, taking a moment just to hold her coffee mug and enjoy the warmth between her hands.

'Do you have plans for today, or just a lie-in with the crossword puzzle?' she asked her parents.

Emily replied, 'We're heading to the garden centre when it opens. I'd like to get a few more annuals in, and I need something to perk up the roses. There's been too much rain for them lately.'

'Can I help? I'm certain I read about a charm that would drain the soil better,' offered Hermione.

'Thanks dear, but propping up soggy roses is a time-honoured English tradition. I'm sure we'll manage.'

Hermione looked down at her coffee and finally took a sip. 'All right, Mum. Just let me know if you change your mind.'

She untied the newspaper and rolled it open. 'Bugger!' she blurted angrily.

'Hermione, language!' smirked Daniel. 'What's the matter?'

'Harry's on the cover again. Bloody hell, what's this nonsense? _"Boy Who Lived Quits Ministry to Play Quidditch"_—where do they even get this rubbish? And how old will he have to be before they stop calling him the Boy Who Lived? I can just see it, _"Boy Who Lived Welcomes Tenth Great-Grandchild_._"_ Or _"Boy Who Lived Dies at Age 157."'_

Raising her coffee again, she began reading the article:

_In a startling turn of events, Harry Potter, 18, has quit the Ministry Auror training programme to play professional Quidditch for the Chudley Cannons. Potter, world-famous for twice defeating You-Know-Who, revealed his plans to the_ Daily Prophet_ last night in an exclusive interview._

'What rubbish!' snapped Hermione. 'I was with him last night and he didn't grant any interviews.'

'I thought you went to the cinema with Ron,' said Daniel pointedly.

'I did, but we had drinks first with Harry and George, after finishing up at Gringotts.'

'Oh right, yesterday was the big day! How did it go?' asked Emily.

'Fine, brilliantly, without a hitch,' grumbled Hermione, concentrating again on the article.

_Potter told the_ Prophet_ that, despite his widely-stated ambition to serve as an Auror, in tribute to his parents and fallen comrades, he has chosen to abandon those plans in favour of a Quidditch career. Fans of the sport have long speculated whether Potter, who was the youngest Hogwarts house player in a century, would choose to play professionally. But until last night this was considered wishful thinking at best, as the young hero had never expressed any interest in league play. _

_Chudley Cannons manager Darius Sprott affected surprise when approached late last night for comments. 'I assure you, this is the first I've heard of it. What position does he play anyway? Did you say Seeker? Now that would be something! If you talk to Potter, have him owl me straight away.'_

_The Cannons, currently in last place, have not won the League Cup since 1892, which many followers stubbornly attribute to a curse (see 'Chudley Fans Dispute Gringotts Rejection of Curse Claims' on page 16). Nonetheless, their matches attract consistently large crowds, and Cannons fans are considered the most loyal in UK Quidditch league play._

_Their prospects, however, could improve significantly with the addition of Potter, who played Seeker at Hogwarts for five years, helping his house win the Quidditch cup thrice. The lone missed Snitch of his Hogwarts career was due to a freak accident in his third year involving Dementors, who were posted at the school gates during the 1993-94 hunt for escaped convict Sirius Black. Potter was frequently described as a 'natural' on a broomstick, and he routinely wowed audiences with spectacular catches in spite of grievous injuries._

_Potter's reputation as a flying prodigy was further enhanced by his outstanding performance in the first task of the 1994 Triwizard Tournament. Only fourteen at the time, Potter dazzled judges and spectators alike by summoning his top-of-the-line Firebolt broomstick and using it to evade a Hungarian Horntail dragon. Famed Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum was in attendance and reportedly praised young Potter's performance, expressing confidence that he had a future in professional Quidditch should he choose it._

_Mid-level Ministry officials refused to comment on Potter's resignation from the Auror training programme, citing privacy concerns and also because nobody seemed to have heard about it yet. The_ Prophet_ was unable to reach Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt for comment but will make every effort to update this story as it develops._

'What a load of absolute nonsense,' declared Hermione as she looked up from the newspaper. 'Harry's never said a word about wanting to leave off Auror training for a Quidditch career.'

Daniel smiled indulgently. 'My dear Hermione, you're a brilliant young woman but you routinely forget that the _Daily Prophet_ has journalistic standards that make the _Daily Mail_ look good by comparison. Why are you surprised every time they publish this kind of rubbish?'

Hermione sighed. 'You're right, this is typical. I just hate for Harry to attract more attention.'

'Well, that barn door's long since opened,' said Emily. 'The poor lad was born for the headlines, seemingly.'

'I suppose so,' said Hermione. 'I'll go check on him in a few minutes.'

'Will you be home for dinner?' asked Emily.

'No, it's Sunday dinner with the Weasleys. You're certain you won't come?'

Emily met her husband's glance. 'No, but please extend our thanks for the invitation.'

Hermione tried to hide her disappointment. 'I do hope you'll come again soon. They always ask after you.'

'I know,' said Daniel. 'Forgive me, Hermione, but it's just a bit … fatiguing to be gaped at like an exhibition at the World's Fair. I know Arthur means well, but his constant questions can be rather tiresome. I'm just not in the mood to be treated like some kind of clever pet by a man who can't seem to remember how pencil sharpeners work.'

'I'm sure he doesn't think of you that way,' lied Hermione. Arthur really was rather patronising, which was highly ironic. She'd always found it absurd that a so-called 'Muggle expert' could scarcely navigate the London Underground without the _Confundus_ charm and a team of Obliviators to clean up after him.

'Maybe not,' said Daniel, letting the subject drop and returning to his newspaper.

Hermione drank the last of her coffee. 'That's it, I'm off. I'd really better see how Harry is doing ... and I have that new spellbook to dive into,' she said excitedly.

Emily smiled at her daughter's enthusiasm. 'Have a good time, dear, and give Harry our best.'

'Will do, mum,' said Hermione, kissing Emily on the cheek, then walking over to kiss her father's bald spot. 'Have fun in the garden, you two!'

Daniel looked affectionately at his daughter. 'You have fun too, bookmuffin.' Hermione giggled at the old nickname before travelling to Grimmauld Place by Floo.

She emerged from Harry's kitchen fireplace and dusted herself off as she walked towards the table, where Harry was calmly reading the paper. She was relieved, if a little puzzled, that he didn't seem upset.

Kreacher lit up the moment he saw her. 'Miss Hermione! What can Kreacher make for Miss Hermione's breakfast?'

'Good morning, Kreacher. Those berries look wonderful, and you know how I love scones. Could you also scramble some eggs for me please, and a bit of sausage?'

'Kreacher is always delighted to cook for Miss Hermione!' he said, scurrying to prepare her meal.

Hermione turned to Harry with an expression of concern. 'Harry, how are you? I saw the _Prophet_ this morning. Are you all right?'

'Me? I'm fine. I had a great time with George last night.'

Hermione sat down. 'Aren't you upset about the _Prophet_?'

'Not really. I already got an owl from Kingsley—you can read it.' He handed her a scrap of parchment, which Hermione quickly read.

_Harry, _

_I assume today's article in the _Prophet_ is up to their usual standard and that I needn't worry. But let's talk tomorrow at 9:00—I trust you'll be done with your early training by then. See you in my office._

_Kingsley_

'So it's not true, then?' she asked.

'Funny, that,' said Harry, smiling. 'It might be.'

Hermione's eyes widened with alarm.

'No,' he continued. 'It's not true. But it's not as outrageous as you might think. Someone must have overheard me when our Notice-Me-Not was down for a moment. George asked me about Auror training, and I told him what I've told you, that it's not quite what I expected and so forth.

'I mentioned I like the early workouts, though, and the teamwork, and he made a crack about how I clearly miss Oliver Wood and our old Gryffindor team. I must have said something about how that sounded tempting right about now and asked jokingly whether the Chudley Cannons would have me. And then I think George raised the Notice-Me-Not again.'

Hermione exhaled sharply. 'You're telling me you were overheard making an offhand comment, and the _Prophet_ immediately stopped the presses and wrote all about your impending Quidditch career?'

'That's about the size of it, yes'

She shook her head in outrage, causing her bushy ponytail to shake correspondingly. 'Just when I think the _Daily Prophet_ has improved some small amount … Have they not heard of fact-checkers? Of course not, fact-checking is for Muggles!' she grumbled.

Kreacher set a plate of berries, scones, and cream in front of her before returning to the cooker.

'Thank you, Kreacher.' She turned again to Harry, 'But what did you mean just now when you said it might be true? Surely you're not considering quitting the Ministry!'

Harry, who had finished eating, said, 'Actually, I've given it some thought this morning, and it's not the worst idea I've heard.'

'Quitting the Ministry? What about your N.E.W.T.s? They waived them for the Auror programme, but if you quit now you won't have any qualifications. This could impact your entire career!'

Harry laughed out loud. 'Hermione, I can always depend on you to worry first about my academic credentials.'

She glared at him and took a violent bite from her scone.

'Oh Hermione,' he said affectionately. 'I suppose you never got over my dropping out of Hogwarts. But surely you can spare a few N.E.W.T.s for your poor, uncredentialed friends!'

'Friends?! You've not got Ron in on this mad scheme?'

'No, no, Ron's not involved. As far as I'm aware he rather enjoys Auror training. Lots of strategic thinking, you know.'

Hermione relaxed slightly, then looked at Harry appraisingly. 'But you're really considering this?'

'Yes, I really am. You've heard me whinging about the training programme. And you know it's not just me being idle.'

'Of course you're not idle! As long as it's not Hogwarts assignments, you're one of the hardest workers I know.'

'Cheers. So when I saw the article, and after the shock wore off, I thought, "Why not?"'

'But Harry, it's been your dream to become an Auror ever since Umbridge tried to talk you out of it.'

'True, but that's hardly a good reason to stay with it, simply for the pleasure of sticking it to Umbridge. After all, she's in Azkaban, so I think it's safe to say I got the last laugh.'

'I know it's not about triumphing over Umbridge,' replied Hermione. 'But your father might have become an Auror if he'd lived. And besides, you've said you want to capture the remaining Death Eaters.'

Harry sighed. 'I know there are Death Eaters still out there, and yes, I want to see them in Azkaban. But as far as I know, there's no prophecy insisting I'm the only one who can do it.'

He levelled his shoulders and looked at her. 'This is my chance, Hermione. For the first time in years, I actually feel like I might have a full life ahead of me. Wizards live a long time, and it seems silly to miss this opportunity just because of a decision I made on impulse when I was fifteen.'

She was quiet a moment. 'If that's what you really want. Naturally I'll support your decision either way.'

'Thanks, Hermione. That means a lot to me.'

She met his eyes and smiled before focussing her attention on the plate of hot food Kreacher had served. Between bites she asked, 'So how are you going to proceed?'

'Well, it seems only right to talk to Kingsley first. And I'm sure I'll hear from Ron any second now, so I'd best give him a heads-up. And then I suppose I'll contact the Cannons' team manager. He sounded pretty keen in the _Prophet_, don't you think?'

'He sounded downright desperate! I gather their current Seeker isn't any good?'

'I'm afraid not. He's already broken two broomsticks this season.'

'Oh dear, even I'm not that bad a flyer,' said Hermione.

As predicted, Ron stumbled out of the fireplace a moment later and rushed to the table without even dusting the ashes from his clothing.

'Harry, are you serious? Are you really joining the Cannons? I can't believe it—why didn't you say anything? I mean, I'll miss working with you and all, but the Cannons? That's brilliant! You know their current Seeker is complete rubbish—he actually crashed into a butterbeer stand last weekend … luckily there were Cushioning Charms so nobody was hurt.'

'Good morning, Ronald,' said Hermione, glaring.

'Oh, you're here too,' he said, giving her a quick peck before turning back to Harry. 'So when do you start? I can't believe you didn't tell me!'

'Ron, slow down! The _Prophet_ was just reporting a rumour. I haven't talked to anyone yet,' said Harry.

'"Haven't talked to anyone yet?" So it _is_ true! Bloody brilliant!" He clapped Harry on the back. 'Ooh, scones!' he said, reaching for one.

Harry chuckled. Hermione smiled indulgently and rolled her eyes.

'So what happened?' asked Ron, after swallowing his first bite of scone.

Harry explained, and Ron shook his head in amazement. 'You must have the strangest life of anyone I've heard of. Did anything else completely mental happen to you this weekend?'

'Well, actually,' Harry started, sensing an opportunity. 'Something weird happened at Gringotts yesterday …' Hermione looked questioningly at Harry, who shrugged his shoulders minutely in reply.

'What, I thought everything went fine with the goblins,' said Ron, puzzled.

'It did, but there was an added bit. The banker gave me the Black family ring to try on, and apparently it accepted me.'

'Accepted you? What does that mean? You're not Lord Black or something? Where is it?'

Harry revealed the ring and Ron, who was on his second scone, burst into a coughing fit. Kreacher hurried over with a glass of water, which Ron drained.

'Blimey, that thing's a nightmare! I thought the Prewett candelabra was bad—it's got tentacles or something—but that ring is in a class of its own!'

"I know! Thank Merlin for concealing charms … But to answer your question.' Harry paused before continuing, 'According to the goblin I'm the new Lord Black.'

'Bloody hell! You're sure it's not a prank?'

'Not a prank, but I'm sure Sirius and my dad are somewhere laughing their arses off right now. Remus and Tonks too.'

'I reckon you're right. Hermione, you knew about this already?'

'Yes, I was there when it happened. I felt it was Harry's news to share.'

Ron nodded. 'I get why you wouldn't want people seeing that thing, or knowing about the Lord Black stuff, for that matter.'

'Thanks, Ron,' said Harry, looking relieved. Hermione was impressed with Ron for taking it so well. He'd really come a long way.

'So do you have access to the vault now? Anything good in there?'

'There was gold, but I've already decided I want Andromeda to have it. It's hers more than mine, really. Other than that, some artefacts and a bunch of books.'

Ron laughed, 'Books! No wonder Hermione's here so early.'

'You know me too well,' said Hermione fondly. 'So Harry, when do I get to see it?'

'See what?' asked Ron.

'There was a Grimoire. Harry's going to let me look at it today,' she said, her eyes bright.

Turning serious, Ron said, "Be careful, Hermione. The Blacks were seriously Dark wizards. There's bound to be some scary stuff in there—like "too dangerous for the Restricted section" scary.'

'I know, Ron,' said Hermione, touched. 'I'll be careful, you know that.'

'As long as you don't turn partway into a cat,' smirked Harry. Hermione swatted him.

'Right, I've got to go. I told Dad I'd help him clean the shed. Apparently he can't fit any more Muggle rubbish, even with Expanding Charms, and he needs someone to help him choose his favourites. Mum offered, of course, but she would have just Vanished the lot of it, so I'm helping instead.'

'See you at dinner then?' said Hermione.

'Yes,' he said, rising from the table and giving Hermione's shoulders a quick squeeze. 'See you then.' Ron threw Floo powder into the grate and disappeared.

She turned back towards Harry. 'So, where's my Grimoire? The library? Is now all right?' She rocked back and forth excitedly.

'Yes, now is fine. By the way, George had a theory about how you might access it. He thought a small blood ritual would be enough to convince the book we're married.'

Hermione frowned. 'Marriage rituals are serious business, Harry. I mean, I like you and all, but I'm not going to marry you just to get access to that book. Although," she added impishly, 'it is an ancient family Grimoire …'

'No, it's not that kind of marriage ritual. It's just a minor blood rite that identifies you to the book as part of the Black family. I had a look, and there's some kind of golden plate on the inside cover. I'm thinking we put drops of blood on it or something?'

Her eyes lit up. 'Oh, yes, I've read about those! It's an ancient Etruscan method for identifying oneself to magical artefacts. We're lucky the Grimoire is so old … a newer one would employ a more reliable method that requires an actual marriage bond. If I remember correctly, you'll have to open the book, add a drop of your blood as a sort of master password, and then add some of my blood to authorise me. It's quite simple, really.'

'Perfect, let's get started,' said Harry, and they walked upstairs together. 'Fair warning, I looked through it last night, and it's pretty foul. And don't let Kreacher anywhere near the recipes—we've only just got him trained to make curries, and this would set us back centuries.'

'I promise,' she said as they entered the library. She hurried to her spot where the book was waiting and sat down to the left of it, careful not to touch anything.

Harry opened the Grimoire to reveal the golden plate. 'Oh, that's lovely,' said Hermione, examining the delicate engraving. 'It's a shame they didn't let that artisan craft the family ring.'

'Very funny. Do you want access to the book or not?'

'I'm sorry. Please continue.'

Harry only needed a minor cutting curse to draw blood from his index finger. Two drops fell on the plate, which glowed momentarily.

'Your turn, my dear Lady Black,' said Harry gallantly. Hermione blushed slightly and drew blood from her fingertip the same way Harry had. Two drops fell on the plate, and it glowed just as before.

'That looks promising,' she said. 'Shall I try turning the page?'

'Yes,' he said, standing and offering her the seat in front of the book—her usual chair. 'I'll wait right here and Apparate you to St Mungo's when you sprout tusks.'

She glared at him, then gingerly turned the first page.

'Success!' cried Harry. 'The mysteries of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black are now at your fingertips.'

'Toujours mud,' said Hermione with a smirk.

-––—––-

The two friends spent several silent hours together in the Library. Hermione was fully absorbed by the Grimoire, taking copious notes on a spare parchment about the spells and potions she wanted to try. Harry knew not to interrupt her when she was engrossed like that, and so he ignored her murmurings and focussed on his own tasks.

Meanwhile, he spent the morning carefully reviewing the financial statements. As he'd suspected, the Black fortune—which he still intended to give to Andromeda—was roughly twice the size of his own. It was difficult, however, to gauge the buying power of his own inheritance. He was no expert, of course, but wizarding economics had never made much sense to him. Seven Galleons for an expertly-crafted wand seemed absurdly cheap—less expensive even than a set of mass-produced Omnioculars—and yet the thousand Galleons he'd won in the Triwizard Tournament had been sufficient for the twins to open their shop at a prime location. It was particularly baffling if you considered the exchange rate with Muggle currency—roughly five pounds to a Galleon.

By Harry's best reckoning, he was not quite set for life, but his parents had left him a very comfortable cushion. Moreover, he owned Grimmauld Place free and clear, and it appeared that when the Blacks had reappropriated the house from its Muggle owners centuries earlier, they also erased it from the City of London tax rolls. Ministry taxes, however, were higher than he'd anticipated, but he supposed they employed quite a lot of wizards—himself included, at least until Monday—so it was understandable.

Part of him felt he ought to give the house to Teddy Lupin when the infant came of age, since Teddy was more of a Black than he was. But Harry had grown unexpectedly fond of Grimmauld Place, and deep down he knew he wanted to keep it. The house was full of bittersweet memories for him: memories of Sirius; of Remus and Tonks; of Fred and George with their Extendable Ears; of Mrs Weasley sobbing at what the Boggart had shown her. Memories of those terrible days during the war, which already seemed like a lifetime ago.

Furthermore, Sirius had been like a father to him during the brief time they'd shared. And Harry had lived in Grimmauld Place longer than he'd lived in Godric's Hollow with his mum and dad. His parents, and the Potters in general, felt oddly remote to him. It saddened him that nothing remained of the Potter house—even a portrait or two would have made it all seem more real.

He turned towards one of the bookcases, catching his reflection in a glass cabinet. _That's my real Potter legacy_, he thought; he was the living image of his father. Harry wondered what his dad would think of his career change. He'd wanted to become an Auror to honour his parents' memory, and now he wouldn't. But James Potter had been mad for Quidditch, after all.

Sirius would certainly encourage the move—he'd always wanted Harry to have more fun. Furthermore, in the letter he'd said, _'I urge you to choose happiness, wherever it might find you._' This seemed like one of those opportunities, and Harry knew he had to take it.

He looked across the table at Hermione, still immersed in the Grimoire. Her quill moved swiftly as she took notes, and he noticed her lips moving slightly. He smiled—he still couldn't believe his good fortune that all three of them had survived the war. They'd dodged death more times than he liked to remember. They owed their lives to so many: Dobby, Snape, even Narcissa Malfoy. _Narcissa Black._

He'd testified on her behalf the previous summer, and for Draco as well. Lucius, however, got what he deserved, and was sentenced to life in Azkaban. The Ministry had seized half their assets, which Harry knew had gone in part towards paying his own restitution for destroying half of Gringotts. He wondered fleetingly whether he should offer Narcissa a portion of the Black vault but dismissed the thought. She had surely received a dowry when she married Lucius, whereas Andromeda had been stricken from the family tapestry for marrying Ted Tonks.

A shuffle of parchment signalled to Harry that Hermione was surfacing from her immersion and would soon be ready to interact. _She's probably hungr_y, he thought.

'Are you hungry? Shall I ask Kreacher to prepare something, or do you want to go out?'

Hermione blinked, her eyes adjusting to the sight of another human rather than a book. 'Food, yes. Sounds wonderful. Let's go out—I could use some daylight.'

'What do you think of the Grimoire?' he asked.

'Oh, I hardly know. As you noticed, it's half horrible. But there's also some amazing magic that I can't wait to try out. May I use your Potions lab? I can't very well take over the hall toilet in my parents' house.'

'I seem to recall you brewing some impressive potions in a toilet,' observed Harry. 'But yes, help yourself. Does it need restocking? I can't say I do much brewing.'

'Most likely, but that's easy to fix. There's a potion I want to start on right away—I'll visit the apothecary this afternoon.'

'I hope it doesn't require Dementor bones,' Harry smirked.

'Ugh, that was ghastly! Can you imagine? What would they even taste like?' mused Hermione.

'Are you trying to put me off my lunch?'

'Sorry, no,' she said quickly. 'Let's go.'

They trotted down the stairs, stopping in the entrance hall in front of Walburga's portrait. She was sleeping, but they knew anything could set her off. Harry noticed a tray of burnt scones on the console underneath.

Harry whispered to Hermione, 'Do you suppose I can banish her using the ring?'

'It's worth a try. I'll have a scone at the ready,' she whispered back.

'Walburga Black!' boomed Harry, his ring visible, emeralds glinting in the flickering light. 'I command you to release your hold on the wall and, er–' Harry hesitated, and Hermione nodded encouragingly. 'And come down quietly.'

Walburga's eyes opened, and for a moment she said nothing. Harry felt a stab of hope that the ring was working.

'_The loathsome half-blood dares to claim the ring of my noble fathers! Polluted as you are with the filthy taint of your vile Mudblood mother—'_

A scone bounced sharply off her surface, and Harry quickly pulled the curtain closed. 'Apparently,' he said, 'the ring had no effect.'

'Why isn't the curtain closed all the time?' asked Hermione.

'I'm pretty sure she's able to open it somehow. Probably something she picked up from the Grimoire.'

There was silence as they walked out the front door, and then Hermione hesitatingly asked, 'Was that the first time she's mentioned your mother's … taint?'

'It was,' said Harry glumly. 'And I'm surprised you even know that word.'

'I'm a compulsive reader,' she said. 'Even in public loos.'

'I see.'

'You're really going to have to do something about that portrait. Otherwise you're stuck with her, and she's … she's beyond foul.'

'I've tried! Sirius tried. Bill tried. Kreacher tried. I'm pretty sure Dumbledore tried. She's here to stay.'

'Have you talked to a magical portrait painter?'

'Er, no. Do you think that could work?'

'It's worth asking. Otherwise I think your next step is to learn to control Fiendfyre.'

'I doubt that would work. She's probably one of the fiends,' said Harry dejectedly.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry and Ron, red-faced and perspiring, staggered together towards the locker room after their morning training session.

'Merlin, I'm knackered,' said Ron wearily. 'I reckon Murdoch wanted to send you off with a few parting hexes.'

'A few parting hexes?' protested Harry, rubbing his left shoulder. 'He must have hit me at least a hundred times … was it really necessary to spend an hour practising wandless shield charms whilst running? I'd have thought my presence this morning would be enough to convince him the _Prophet_ was talking bollocks, and that I'm not going anywhere.'

Ron lowered his voice, 'He must have sussed out the truth using Legilimency. You were always rubbish at mind arts.'

'Ugh ... the only thing that could have made that training worse would be Snape deducting house points every time Murdoch hit me. He'd have loved that, the greasy git.'

'Tut tut, Potter. Show some gratitude towards the man who spent years secretly protecting you,' mocked Ron.

'And taking petty revenge all the while,' scowled Harry.

'That's just the hex wounds talking. You'd better change your attitude before meeting with Kingsley.'

'Good point. Right now I'm likely to _Reducto_ his office into smithereens and disappear in a burst of Phoenix fire.'

They'd arrived at the locker room, where they peeled off their sweat-soaked gear and trudged into separate shower stalls. Harry emerged ten minutes later, wearing a towel and feeling much less sore, and he sat down on the bench. _Am I really doing this?_ he thought. _Yes_. His mind was made up.

Ron, pulling on his robes, turned to Harry. 'Are you ready?'

'Yes,' said Harry soberly. 'I'm going to meet with Kingsley wearing a towel. I've decided to become a house-elf.'

'You know what I meant,' replied Ron. 'Are you all right with this?'

'Yes, I really am,' declared Harry, standing and opening his locker. He pulled on his maroon Auror robes for the last time.

_Soon I'll be wearing bright orange robes, _he thought with anticipation.

'Right then. Good luck, mate.'

Harry felt a surge of affection for Ron. He'd miss working with him.

They walked out of the locker room together, but Harry turned left towards the stairwell that would take him to Kingsley's office. As a rule he stayed away from the lifts, ostensibly to build up his stamina, but mostly to avoid the other riders' sidelong glances.

He was seized by a sudden panic. _Merlin, I'm choosing the life of a celebrity! _His whole wizarding life he'd tried to avoid the public eye, and now he was stepping into it heart raced—why hadn't he considered this until now?

A small, steady voice in his mind reassured him. _This time it's my decision._ He felt a deep wave of calm, and his heart rate settled back down. He emerged from the stairwell and walked with resolve towards the Head Auror's office.

He was greeted by Kingsley's secretary, Agnes. Kingsley had acquired her during his stint as Acting Minister for Magic, and she'd accompanied him back to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, even though it was technically a step down. Harry liked her.

'Good morning, Agnes. I have a nine o'clock appointment with Kingsley. How are you?'

'I'm well, Mr Potter, thank you. And you? I suppose you're here to tell Mr Shacklebolt you're packing it in to go fly with the Cannons, as it were,' she said, winking.

Flustered, Harry coughed before replying. 'Ha ha, indeed.'

'You can go right in—he's expecting you. Good luck!'

'Thanks, Agnes,' he said, opening the door and walking into the office.

'Harry, good morning,' said Kingsley without looking up. 'Have a seat.'

Harry sat down in one of the hard-backed chairs facing Kingsley's desk. No squashy armchairs for the DMLE.

'Good morning, Kingsley,' he said. 'I'm glad we can talk straight away.'

'Yes, it's always worth clearing the air whenever the _Prophet_ comes out with some new fiction.'

'Er, yes … about that,' stammered Harry.

Kingsley looked up with alarm.

'I hadn't the slightest intention of leaving the Department … originally. I'd merely been talking to George Weasley at a pub about my training, and our privacy charms were down at precisely the moment I made a joke about chucking it all and flying with the Cannons. Someone must have overheard, and the _Prophet_ ran with it.'

'I see,' said Kingsley evenly. He waited for Harry to continue.

'It got me thinking, though. My whole life, I've never had much fun. Not like most kids do, anyway. I never had fun growing up with my Muggle relations … and then I came to Hogwarts, where I had friends for the first time, and lots of laughs of course, but there was always Voldemort coming after me.

'Playing Quidditch for Gryffindor was probably the happiest I've ever been. And when I read those articles in the _Prophet_ yesterday, I suddenly knew I what I wanted.'

Kingsley sighed heavily. 'I'm sorry to hear that, Harry. I had no idea you were so unhappy in the training programme.'

'I wasn't exactly unhappy. It's just the training has been the same combination of enjoyment and crap that's characterised my entire wizarding life. I'd forgot, or maybe I never knew in the first place, that there's no rule saying my life has to be–' Harry hesitated. 'To be all vegetables and no pudding.'

Kingsley was quiet for a long moment, but then he nodded. 'I understand, Harry. And I apologise. When we offered you a job as an Auror, we didn't look at it from your perspective. But you're right. You never had a proper childhood, not since your parents died. And if anyone deserves a bit of fun, it's you.'

Harry briefly closed his eyes, relieved that Kingsley understood. 'Thank you for seeing it that way. I really never intended to abandon the Ministry like this.'

'Harry, you've already done more for the Ministry than most wizards do in a lifetime.'

Looking down, Harry nodded his thanks.

Kingsley continued. 'So is this your last day then? Not much point in hanging about. Have you spoken to the Cannons team manager yet?'

'No, I wanted to talk to you first. I suppose I'll owl him straight away.'

'Right.' Kingsley looked at him a moment and said, 'You're sure about the Cannons? I can't convince you to play for, say, the Appleby Arrows?'

Harry chuckled. 'No, it has to be the Cannons, else Ron will never forgive me.'

'Understood,' smiled Kingsley. 'So, how would you like to handle this? Shall we issue a joint statement, or do you want me to make the announcement?'

'I'd love for you to do it, honestly. You're better at that sort of thing than I am.'

'You'd best improve quickly—you're going to be a public figure. Officially, that is.'

'Yes, I know. I guess it's not all pudding.'

'It never is.' Kingsley stood up and extended his hand. 'Thanks again, Harry, and remember, you're always welcome back, should you change your mind.'

'Thanks, I appreciate that,' he said, shaking hands with Kingsley. 'Hermione will be glad to hear I have a fallback—she was worried about my lack of N.E.W.T.s.'

Kingsley actually guffawed. 'Classic. That Hermione is a real treasure, make no mistake.'

'I know,' said Harry. 'She'll be good at puncturing my ego if the team starts winning.'

'Not much risk of that,' replied Kingsley. 'Let me know if you need to borrow some curse-breakers.'

Harry laughed, and they said goodbye. He hadn't the heart to tell Agnes.

-––—––-

The reply from Darius Sprott, Cannons team manager, arrived almost impossibly quickly:

_Harry,_

_I've cleared my schedule. Please Floo to 'Cannons Head Office' whenever you're ready._

_Darius_

Harry grinned when he read the brief note. No doubt about it—he had the job.

_There's no time like the present,_ he thought, and he grabbed a pinch of Floo powder. 'Cannons Head Office,' he intoned clearly, his heart swelling with excitement.

He soon found himself in a spacious office, where he was immediately drawn to a large picture window overlooking a Quidditch pitch. The office was level with the ring-shaped goals, affording the occupants a prime view.

'Harry! Welcome!'

A sandy-haired, jovial-looking man of about fifty greeted him, hand outstretched. "So glad you could make it! I'm Darius … pleasure to meet you.'

'Thank you, likewise. I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice, and under such unusual circumstances.'

'Nonsense, it's an honour. Please, sit down. Care for a cup of tea? My assistant can fetch you one.'

'No, thank you,' replied Harry, feeling comfortable already.

Darius smiled and sat down, shaking his head in amazement. 'What an extraordinary turn of events, all because the _Prophet_ took a bit of hearsay and put it on the front page! Though I can't say I'm surprised they were talking rubbish, the lying bastards.'

Harry laughed. 'No argument there.'

'So, let's get down to business … you say you really want to join the team?'

'I do, sir.'

'No need to call me sir—just Darius. And you still want to play Seeker?'

'I've never played any other position. I suppose I'm better at catching than throwing.'

'Well, catching's what's needed! When did you last play?'

'Er, not since my sixth year at Hogwarts.'

'Why not your seventh year? Scratch that, silly question. Done much flying since then?'

'Only for pleasure, and not as often as I'd like. Until this morning I was in training to become an Auror, and they kept us pretty busy. I play the occasional scratch game with mates, but other than that I've been largely earthbound.'

'That'll change soon enough!' he said brightly. 'What's your broomstick?'

'I learnt on a Nimbus 2000, and I had a Firebolt after that, but they were both destroyed, unfortunately. After the war I was given a Firebolt Ultra by the manufacturer, when word got out my vault was frozen, but I confess I'm not very fond of it.'

'Yes, I've heard complaints from others as well. A bit twitchy, eh?'

'Exactly. I think they sacrificed fluidity for acceleration,' replied Harry.

Darius thought for a moment before his mouth curved into a sly grin. 'Have you tried the new Silver Arrow Seeker Edition?'

Harry's eyes widened. 'Is it out already? I thought they weren't releasing it until August.'

Still grinning, Darius said, 'They're not releasing it to the public until August, but professional teams get first crack at it. I've had one hidden in the storeroom the past couple of weeks, still in the box. Didn't want it to get broken …'

Harry grimaced slightly—he felt a bit guilty about replacing the team's current Seeker, even if he was incompetent.

Darius continued, 'I'm inclined to offer you the job right now, but I suppose I ought to watch you fly first. Want to try her out?'

'I'd love to! I've been looking forward to the Silver Arrow since I first read about it months ago. I feel a little bad, to be honest—I don't want to insult the Firebolt people after they've been so generous.'

'Never mind that, they made it all back in publicity. Speaking of which …' Darius's tone turned serious for the first time. 'There's no point pretending you're not famous. You always have been, sad to say.'

Harry nodded and said nothing.

'There'll be a lot of publicity if you join the team. Are you all right with that? You've never seemed to like the spotlight much.'

'I've given that some thought, actually. You're right that I've never liked being famous. First it was for something I didn't even do—it was my mum who defeated Voldemort the first time, not me. And then at Hogwarts I was surrounded by kids who'd grown up with fairy tales about the Boy Who Lived … it was overwhelming and more than a little uncomfortable.

'And then Voldemort came back and the Ministry turned against me, telling everyone I was delusional …' Harry trailed off. It was still hard for him to talk about his fifth year.

A little embarrassed, he looked at Darius. The older man was hanging on his every word, but his expression was kind. Harry exhaled and continued.

'And then after the war,' he said, skipping ahead. 'It was easier because my best mates, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, got a lot of attention as well. It wasn't just me anymore. And they deserved it—I was glad to see them getting credit. Especially Ron, who'd been overshadowed most of his life.'

Harry smiled. 'By the way, this is all Ron's fault. He introduced me to the Cannons the first day I met him, when he hung Cannons paraphernalia all over our dormitory. I'd never seen a moving poster before.'

Darius laughed and said, 'I suppose I know who to thank then!'

'Yes, absolutely. But back to my point … Quidditch was the only thing I got attention for that I felt I deserved. That was _me_ up there flying, _me_ catching the Snitch—not someone's idea of me. So if that's what I'm famous for now, at least in part, then I suppose I'm all right with it.'

Darius nodded appreciatively. 'Thanks for telling me all that, Harry. I admit, I had my own ideas about you as well.'

'I'll give you credit, though,' said Harry. 'You're one of the few wizards I've met who didn't take a peek at my scar.'

'Am I?' exclaimed Darius, whose eyes belatedly flicked up to Harry's forehead. 'I suppose I was busy trying to figure out how tall you are. Stand up, if you please.'

Harry stood, and Darius frowned, 'What are you, about five foot nine?'

'No,' sighed Harry. 'I'm five foot seven.' He flattened his hair.

Darius's expression brightened. 'Oh, splendid! Five-nine's a bit tall for a Seeker, but five-seven is ideal.'

'Well, there's a silver lining,' said Harry dryly. 'Ron's about six foot four and is always twitting me about my height. But he'll change his tune if I catch the Snitch for the Cannons.'

'He certainly will!' beamed Darius. 'Now let's get you on that Silver Arrow and see what you've got!'

Within a few minutes they were standing on the Cannons training pitch, waiting for Darius's assistant to fetch the Silver Arrow from its hiding place. To Harry's surprise, the building was only a single storey, and Darius's window was charmed to display the view at goal height, fifty feet off the ground.

'Where are all the players?' asked Harry.

'At lunch—they usually pop over to the village pub around now.'

Darius's assistant, an energetic young witch named Lara, scurried onto the pitch carrying a long, slim package, which Darius instructed her to place on a nearby bench.

Admiring the shining box, Darius commented, 'Always loved a Silver Arrow—I'm pleased they've started production again.' He turned to Harry and cheerfully asked, 'Well, aren't you going to open it?'

Harry, who needed no further prompting, removed the lid. A _whoosh_ of rushing wind issued from the box as he opened it, which startled him before he realised it was only sound and not actual wind. He removed the silvery tissue paper to reveal a pale, sleek broomstick, smoothly polished to an iridescent finish.

'See that pale colour?' said Darius. 'That's English white holly, specially hardened using proprietary charms. You can always spot a Silver Arrow that way—no other broom is like it.'

It was warm to Harry's touch, reminding him of the first time he'd held his holly and phoenix feather wand. He felt an almost physical longing to start flying on it. 'May I?' he asked in a low voice.

'Merlin yes! Are you waiting for an owled invitation?' laughed Darius.

Harry mounted the broom and took off, soaring towards the nearer set of rings. _Now this is what I've been missing!_ he thought hungrily, as the broomstick responded to his subtlest intent. He raced across the pitch, testing the Silver Arrow's acceleration, and then weaved through the opposite goals to gauge its handling. He loved it.

Angling downwards, he simulated a sharp dive for the Snitch before levelling near the ground and landing smoothly near Darius and Lara. 'Blimey, now that's a broomstick!' he exclaimed breathlessly.

'The broomstick is one thing, but that flying–' sputtered Darius. 'For once the _Prophet_ didn't exaggerate! When can you start?'

Harry laughed, ecstatic as the reality set in—he was going to play professional Quidditch!

Practically giddy, he replied, 'I'm sure I should be sensible and talk salary right now but sweet Merlin, I want to fly again! Can you throw me some practice Snitches?'

At a nod from Darius, Lara rushed to the supply shed and retrieved a device resembling a tennis ball launcher, only the balls were golden and Snitch-sized. She touched a rune to activate it, and Harry kicked off the ground again, this time in hot pursuit.

The Launcher flung ball after ball into the air, at varying speeds and distances. Harry caught every last one of them, still amazed by the perfection of the Silver Arrow. No wonder Madam Hooch had rhapsodised about them—this broom was magnificent.

When the Launcher had emptied, he landed again near Darius, while Lara used her wand to gather the golden balls Harry had discarded on the pitch after catching them.

Darius grasped Harry by the shoulder, 'I hate to drag you indoors, but let's formalise things straight away. I don't want to wait any longer than necessary to see you in Cannons robes.'

They walked together back into the building and soon found themselves in Darius's office, where the older man pulled a parchment from atop his desk.

'I had this drawn this up yesterday afternoon—I couldn't help myself. It's the standard contract we offer a starting Seeker. I know the base salary isn't much, but you'll see here,' he said, indicating a section halfway down the parchment, 'that your pay includes a significant bonus every time you catch the Snitch, and you also get a percentage of any merchandise sold with your image or name on it, which in your case will probably be a bloody fortune.

'Are you allowed back in Gringotts yet? I can refer you to a wizard solicitor if necessary, but the goblins are your best option.'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'My ban ended on Saturday.'

'Splendid,' said Darius. 'I'll owl this over straight away.'

Harry was too overcome to speak, and for a moment they just stood there smiling.

Darius looked thoughtfully at Harry. 'Now about those spectacles … Eyewear is heavily regulated in league play, to stop players from using eyesight-enhancing charms. Seekers in particular.'

Harry frowned. 'I can't see without my glasses.'

'No, of course not,' replied Darius. 'I was wondering whether you might consider …' he hesitated. 'A vision-correcting ritual.'

'Is that possible?' asked Harry, surprised. He'd never heard of such a thing.

'Yes, absolutely. It's quite common, in fact.'

'Why didn't anyone suggest this to me at Hogwarts?' Harry felt a bit miffed to have been kept ignorant yet again.

'That's the thing, they wouldn't have done it at Hogwarts. The ritual is considered a bit … Dark.'

Harry paled. Had he misjudged Darius? The man had seemed so benign.

'No, nothing like that,' said Darius, mortified by Harry's reaction. 'Forgive me for alarming you … the ritual simply requires a few drops of your blood, which makes it subject to the Ministry's regulations regarding Dark magic. It's perfectly legal, but it requires special authorisation.'

Harry exhaled, not realising he'd been holding his breath. 'Oh, that sounds fine. I'll first consult my friend Hermione, but otherwise I've no objection. Would you be able to set that up?'

'Yes, of course. We work with a highly reputable Optimancer in Diagon Alley.'

'Not Knockturn Alley, then?' joked Harry.

Darius chuckled, clearly relieved that the tense moment had passed. 'No, nor in a graveyard under moonlight. Oh, blast! I just keep putting my foot in it!'

Harry couldn't help laughing. 'That may be the most impressive clanger I've ever heard. Well done!'

'I'd best let you go before I dig myself in further—bloody hell! Get out of here and don't let me speak ever again.' Darius was beet red by but looked pleased nonetheless.

'Right, I'll go. When should I come back and meet the other players?' Harry's smile faded. 'What about your other Seeker?'

'Spencer? He's no fool—he knew his days were numbered even before yesterday's _Prophet_. But not to worry … I've heard that Cleansweep wants him for their testing department. I've already sent them an owl on his behalf.'

Harry relaxed again. Was this how it felt when things lined up perfectly? He wondered whether Kreacher had slipped some _Felix Felicis_ into his midmorning tea.

Darius continued, 'The sooner you can get to Gringotts, the sooner we can have you back on the pitch, and on that Silver Arrow!'

'Fantastic—can't wait. I know where I'm heading after lunch,' said Harry brightly. They shook hands, and he stepped through the Floo back to Grimmauld Place.

There was no need to invite Ron and Hermione over that evening. Harry knew they would both turn up anyway—Ron to grill him about the Cannons and Hermione to check on whatever potion she was brewing in the basement.

He'd had a busy afternoon, first reviewing and signing his new contract, and then stopping at the post office to send owls to Andromeda Tonks and to the portrait painter recommended by Gringotts. He'd also slipped into the Ministry to clear out his locker, knowing that Ron and the other trainees would be engaged elsewhere. He felt bad about leaving without saying goodbye to his colleagues and instructors, but felt a thrill as he realised he could make it up to them with Cannons tickets.

Back at home, he didn't have to wait long for company. Ron arrived first, bursting from the fireplace and excitedly pressing Harry for details about his day.

'You already signed the contract? Fantastic! Can you get me tickets? When's your first match?'

'No idea, I haven't even met the rest of the team yet.'

'You won't play right off—there's a special charity tournament this weekend and the Cannons aren't playing. But that's perfect—gives you more time to practice before your debut,' said Ron.

Hermione was next to emerge from the fireplace and rushed directly to the laboratory. 'Hold on,' she called up, 'I need to check on my potion.'

She returned a few minutes later, looking relieved. 'I had a bit of a panic that I'd used juniper twigs rather than juniper needles, but I just checked and everything's fine.'

Ron and Harry were staring at her in shock. 'Er, what did you do to your hair?' asked Ron haltingly.

Hermione froze.

'I mean, it looks nice and all,' blundered Ron. 'Just different. More, er … sproingy.' He looked nervously at Harry, who knew what Ron had left unsaid. _She looks like Bellatrix Lestrange._

Blushing, Hermione confessed, 'It was a charm I found in the Grimoire.'

'Oh, that explains it,' said Harry without thinking.

'That explains what?' asked Hermione pointedly.

Harry threw a desperate glance at Ron, who raised his eyebrows in terror and rapidly shook his head.

'Er, you look kind of like–' Harry paused. _Might as well rip off the plaster. _'Bellatrix Lestrange.'

Hermione's eyes widened in alarm. Which unfortunately made her look even more like Bellatrix.

'It's not so bad,' attempted Ron. 'I mean, there's worse people you could look like. Well, not worse than Bellatrix Lestrange, but …'

Harry tried to rescue him. 'She was kind of pretty, you know. Really pretty, actually.'

'It's true,' babbled Ron. 'Harry once had a dream about her. In sixth year.'

'I told you that in confidence!' hissed Harry, wishing the earth would hurry up and swallow him whole.

Nobody spoke for at least a minute. Hermione looked down at the floor. Ron fidgeted with his wand.

'It's probably the same hair charm she used,' said Hermione dully. 'I wonder if her hair was naturally like mine.' She looked like she was about to cry.

Ron put his arm around her. 'Is it an all-purpose hair-taming charm? Do you reckon it would work on Harry?'

Hermione snorted, and tears started to flow as Ron pulled her into a hug. She cried a little longer, and then he led her to the sofa in the adjacent sitting room.

'It looks nice,' consoled Harry, sitting down across from them. 'It was just a bit of a shock. I doubt anyone will notice, or if they do they'll get over it. Andromeda looks like Bellatrix too, and no one minds.'

'You don't think I'm related to her, do you? Switched at birth or something? It would explain a lot.'

Ron shook his head. 'Not possible. The Sorting Hat would have said something, or Walburga would have done. Besides, you look just like your mum, only she has straight hair.'

Hermione relaxed as Ron held her close. Then, unexpectedly, she looked up at him with a mischievous grin.

'If only we'd known,' she observed wryly. 'We needn't have bothered with Polyjuice Potion. It could have saved us a whole lot of trouble.'

'We'd have missed out on riding that dragon, though,' countered Ron. Hermione smiled and snuggled closer to him.

Harry felt a little awkward, like he was intruding on their privacy. He moved to leave when Hermione suddenly spoke.

'Harry, I'm so sorry—I forgot to ask about your day. How did it go with Kingsley?'

'It went well, all things considered,' he replied. 'Afterwards I met with Darius—the Cannons team manager—and signed a contract. Which reminds me … do you know anything about vision-correcting rituals?'

'That's blood magic, right? I think they're regulated by the Ministry,' said Hermione.

'You knew about them? Why didn't you tell me I could get my vision fixed?'

'I'm sorry Harry, it never crossed my mind. I assumed Madam Pomfrey had said something to you. Are you considering having it done now?'

'Yes, Darius recommended it and knows a reputable Optimancer. Do you think it's safe?'

'I'm sure it's fine. Blood magic doesn't entirely deserve its bad reputation—it's all in the intent.'

Ron mock glared at Harry. 'See what you've done, Potter? Not one day after you give her that Grimoire, she turns up looking like Bellatrix Lestrange and praising blood magic. You'll have her speaking Parseltongue next.'

Hermione turned abruptly towards Harry and exclaimed, 'Parseltongue! Try using Parseltongue on the ring, to see if that takes care of Walburga!'

'Sorry, what?' asked Harry, not following.

'Speak in Parseltongue to the snake on your new ring! Maybe it has the power to remove the portrait,' Hermione said excitedly.

Sitting up sharply, Harry removed the concealment charm on the ring. He looked fixedly at the glittering snake and said, 'I'm Harry. What's your name?'

Ron shook his head. 'English.'

Harry concentrated and tried again. 'My name is Harry. To whom am I speaking?'

This time Hermione shook her head. 'Maybe you're trying too hard,' she suggested.

Harry took a deep breath and relaxed his gaze. 'Greetings, serpent.' He looked hopefully at Ron and Hermione, who both shook their heads again.

'No, that was still English,' said Hermione. Her brow furrowed. 'When was the last time you spoke Parseltongue?'

Harry frowned. 'I can't remember, to be honest. Not since the war ended, I suspect. I've not had much call for it.'

Hermione nodded. 'That would explain it. You must have lost your ability to speak Parseltongue when your Horcrux was destroyed. Er, Voldemort's Horcrux, that is.'

Harry was silent, stunned.

'That's fantastic!' exclaimed Ron. 'You're not a Parselmouth anymore!'

Looking at Harry uncertainly, Hermione asked, 'Are you all right?'

'What? I'm fine. Just surprised.'

'Are you sure? You look like you're upset.' asked Ron. 'I'll grant you, talking to snakes was kind of cool, in a weird way. And it came in right handy with the Chamber of Secrets. But, to be honest, it always gave me the creeps, and I'm glad you're shot of it. Looks like it was Voldemort's skill the whole time, not yours.'

'Indeed,' said Harry, appearing more composed. He looked at them. 'Are you hungry? We should see if Kreacher has dinner ready yet.'

With a loud _crack_, Kreacher Apparated before them. 'Dinner is ready. Would Master like to eat in the kitchen or in the dining room?'

'The dining room, if you please,' said Harry. Kreacher disappeared, and they went upstairs to the formal dining room.

Hermione and Ron each spoke about their day, occasionally directing questions towards Harry, but he gave them only perfunctory replies. He was still adjusting to the discovery he was no longer a Parselmouth.

_Why am I upset?_ he wondered. He still remembered his classmates' horrified reaction when his ability was discovered back in second year, and how Ron and Hermione had hurried him up to Gryffindor Tower. It had been unsettling at the time to learn that the skill may have come from Voldemort. But he realised now that he had been oddly proud of his rare ability to speak to snakes.

And yet, hadn't he always wanted to be like everyone else? The Dursleys had called him a freak—and with good reason, given his bouts of accidental magic. But even at Hogwarts he had been abnormal, a freak ...

Ron caught his attention. 'So what time does your training start tomorrow?'

Harry blinked, returning to the present. 'Nine o'clock.'

'You lucky bastard! That's a right lie-in compared to Auror training.'

'It is,' agreed Harry, smiling as he recalled the day's events. 'Perhaps I'll return to my night-owl ways.'

'Do it for the rest of us, mate!' said Ron emphatically.

Ron and Hermione departed soon after, leaving Harry to reflect with pleasure on his new circumstances. Tomorrow he would meet his teammates and suit up to fly with the Cannons. He wished he could somehow tell his younger self about the remarkable future that awaited him—literally a dream come true.

_It certainly beats speaking to snakes_, mused Harry.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, unable to contain his excitement, Harry Apparated to the Cannons training facility half an hour early. He told himself he would just wait outside and enjoy the fresh air, even if no one else had arrived yet.

He jogged partway round the pitch before reversing course and heading towards the building in search of conversation. This was unprecedented behaviour on his part, he realised, as he normally avoided meeting new people. Further evidence, he supposed, that he was entering uncharted territory.

He was pleased to find Lara there, standing alone at the kettle. 'Good morning, Lara,' he said brightly, causing her to startle and turn around.

'Good morning … Harry,' she said, as if unsure whether to use his given name. 'Is there something I can help you with?'

'No, no. I was just keen to have a look around before getting started. How are you this morning?'

'I'm well, thanks. And you?'

'To be honest, I'm a bundle of nerves,' he confessed. 'I've never done anything quite this mad before.'

His candour had the desired effect, and she smiled. 'That's not what I've heard,' she said cheekily. 'I seem to recall something last year about you and your mates breaking into Gringotts.'

'Good point—I stand corrected,' he laughed.

'But really,' she said, 'you've nothing to be nervous about. It's all of us who are nervous.'

'Sorry about that. There's really no need—I'm just happy to be here, and to get back up on a broomstick.'

'I can see why!' she exclaimed. 'That was some brilliant flying yesterday. Darius couldn't stop talking about it afterwards. He wanted me to hunt down a Pensieve so he could show Tuttle, but I pointed out she'd see it for herself soon enough.'

'Who's Tuttle?' asked Harry.

'Marjorie Tuttle, the head coach. You'll meet her presently. She's … formidable. Played Beater for the Wasps in the early eighties, with Ludo Bagman. They say she's the one who kept him in line.'

'I'm impressed,' said Harry. 'And slightly alarmed."

Lara lowered her voice and leaned towards him. 'Last night, Ryan—one of the Chasers—told me she gave everyone a stern lecture on how to interact with you.'

'Oh dear, what did she say?'

'The phrase that stands out was, "_He shits from his arse like the rest of us._"'

Harry burst out laughing. 'Brilliant! I like her already.'

'I'll show you to your locker,' said Lara. 'You'll find your new broomstick there. But don't bring it to practice straight away—Tuttle always starts the session with running and calisthenics.'

'Sounds familiar,' he said, recalling his Auror training routine.

She led him to the men's changing area and pointed out his locker, where he placed his clean clothes for later. He was pleased to find his new Silver Arrow awaiting him there.

Next she handed him a fresh set of black robes. 'Whenever you're flying you'll need to wear robes, to simulate match conditions.'

Seeing their colour—or lack thereof—Harry felt slightly disappointed. 'Why aren't they orange?' he asked.

'These are just training robes—they're charmed to change colour depending on which team you're assigned to during practice.'

She showed him the weight room next. 'You probably won't spend much time in here, if any, since Seekers don't require as much upper body strength as Chasers and Beaters do. But not to worry, the trainers will keep you busy enough, even without weights.'

When they returned to the main entrance area, they found Darius chatting with a solidly-built middle-aged woman.

'There you are!' exclaimed Darius. 'Bright and early—splendid.' He turned to the woman and said, 'See, I told you he wasn't a prima donna.'

'I never claimed he was,' she said tartly before facing Harry. 'I'm Marjorie Tuttle, the head coach. You can call me Tuttle.'

'Nice to meet you, Tuttle. I'm Harry Potter.'

'Excellent, thanks for clearing up that mystery. I was ready to call in security.'

Darius laughed. 'Harry, I probably should have warned you about her, but I wanted to wait until after you'd signed the contract.'

'Welcome to the Cannons, Potter,' said Tuttle, extending her hand, which Harry shook. _Merlin, she's strong!_

'I'm thrilled to be here,' he replied.

As he spoke, the door opened and a well-built young man entered. His eyebrows rose slightly when he noticed Harry, but otherwise he seemed unperturbed.

'And here's Bellamy,' said Darius cheerfully. 'I won't bother introducing you right now—you'll meet him along with the others presently.'

Bellamy gave Harry a friendly nod before heading towards the changing area, and Lara resumed her tasks.

Tuttle eyed Harry appraisingly. 'You look athletic enough, but make no mistake, I'll put you through your paces just as I would any other recruit. That's the problem with wizards—as soon as they're cleared to Apparate they become downright flabby.'

Harry tried not to look overconfident, but he wasn't at all worried—a year of Auror training had got him into peak condition. It hadn't started that way, however. Months of meagre forest rations during the war had left him bordering on feeble, and even though he'd gained weight under Fleur's and Kreacher's care, he was in poor shape when Auror training commenced. The staff Healer had required him to take nutrition potions for several months until he'd gained sufficient muscle mass.

After his year of training he could best be described as wiry, which he knew was hereditary more than anything. His father had been skinny, and Harry was, after all, related to Aunt Petunia. But he was strong for his size and had exceptional stamina, which probably had its origin in all those stairs he'd climbed back at Hogwarts.

Harry looked back at Tuttle and said, 'I'll do my best.' Her reply was a curt nod.

By then, a number of his teammates had passed through on their way to the lockers. It was nearly nine o'clock.

'Harry, did you make a decision about that procedure we discussed?' asked Darius.

'Yes—I'd like to go ahead with it.'

'Splendid!' replied Darius. 'I'll contact the fellow straight away, and I might try pulling a string or two at the Ministry to hurry things along. Ideally we'll have you sorted by the end of the week.'

Tuttle suddenly barked, 'Right, that's enough standing about. Cannons, outside, all of you!'

Harry snapped to attention and trotted outside towards the pitch. He was followed by the other players who were still in the building.

Everyone gathered near the benches where Harry had unboxed his new broomstick the day before, but nobody sat down. It was a larger group than he'd anticipated, but then he realised it would include reserve players as well as the starters. They waited silently for Tuttle to address them.

'As all of you know, unless you've been living under a Hippogriff, we have a new player starting today.' She glanced towards Harry, who tried to keep his expression neutral. 'I suspect most of you grew up hearing bedtime stories about him.' Several players unconsciously nodded.

'Right, I want you all to forget that load of bollocks,' she stated bluntly. Harry's eyes widened slightly, and he suppressed the urge to smile. He couldn't wait to tell Ron about this.

'The only thing I want you to take from Potter's well-publicised life story is that he's shown he can get the job done. And that's what we're trying to do here. To do what the fans are paying us to do: to win the bloody game. You're all capable of doing it. You've just got to be single-minded about it, like this poor bastard was,' she said, indicating Harry.

'And Potter, if you're here for a holiday, think again. This isn't just a chance for you to muck about on a broomstick and get your wand polished. You're here to work your arse off and catch the bleeding Snitch, full stop.'

Harry reddened slightly. He wasn't just here for a holiday, was he? He uncomfortably recalled his conversation with Kingsley about 'pudding.'

'Right then, give me ten laps around the pitch!' she ordered, and everyone started running.

Harry was grateful for the activity, which spared him from having to look anyone in the eye. It also gave him time to reflect.

_What's so wrong with wanting a holiday?_ He certainly intended to work hard—that was a given. And Ron would have his hide if he didn't take the game seriously.

But Tuttle was wrong—there was a vast gulf between giving your utmost to a team and sacrificing everything to fight Voldemort. It was the difference between Oliver Wood making them practise flying six days a week, versus pressing onward into the Chamber of Secrets and desperately thrusting Gryffindor's sword into a Basilisk's mouth. It was the difference between flying to catch a Snitch versus flying to rescue Malfoy and Goyle from Fiendfyre.

_I'm going to have a holiday if I bloody well want one_, thought Harry defiantly.

Deeper down, Harry's thoughts kept straying towards Tuttle's other remark—the one about his 'wand.' Apart from his brief flirtation with Cho Chang, he had only ever been with Ginny, and his heart still ached for her. He'd intended to marry her one day, but that future had been wiped from existence.

He knew that other girls at Hogwarts had fancied him, and he'd even been slipped a couple of Floo addresses by witches he'd encountered during the previous year. But he'd never considered them.

Now, however ... there was nothing to keep him from having fun. He grinned, recalling his recent conversation with George on the topic. _Isn't this what we fought the war for?_

He eventually completed his laps and stood to wait with the few others who had also finished. They each used their wand to conjure and fill a water bottle, and as Harry drank he relished the vibrant energy coursing through his body. He always felt wonderfully alive after a long run.

After the entire group had gathered, one of the trainers began leading them through a series of calisthenics. The exercises were more strenuous than his Auror training had been, but at least nobody was hexing him. Afterwards they were excused for a short break, and Harry was told to return with his broomstick and robes.

Some of the other players chatted as they walked to the lockers, and the one Darius had called Bellamy approached Harry. 'Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Ryan Bellamy. Welcome to the team.'

'Thanks, it's great to be here,' replied Harry. 'What position do you play?'

'I'm a starting Chaser, along with Darren and Renée,' he said, indicating two of the others.

'Brilliant,' said Harry. 'I'm really looking forward to meeting the team. So far I've only talked to Darius, Tuttle, and Lara.'

'Lara's terrific,' said Ryan absently as they arrived in the changing room and parted ways.

Everyone soon returned the pitch, wearing robes and carrying broomsticks. Many of the other players looked admiringly at Harry's new Silver Arrow, and he felt a flash of discomfort, remembering how at Hogwarts his Nimbus and Firebolt had attracted envious stares from all sides. But then he noticed that the other players all had high-end broomsticks—reserve players included—and his discomfort vanished.

The assistant trainers divided the players into small groups and started running airborne drills, most of which were familiar to Harry from his Gryffindor days. _Merlin, these people can fly!_ he thought. Harry had watched professional Quidditch players before, from the stands at least, but it was another thing entirely to be in the air alongside them.

Every one of his teammates was clearly a flying prodigy, just like Harry. It felt wonderful to move with them in synchronisation, as if their minds were somehow linked as well, and Harry felt buoyant in a way that surpassed mere flying. Was this what it was like for Fred and George when they'd played together as Beaters?

The time passed quickly, and even though they'd hardly spoken while flying their manoeuvres, Harry already felt a stronger bond with his teammates than he'd have believed possible with people he hadn't yet been introduced to.

Tuttle eventually blew a whistle—charmed for extra loudness—to draw them back to the benches. Some of the players made a game of descending extremely near to one another, pretending to battle over control of an invisible Quaffle. There was a lot of good-natured laughter as everyone landed.

'Good work, people,' said Tuttle, temporarily discarding her sarcasm. 'And that was decent flying, Potter. I'll have a closer look at you after lunch during the Seeker drills. Now, off to the showers, and see you all at half past one.'

Harry made his way towards Ryan, mostly because he was the only player whose name he knew for certain. 'May I join you for lunch?' he asked.

'Yes, of course. Normally the starters eat together in the village nearby and the reserves go elsewhere.'

Harry frowned, not approving of this apparent class system, until Ryan explained. 'It's because the reserves prefer wizarding restaurants, whereas we generally stick to Muggle settings, to keep a lower profile. Fewer interruptions that way.'

'Suits me fine,' said Harry, relieved. It was nice to meet people other than Ron and Hermione who understood his aversion to the public eye.

After everyone had showered and changed clothes, Harry and the other starters began walking towards Upper Codlington, the Muggle village just up the road. Harry was surprised by how near it was to the Cannons training facility, but Ryan explained that the team had a wards expert on retainer, who examined and reinforced the invisibility barriers and Muggle-repelling charms every week.

There seemed to be a tacit decision to postpone introductions until they reached the pub and ordered their lunch. The teammates sat around a circular table in a semi-private alcove and were greeted by an older Muggle waitress, who was clearly familiar with them.

'I see you've brought a new friend,' she said, indicating Harry. 'What's your name, love?'

'Harry,' he said, smiling. 'And yours?'

'I'm Candice,' she replied. 'Will you be joining us often, then?'

'I will,' said Harry, with a swell of pleasure. This was going to be his new life.

Nearly all the players ordered 'the usual,' and Candice obviously knew what they meant. When she finally came around to Harry, she asked, 'And Henry, what will you be having?'

One of the players coughed, her eyes bright with amusement, and the others were clearly smothering grins.

'I'll have the cottage pie and a glass of water, please,' he replied, noticing his teammates' reactions and anticipating what was to follow.

After Candice had gone, there was a shared burst of laughter. The witch who had coughed said, 'That was priceless. I can't wait to tell my nan—she's got commemorative fine china on the wall from when you received your Order of Merlin, First Class.'

Harry rolled his eyes and chuckled. Seized by a playful urge—and possibly channelling a Weasley twin—he looked around the table and said, 'Good afternoon, I'm Henry Punter, pleasure to meet you. And who are you lot?'

More laughter, and everyone introduced themselves. There were the three Chasers—Ryan, Darren, and Renée—and two burly young wizards, Gary and Suresh, who were the team Beaters. Harry was fleetingly reminded of Crabbe and Goyle, due to their size, but they were considerably less Neanderthal-looking. And the witch who had spoken earlier was called Janet and played Keeper.

Harry looked at them carefully a moment and asked, 'I'm sorry but ... why don't I know any of you from Hogwarts?'

The group burst out laughing yet again. 'Classic ...' murmured Suresh.

Harry frowned, but Ryan looked at him warmly. 'I'm glad you're sitting down, Harry, for I've some shocking news,' he said in a grave voice. '_There are wizarding schools in Great Britain other than Hogwarts._ I realise no one ever talks about them, but they do exist, and in fact they're what most people attend. Most witches and wizards, that is.'

'I made the same mistake when I arrived,' commented Gary. 'I was in Hufflepuff, five years ahead of you. We faced each other once, in your first year, but I'd be surprised if you remembered me.'

'Oh right. My second year the match against Hufflepuff was cancelled due to the Basilisk attacks,' recalled Harry.

Suresh smirked. 'Basilisk attacks—yes, quite so. Nothing says "Top wizarding school in Great Britain" like a few petrifications.'

Harry reddened but couldn't deny his point. Looking around the table, he enquired, 'So tell me more about these other schools. How many are there? I'm sorry I've never heard of them before now—I was raised by Muggles and kept in the dark about all things wizarding.'

This time Renée spoke, 'There are several dozen wizarding schools in Great Britain, and more in Ireland besides. Ryan and I both attended Widgington Academy, and Darren attended Blockhurst.' She paused, looking at Janet and Suresh. 'Sorry, can't remember where you two went.'

'I attended North Squiffing Secondary,' said Janet. "And Suresh, you went to Binglingham, right?'

'That's correct,' he said. 'Basilisk-free since 1761.'

Janet looked at Harry and said, 'No offence, but I'm curious ... how did you think wizarding Britain functioned with only one school. Did you really think the population was that small?'

Harry supposed he had. Embarrassed, he nodded.

Suresh persisted. 'You've been to the Ministry—how did you think a tiny population supported such a huge government?'

'Er, magic?' replied Harry tentatively, and the others laughed.

'Go easy on him,' admonished Ryan. 'I think he was a bit preoccupied these last few years. But I'm sure you'll remember from now on, right Harry?'

'I will, definitely,' he replied. 'But hang on a moment ... where were all these invisible wizards when we were fighting Voldemort? There were only a handful of us in the Order of the Phoenix.'

'That was Albus Dumbledore's group, right?' said Suresh. 'I reckon he was part of the problem—apparently he didn't have a very high opinion of the wizarding hoi polloi.'

'Yeah,' added Renée. 'My parents sent him an owl asking to join the resistance, but they never heard back.' Darren nodded in confirmation.

Harry could no longer conceal his irritation. _How many people had died because Dumbledore couldn't be arsed to reply to an owl?_

Janet, looking more serious than she had earlier, turned towards Harry. 'We may not have been in the Order of the Phoenix, but we found other ways of resisting. My mum organised patrols to keep watch over residential neighbourhoods, and my uncles led an effort to ward a bunch of Muggle schools and hospitals.'

'I'm a half-blood,' said Renée. "Most of us are, in fact,' she said, looking around the table. 'My father and aunt had to go into hiding because of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. Same with Gary. And Ryan ...'

All eyes turned towards the Chaser. 'My father's a Muggle, which unfortunately was common knowledge. Apparently some of the Death Eaters weren't Cannons fans,' he added ruefully. 'They attacked my grandparents.'

Ryan looked down a moment before continuing.

'We had to hide my relations on that side of the family. Not very easy either, since we couldn't risk violating the Statute on Secrecy by explaining things properly. We devised a cock-and-bull story about my dad working on a top-secret project—he's an engineer—and that he'd been targeted by a terrorist organisation.

'To make matters worse, the team had to keep playing matches all the while. Not Gary, of course, and Suresh wasn't with us back then. But the Ministry demanded that the Quidditch leagues continue, "_to maintain normalcy_,"' he said officiously, reminding Harry of Percy.

'What a joke,' spat Ryan. 'The fans were too terrified to show up. The only people in attendance were Death Eaters and their collaborators—they'd magically shrunk the seating area so it wouldn't look too empty. I once had to restrain Andrew, one of the Beaters, from knocking a Bludger into the stands. They'd killed his cousin.'

Everyone was quiet for a short while, until Suresh spoke up. 'I wasn't in England then—my parents insisted my sisters and I stay with family in India. Two of my uncles had died in the first Wizarding War, and they couldn't bear losing anyone else. I played for a team in Bangalore.'

Their food finally arrived, and everyone seemed grateful to have a break from the conversation. Harry felt awful. This was his fault—he shouldn't have asked them whether they'd helped during the war. The group ate in silence.

Harry was surprised when Ryan looked up suddenly and said, 'Thank you, Harry. I can't even say how much I appreciate what you and your mates did for all of us. Bloody hell, breaking into Gringotts,' he said, shaking his head in amazement. The other players nodded.

'Right, about that,' said Suresh curiously. 'Nobody ever explained why you had to break into Gringotts—and half destroy it, mind you. As I recall, the Ministry just said it was "necessary for the final war effort." What was going on there?'

Harry swallowed. Kingsley, as Acting Minister, had issued orders never to speak publicly about the Horcruxes, which were considered dangerous knowledge. Harry agreed wholeheartedly, and for personal reasons besides. If everyone knew about Voldemort's Horcruxes, someone would surely deduce the significance of his own scar.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'That's classified, and for good reason.'

His last words came out more sharply than he'd intended, causing everyone to freeze momentarily.

'Blimey,' exclaimed Janet. 'A bit intense, are we?'

Harry laughed. 'Sorry, Auror training habit. I'm trying to change my ways.' He was relieved to see the others had relaxed as well.

Darren said, 'I reckon Tuttle was off the mark when she said you'd better not slack off and take a holiday. It looks like you need a bloody holiday.'

'Thank you! She knocked me for a real loop there,' confessed Harry. 'Made me feel like I was some dilettante, just playing for my own amusement.'

'That's Tuttle for you,' Gary said. 'She's hard on all of us, though. You mustn't take it personally.'

'I thought she was brilliant,' said Renée. 'So, Harry, when are we getting your wand polished? Are you free tonight, or do we have to put it off till the weekend? And stop looking at me like that, you pervert—I'm gay.'

Harry was mortified but highly amused. This conversation was nothing like what he'd anticipated that morning.

'And you're too short for me,' chimed Janet, who was tall and long-limbed like most Keepers.

'And judging from that tasty redhead you've been photographed with, I don't think you swing Suresh's way,' added Renée. Harry reddened, thinking momentarily of Ginny.

'But it's team policy: no funny business between players, or staff for that matter. So if you're here to get a leg over, you'll have to look farther afield,' said Janet.

Darren smiled roguishly. 'You'll find that being a Cannon has its advantages. The team name alone is a conversation starter.'

'Merlin, I never thought of that,' admitted Harry.

'But seriously, are you actually looking for a partner? What about the above-mentioned redhead?' Renée asked.

Harry sighed. 'Out of the picture, I'm afraid.'

'And not your decision, I gather?'

'No, it wasn't.'

'I feel a project forming,' declared Janet. She glazed her eyes and ominously intoned, "_The Saviour of the Wizarding World got dumped and is overdue for a good shag ... His flying teammates must assist him ... The Chosen One needs to get some, and often ... The future of all humanity depends on it._"'

Harry burst into loud hysterics, to his teammates' amusement and mild alarm. Janet had unwittingly done a perfect impression of Professor Trelawney.

'Sorry,' he said after calming down. 'You've touched on a nerve, in a good way,' he explained.

'Well, that's the whole point, innit?' she replied, winking.

Their lunch break was reaching an end, and someone motioned to Candice for the bill. Fortunately Harry always carried Muggle currency, and he made a mental note to get more next time he was at Gringotts.

The group walked back towards the training facility. As Harry listened to their ongoing banter, he noted with amazement how close he already felt to his new teammates. It was very different to his experience in the Auror training programme. He'd got on well with the other participants, but with Ron for company he hadn't really made an effort to get to know them. By contrast, after a single lunch outing with the Cannons he already felt surrounded by mates.

Everyone went to the lockers to fetch their broomsticks and change back into robes, and soon they were all gathered again at the benches. The trainers divided them by position for targeted drills, and Tuttle shouted over to Harry.

'Stay right there, Potter. I'm taking charge of Seeker training today—I want to see what you've got,' she said, before heading over to the supply shed.

While waiting, Harry was joined by a player he hadn't yet met. The wizard, who was somewhat older than Harry, introduced himself.

'I'm Owen Barrowmaker, reserve Seeker. Nice to meet you, Potter.'

'Call me Harry, and nice to meet you too.' Harry felt a little awkward meeting the reserve Seeker, who had presumably been next in line for the job.

Wishing to clear the air, Harry said, 'I apologise if I've taken your spot as starter. All of this came about very quickly.'

Owen waved his hand as if to banish Harry's concerns. 'Don't give it a second thought. I was starter before Spencer, bless him, but I've had trouble with injuries and had to step down. Our Beaters weren't very good at keeping the Bludgers away, I'm afraid.'

Seeing Harry's sudden look of alarm, Owen added, 'No, no ... not to worry. Suresh and Gary are rather more proactive than their predecessors—you're in good hands.'

'That's a relief,' said Harry, not specifying whether he was referring to the improved Beaters or the news that Owen didn't want his job. _A bit of both_, he supposed.

Tuttle arrived and started setting up the Snitch launcher Lara had deployed the day before. She pulled a large blue crystal out of a pouch and slid it into a receptacle on the Launcher. Harry peered at the crystal and saw that it was covered with runes.

'Potter, I want to test both your flying and your Snitch-spotting ability. The Launcher will deploy dummy Snitches at random locations above the pitch, and it'll be your job to catch them,' said Tuttle. 'Barrowmaker, you can sit this part out.'

Harry nodded, very curious to see how the device worked. At Tuttle's cue, he lifted off and began circling, automatically softening his gaze and opening up his peripheral vision.

After a moment, a dummy Snitch appeared mid-air about twenty yards from Harry. He rushed over and grabbed it, and then let it drop to the ground. About ten seconds later another Snitch appeared, a good deal higher up than the first. Harry zoomed towards it and caught it.

It was maybe thirty seconds before he spotted the next one, but by the time he arrived it had vanished, causing Harry to realise there was a time limit on how long they stayed visible. He kept his eyes peeled for the next Snitch to appear.

This continued for about ten minutes, until Tuttle blew her whistle again. None of the other players reacted, which suggested to Harry that the whistle was charmed so only he could hear it, and he made a mental note to tell Hermione about it.

He flew to where Tuttle was standing, near the Launcher. He saw that there were about a dozen black-coloured dummy Snitches on the ground near her feet—presumably the ones he'd failed to catch.

'That was decent work, Potter,' she said. 'I'll be curious to see whether your percentage improves once you get your eyesight fixed.'

Next she pulled a Snitch from her pocket and shouted towards Owen. 'Enough lying about, Barrowmaker!'

Harry found this a bit unjust, considering she'd told Owen to sit down in the first place, but Owen didn't seem to mind. Apparently that was just Tuttle's style.

She held up the Snitch, which was struggling in her hand. 'I'd like to see you both chase after this one. It's charmed not to vanish nearly as often as a regulation Snitch, so we won't have to wait hours for it to turn up.'

Harry and Owen both took off and started circling, ignoring the other players who were performing their own drills. After a minute, Owen accelerated rapidly towards something he'd seen, and Harry, spying the Snitch, took off in the same direction.

They both had to dodge some of the other players, as the Snitch was fairly low to the ground, so it was a good test of their flying. Owen hesitated at the wrong moment, however, nearly colliding with a pair of Chasers—a mistake that allowed Harry to grab the Snitch.

Tuttle blew her whistle again, and both Owen and Harry flew towards her.

'We'll go a few more rounds, but so far it's as I suspected. Barrowmaker's the better spotter while Potter's the better flyer.' She looked at Owen and added, 'I might have you train him up a bit.'

She released the Snitch again and they repeated the exercise multiple times. In the end, Harry had caught the Snitch more often than Owen had, but he'd only once been first to spot it. Clearly he had a lot to learn from the more experienced player.

Tuttle pulled out her wand and tapped the whistle, and then blew it again. This time the sound was clearly audible to everyone, and all the players gathered near the benches.

'Take a ten-minute break,' she ordered, 'and then come back for a practice match. You can leave your broomstick here,' she added, for Harry's benefit.

Harry and Owen walked towards the building together. 'That was great flying,' said Owen. 'You'll be a real step up from Spencer.'

'Thanks,' replied Harry. 'But you've shown me I could really stand to improve my spotting skills. Could you help me with that?'

'Yes, definitely. I learnt a lot of good tricks from the flying instructor at Blockhurst.'

'That's one of the other schools, right?' said Harry. 'I'm mortified to admit that I only first heard of them today at lunch.'

Owen laughed. 'Hogwarts syndrome strikes again! I've sometimes wondered if the place is warded to make people forget any other schools exist.'

'That wouldn't surprise me in the least,' replied Harry, before heading towards the lockers.

After their break, the group clustered near the benches, and Tuttle said, 'Right then, time for a practice match. We'll play starters against reserves. Starters in orange.'

Two sides formed from the assembled group, and Renée taught Harry how to change the colour on his robes. Apparently the Cannons' uniquely blinding shade of orange required an incantation and special wand movement.

He took out his wand and followed her instructions, successfully turning his robes the desired hue. From the corner of his eye he noticed Janet nudging Darren and gesturing towards Harry's wand.

Janet asked, 'Is that the wand you used? To kill You-Know-Who?'

'No, but I used it once in a duel with him. It sort of backfired, allowing me to escape,' he said, surprised at his own response. He didn't normally encourage this type of conversation.

'Unbelievable,' she murmured as she pulled out her own wand to charm her robes. 'That was the one in the graveyard, right?'

He nodded.

'And you were what, fourteen?'

'Yeah.'

She shook her head and then grabbed her broomstick. 'Have fun up there,' she said. '_And catch the bleeding Snitch, full stop!_' she barked, before kicking off the ground and speeding towards the rings.

Harry kicked off as well, and the four balls were released soon after. He'd decided his best chance to win would be to track Owen rather than trying to locate the Snitch himself. He normally scorned that approach, but it was clear that Owen was the better spotter.

'I see what you're doing, Potter,' taunted Owen.

'I'm not proud, you know,' smirked Harry.

'Team player ... excellent. There's hope for you yet, Chosen One.'

Harry laughed, enjoying Owen's irreverence, which reminded him of the Weasley twins. 'I reckon it's the lame leading the blind,' he taunted in return.

They continued exchanging friendly jibes for a while, as the match unfolded below. It was hard to keep track without an announcer, but it appeared the starters had pulled several goals ahead of the reserves.

There was no need to dodge Bludgers, as neither pair of Beaters wanted to aim at their own Seeker. Harry enjoyed how peaceful it was to just fly without having to worry about getting clobbered.

At one point, Owen took off into a sharp dive. Harry reflexively followed him but perceived no Snitch ahead, and so he left off. Owen felt it when Harry turned away, prompting him to give up the feint and rejoin Harry above.

'Nice try, gramps,' said Harry.

'Thought I'd mix things up a bit,' replied Owen.

'Anything to pass the time, I suppose.'

They flew around a while longer before Owen shot sharply towards the left. Harry knew this was the real thing and accelerated after him before spotting the Snitch himself, about twenty yards away.

He'd never beat Owen in a straight run, but luckily for Harry the Snitch changed direction, heading towards a cluster of Chasers. Harry shifted into automatic, trusting the broomstick and his instincts to steer him around the other players.

Owen was less fortunate—he was forced to alter course and give up the chase, allowing Harry to easily capture the Snitch. Without an announcer, most of the other players didn't even notice until Tuttle blew her whistle.

Her voice amplified, she bellowed, 'Potter's caught the Snitch. Starters win, 240-40.'

Harry's teammates flew towards him, cheering and raising their arms in triumph. 'Nice work,' shouted Gary, and the others congratulated him as well, including some of the reserves, which heartened Harry. Owen gave him a thumbs up.

They all flew down to the benches, energy still high from the match. The players sat down together for the first time all day—Harry supposed this was the time for post-game notes.

'Well done, Potter,' shouted Tuttle. 'I was glad to see you didn't attempt to find the Snitch yourself—I'd have wanted you off the team if you'd tried that.'

She continued for a while, critiquing the different players. She seemed pleased overall with the starting Chasers but admonished them for not varying their manoeuvres enough. 'That's a perfect recipe for losing the Quaffle,' she scolded.

After Tuttle's lecture, one of the trainers led the players through a series of post-game stretches, which Harry appreciated after the long day of physical activity. He was fatigued, in spite of his Auror training, and in retrospect he realised that his old job had involved a lot of sedentary classroom time as well.

They were dismissed and everyone returned to the building, but Darius intercepted Harry before he could head towards the lockers.

'Terrific flying out there today,' he exclaimed happily. 'Just what I was hoping to see from you.'

'Thanks,' replied Harry, who appreciated the praise but was also ready for a shower.

'Anyway,' continued Darius, 'I've some good news—you're cleared for the vision ritual tomorrow morning at eight o'clock. It appears your name opens a lot of doors,' he added with a laugh.

Ignoring Darius's last comment, Harry asked, 'How long will it take? Will I make it to practice on time?'

'Not a chance. They'll want you to take it easy all day and then have a good night's sleep.' At Harry's obvious disappointment he added, 'But I commend your enthusiasm. Can't get enough of that Silver Arrow, eh?'

'And the other players,' replied Harry sincerely. 'Everyone I've met has been great so far.'

'Excellent. It's a good group we've got together. Now there's one more thing, Harry,' he said. 'With your leave, I'd like to invite some reporters on Friday just before lunch. We'll break early, which will give you time to answer questions while they take photographs. Are you all right with that?'

'Yes, go ahead,' he said, sounding more positive than he felt.

'Splendid, I'll set that right up. Anyway, off with you—I'm sure you're ready to call it a day.'

Harry took his leave and headed for the showers, which were nearly all engaged. He found an empty one, suspecting the room was charmed to provide new stalls as needed, and was soon rewarded with a welcome cascade of hot water.

Exhausted, he lost track of time in the shower, and when he emerged wearing a towel, only a few of his teammates still remained.

'There you are,' said Ryan. 'I'm glad I caught you.'

'Oh?' said Harry, as he walked over to his locker to get into some clean clothes.

'Yes, I just wanted to tell you how glad I am you're on the team. You've never flown with us before today, so you wouldn't have noticed it, but there was some real alchemy up there that we've not experienced before. I can't help feeling hopeful that things are finally going to change for the Cannons.'

Harry wasn't entirely sure how to respond. He appreciated the kind words but also felt a familiar—and unpleasant—sense of responsibility.

'That's kind of you to say, Ryan,' he started. 'But you're all terrific flyers, every one of you.'

Ryan interrupted before Harry could continue. 'I don't think you're catching my point. I know we fly well—that's why we're on the team. But there's more to a team than flying ability, and I think that's what the Cannons have been lacking.

'Today we had more ... unity of purpose, for want of a better description. During those drills in particular, it felt like more than just individual players up there. It felt like something bigger. And you weren't able to watch the rest of us during the match, but Darren and Renée and I were on a whole new level. Even Tuttle acknowledged it—she just threw in that dig about our manoeuvres for appearances' sake.

'That's all I wanted to say, really. It's just good to have you with us, and I know we'll have a lot of fun up there. And please, don't feel any more pressure than the usual outsized Seeker burden,' he added, smiling.

Janet walked in. 'Did someone say, "Outsized Seeker burden?"' she asked. 'That should definitely help with the project we were discussing earlier.'

Harry laughed, grateful for her interruption. 'Don't let Tuttle hear you, or she'll lock me in a monastery.'

'I'm sure you could have fun in a monastery if you try hard enough. Just requires a bit more ingenuity,' she replied.

Ryan chimed in. 'Janet, he attended a boarding school. I'm sure he learnt plenty about male ingenuity.'

'Excuse me, I was busy fighting a war!' protested Harry, who was having trouble believing he'd only met these people a few hours prior.

They were all laughing by then, and Harry began walking out of the locker room.

'Excellent,' said Janet, following him. 'Now I can tick _'Making homoerotic insinuations about the Boy Who Lived'_ off my to-do list for the day. See you tomorrow then?'

'No, I'm scheduled to have Dark rituals performed on my eyeballs. I expect they'll be red like Voldemort's by the time you see me again on Thursday.'

'Sounds good—I hear he was an excellent flyer.'

Harry laughed again and Disapparated, holding a strong intention to land on his favourite sofa at Grimmauld Place and stay there. _Merlin, what a day!_


	5. Chapter 5

Harry and Hermione had already walked the same block of Diagon Alley twice in search of the Optimancer, to no avail. They had only his address, and the numbers weren't marked.

'You'd expect an Optimancer to have better signage,' said Hermione disapprovingly. 'This seems a bit cruel, really.'

'At least he's not crassly commercial. I'm not sure how I'd feel about having a delicate ocular procedure done in a shop that looked like Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.'

On their third pass, Hermione finally spotted a faded sign labelled, _'Tertius Squint, Optimancy.'_

'Do you ever wonder,' she asked, 'whether wizards are unduly pressured to choose career paths that match their surnames?'

'You'd better hope not, Granger.'

She pretended not to hear him. Harry grasped the door handle and they entered, and a grey-haired witch greeted them from behind a desk.

'Mr Potter, and Miss Granger I presume? Do have a seat. Mr Squint will see you presently.'

Upon hearing their names, another patient in the waiting room turned towards them with bulging eyes. Harry felt a bit annoyed as the man continued to gawk at them, until he realised the bulging eyes may have been a medical condition requiring Optimancy. Harry hoped he wasn't a repeat customer.

He had casually mentioned to Hermione the night before that he was nervous about the procedure, and so naturally she insisted on accompanying him. He knew, however, that she was only using his nerves as an excuse, and that she was actually dying to observe a Ministry-sanctioned blood ritual.

A second door opened and a white-robed man walked out. 'Mr Potter, please come in.'

'May I bring my friend Hermione with me?'

'Yes, of course. Step this way,' he said, directing them into his office. 'I'm Tertius Squint. It's a pleasure to meet you both. Mr Potter, please have a seat on the examining table, and Miss Granger, you can make yourself comfortable right there.'

Harry and Hermione made the appropriate replies and sat where indicated. and Squint continued.

'I'm delighted that Darius persuaded you to come see me. I can't tell you how upsetting it's been to see you wearing these horrible spectacles all these years. I'm only relieved that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named never thought to Summon them from you during the heat of battle.'

Both Harry and Hermione blanched—it was a risk they'd never considered. _I suppose this confirms he's not a Dark wizard,_ thought Harry. _Otherwise he'd surely have passed the tip along to Voldemort._

'I'd never even heard of vision-correcting rituals until this week,' confessed Harry. 'But once Darius explained that there's nothing truly Dark about them, I was keen to have it done.'

'Excellent,' replied Squint. 'Let's get started then. And please keep your wand to hand, as we'll need it.' He explained, 'One of the regulations around blood magic is that the blood must be drawn by the ritual subject, and not the practitioner. I'll also have you conjure a small vessel and eyedropper to handle the blood, to ensure I'm not stealing any of it for nefarious purposes.'

He added soberly, 'I suspect there are people still out there who'd do anything to get their hands on a few drops of your blood, Mr Potter. Mustn't let that happen.'

'They wouldn't be the first,' muttered Harry.

Squint pulled a wheeled cart towards the edge of the examining table. Several items lay on top: a small bowl, an eyedropper, and a flask containing a silvery potion.

'All right then, please conjure an eyedropper and bowl similar to the ones you see here,' he said, indicating the items on the cart.

'Excellent,' said Squint, after Harry had conjured the two items. 'Next I'll have you clean your fingertip using a basic Disinfecting Charm. Perfect, just so. And finally, please use a mild Cutting Curse to produce roughly five drops of blood for the ritual.'

Harry complied. Squint then used his own eyedropper to add potion to the bowl containing Harry's blood.

Enthralled by the procedure, Hermione predictably had a question. 'What potion are you using?'

'It's the Lenticulus Potion. The final ingredient, of course, is the subject's blood.'

He used his wand to cast a Stirring Charm over the bowl, and the potion soon turned gleaming red.

_Like Voldemort's eyes_, thought Harry. His joke the previous afternoon suddenly seemed more ominous.

'Now please lie back and remove your glasses, Mr Potter. You won't be needing them anymore.'

Harry smiled and lay back on the provided pillow.

Squint took the eyedropper Harry had conjured and drew the red mixture into it. He then released seven tiny drops into each of Harry's eyes. 'You can close your eyes now,' he instructed.

Harry felt the movement of a wand over his closed eyes. _Hermione is probably disappointed he cast it wordlessly_, he thought.

'Perfect. Now please lie here with your eyes closed until I return in ten minutes. Miss Granger, you're welcome to keep him company while he waits. But please, don't perform any magic.'

After Squint had gone, Hermione said, 'That was fascinating! Yesterday I reviewed the Ministry regulations on performing blood magic, and he complied with them to the letter—and then some. There's no requirement that the subject sterilise their own finger.'

'Yes, he's obviously legitimate, which is a big relief,' said Harry. 'But sweet Merlin, that bit about Voldemort Summoning my glasses! I'm glad Squint was on our side.'

'Do you have any plans for your day off,' she asked.

'I've got the portrait artist coming over this afternoon, and then later I'm visiting Andromeda, to tell her I'm giving her the gold from the Black family vault.'

'That should come as a pleasant surprise!'

'I only hope she'll accept it,' he replied.

Squint returned a few minutes later. 'Hold still, Mr Potter. I need to do one last charm.' Squint performed more wand movements over his eyelids, and Harry saw a faint green light.

'Open your eyes,' he instructed. 'Careful not to rub them right away.'

Harry slowly opened his eyes and immediately blinked a few times. Sitting up, he looked expectantly towards Squint.

'I can see!' he exclaimed joyfully.

'I never get tired of hearing that,' admitted Squint.

Harry looked at Hermione, delighted. 'This is amazing! I can see you perfectly. I'm not sure I've ever seen anything this clearly before.'

'I'm so glad, Harry.' She turned towards Squint. 'What else does he need to do today? Is there any risk of somehow fouling the outcome?'

'No, but he'll be sensitive to light for the first twenty-four hours.' Looking at Harry, he said, 'Definitely no flying today.'

'That's fine,' replied Harry, still enraptured. 'I'm sure I'll want to spend all day just looking at things.'

He let his focus land again on Squint. 'Thank you so much. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. I only wish I'd done it sooner—I wouldn't have needed these,' he said, gesturing towards his glasses.

Squint looked at the spurned eyewear. 'I don't suppose ..." he said, hesitating. 'Forgive me for suggesting this, but if you wanted to raise money for a good cause, you might consider auctioning off your old glasses.'

Hermione frowned in concern. 'Would there be any risk of someone misusing them?'

'That's a fair question, but with the proper Cleaning Charms the glasses could be fully stripped of any residue, magical or otherwise. I can provide those charms if you wish.'

Harry grinned. 'That's a great idea—maybe we could do it in conjunction with the Cannons.'

Hermione couldn't conceal her surprise. 'Harry, do you really want people bidding over your eyeglasses? That's not exactly your style.'

'No, it's not. But if it's for a good cause, and if it's safe I don't see why not. I've no further use for them, surely.'

'It's your decision, of course,' said Squint. 'And now one final request—please use your wand to Vanish the remaining blood mixture ... Just so, thank you. And my secretary outside will have you sign a parchment stating that I've fully complied with the listed regulations.'

'With pleasure,' said Harry. 'And thanks again.'

'It was an honour,' said Squint with a respectful nod.

They left, and Harry signed the provided parchment. Exiting the office, he craned his neck to look about in all directions.

'Unbelievable!' he exclaimed. 'It's like seeing Diagon Alley again for the first time. I hardly know where to look!'

Hermione beamed at him. 'I wish I could stay and watch you marvel at everything, but I must be off. Thanks for letting me accompany you.' And just before Disapparating, she barked, 'Be sure to head right home!'

In spite of Hermione's orders, Harry was sorely tempted to stay and explore Diagon Alley, but the sun was getting higher and he knew it would soon be too bright.

_Fortunately I have somewhere dark to spend the day_, he thought wryly and Apparated to Grimmauld Place.

He enjoyed a quiet morning at home. Kreacher was disappointed that Master wouldn't stay in bed and allow himself to be waited on, but Harry wasn't tired, and he was eager to explore the delightfully gloomy townhouse.

After a few hours, his eyes were a bit less sensitive. He had hoped as much when he'd scheduled the visit from the portrait painter for that afternoon. At the appointed hour, Harry went into the formal reception hall—only Harry's close friends Flooed into the kitchen—and stood expectantly before the fireplace. A burst of green flames heralded the painter's arrival, causing Harry to briefly cover his eyes, and she stepped onto the hearth.

'Thank you for coming,' said Harry. 'I'm glad you were able to visit on my unexpected day off.'

'The pleasure is mine, Mr Potter.' She briefly lowered her head and said, 'Louisa Gesso, at your service.'

_Again with the wizarding career determinism_, thought Harry. _I should probably learn how to make pots._

'Please, call me Harry. I can tolerate being called "Mr Potter" in public, but not in my own house.'

'Then call me Louisa,' she replied. She walked a few steps and started to look around. 'So where is the portrait you wrote to me about?'

'It's in the front entrance hall, this way.'

They walked together, but Harry stopped before they'd reached their destination. He turned to Louisa, his expression serious.

'I should ask you ... are you sensitive about your blood status? She has an uncanny ability to identify that sort of thing, and she's not at all shy about using the M-word,' he said apologetically. 'Most frequently to describe my mother.'

'Believe me, Harry, I've seen it all. Last year I dealt with a portrait of a deceased wizard with certain ... proclivities. He'd posed as some kind of satyr and used a Permanent Sticking Charm to exhibit himself before everyone who entered the dining room. It was unappetising, to say the least.'

'Walburga keeps her clothes on, thank Merlin. But you've given me new nightmare fodder,' replied Harry, shuddering.

They walked into the entrance hall. Walburga was sleeping, but a sharp tap from Louisa's wand woke her.

'_Behold the filthy, misbegotten half-blood and—what's this?—a blood traitor! Remove your vile selves at once from the sacred seat of my noble fathers!'_

Louisa tapped her wand on the portrait again and silenced Walburga.

'How did you do that?' asked Harry, impressed. 'The only way we can shut her up is to close the curtain, but she always manages to open it again.'

'Trick of the trade,' replied Louisa. 'I'll teach you how if we can't manage her some other way.' She began performing a series of diagnostic charms on the sleeping portrait.

At length, Louisa turned to Harry. 'I've got good news and bad news.'

Harry nodded, steeling himself for whatever she was about to say.

The painter continued, 'The good news is she's not sentient. This is an important distinction, because there are ethical guidelines concerning portraits, and I wouldn't be allowed to materially tamper with her if she were self-aware.'

'Right,' said Harry. 'And the bad news?'

'The bad news is that she's never going to leave that frame willingly.'

Harry's shoulders slumped. He was stuck with Walburga for good.

Louisa asked, 'Have you considered moving that section of wall entirely?'

'Yes,' replied Harry, 'but it's a load-bearing wall. And there are already too many magical enhancements on the house to risk altering it.'

'Right. Have you tried reversing the plaster, so the portrait is trapped inside the wall instead of on the surface?'

'We did, but it didn't work. It seems she prepared the wall somehow before she died,' said Harry glumly. He'd been through all this with Bill.

'Hmm, you've clearly done your homework. Give me a moment to think on it.'

Louisa wore a thoughtful expression for some time, and at one point she consulted a large book she'd pulled from her robes. Her eyebrows shot up momentarily, and Harry was hopeful she'd found something, but Louisa's expression was serious when she turned towards him.

'I'll tell you upfront, this is a long shot, so don't get your hopes up ... It seems the only way to remove her from this particular canvas would be to frighten her from it and then capture her into a new canvas.'

'That sounds great!'

'Not so fast. It's not easy to frighten someone out of their own painting. We'd need a portrait of someone who would be singularly motivated to make it happen.'

Harry thought a moment. 'Does it need to be an existing portrait, or could it be a new one?'

'If an existing portrait could work, it already would have done because it was singularly motivated. No, we'd need a new portrait. And then there's another problem. The ethical guidelines are quite clear about just how sentient this portrait could be. Painting a human for this purpose would be absolutely forbidden.'

Harry sighed. 'So where does that leave us?'

Louisa looked thoughtful again before replying. 'In order for it to work, we'd need a new portrait of some kind of intimidating animal. And it would have to be an animal with a particular motivation to unseat this woman from her own frame.'

A smile curved across Harry's face. 'Some kind of intimidating animal? Like a large dog?' He was almost bursting with excitement. 'A Grim perhaps?'

'That would be ideal, but you've forgot the bit where the animal has to be single-mindedly determined to frighten her.'

'No, I haven't,' replied Harry, and he gleefully told her about Padfoot.

Louisa's eyes gleamed with delight. 'An Animagus would be perfect! Mind you, we'd have to dumb him down a bit. He wouldn't be a wizard appearing as a dog—he'd be a dog. But from what you've described, even in his most animal state he'd be highly motivated to attack and banish her.'

'Definitely.'

'Right,' said Louisa. 'What I'll need then are memories of your godfather in his Animagus form.' She pulled a flask from her robes and offered it to him. 'As many as you can provide. As I've said, I can't make him sentient, but the more memories you can provide, the more personality I can give him.'

They went down to the sitting room, and Louisa occupied herself with paperwork while Harry gathered memories of Padfoot. He took his time at it, and the liquid memories were bright and dense when he handed them to her.

Louisa looked at the flask's glowing contents. 'Impressive! I can see you spent loads of time with his Animagus form. This should give me plenty to work with.'

'Thanks,' replied Harry, who was extra cheerful after spending the previous half hour reminiscing about Padfoot. 'When can you have it ready?'

'I should be able to complete it within a fortnight. Will you also want me to dispose of the canvas we trap her in?'

Remembering the promise he'd made to George, Harry said, 'Would it be all right if I kept it? I know someone who has ideas about how to use her.'

'Be my guest. She's not sentient, so there aren't any ethical concerns. I would have just _Incendioed_ her.'

'A fitting end,' acknowledged Harry. 'We'll consider that our Plan B.'

A few hours after Louisa left, Harry was able to look out the front windows with only medium discomfort, but he still wasn't fit to leave the house. Closing his eyes, he Floo-called Andromeda and asked whether she could come to Grimmauld Place instead.

'I'd be glad to. But is it all right if I bring Teddy?'

'Of course,' said Harry. 'That is, as long as he doesn't start glowing.'

'No, fortunately that's not in his bag of tricks yet.'

She stepped through the fireplace several minutes later, carrying a sleeping Teddy Lupin in both arms, his head resting on her shoulder. His hair was short, with grey and white stripes, and at his bottom he had a long, fluffy tail.

'He's going through a cat phase at present,' Andromeda explained. 'He doesn't transform entirely, thank Merlin, but it's unsettling nevertheless. Dora went through a similar phase, only she also had the ears.'

They proceeded to the sitting room, where Andromeda lay the sleeping infant across a blanket on the floor. Harry wasn't certain, but he thought he heard him purring.

'Sorry again about the change of venue, and thanks. I'm sure it can't be easy with Teddy to look after.'

'No, it isn't. But he's lovely—most of the time, anyway—and I'm glad for the company. There's seldom a dull moment with the offspring of Dora and one of your Marauders.'

They chatted for a bit, until Harry came around to his point. 'I've a specific reason for wanting to talk to you ... I was finally allowed back into Gringotts last Saturday, and the banker presented me with the Black family ring. It accepted me,' he said simply.

Andromeda smiled warmly. 'I'm glad to hear it, Harry. I'd hoped it would.'

'Did you know about this, then?'

'No, but I suspected it.'

He continued. 'The banker provided me with documents pertaining to the Black family vault, which I went down to visit.'

Andromeda's expression revealed nothing. She may have married a Muggle-born, but she was nevertheless raised a Black.

'It contains a sizeable fortune,' he said, handing her the parchment he'd been provided. 'I'd like for you and Teddy to have it.'

Her neutral expression vanished and was replaced by one of astonishment.

'No, Harry. That's a very generous offer, but Sirius left that for you. I can't accept it.'

'Nonsense,' he replied. 'I've already got gold in the Potter vault and, speaking frankly, my prospects are good. I don't need this gold and I don't want it.'

Andromeda tried again to protest, but Harry cut her off.

'Sirius told me specifically—in writing—that I was to take care of Remus. Surely that would extend to his orphaned son.'

She sighed. 'Would you consent to splitting it? I can't accept the entire amount, even for Teddy's sake, but perhaps one quarter?'

'Half,' insisted Harry. 'And I won't go lower.'

Andromeda closed her eyes and said, 'All right. For Teddy.'

Harry sighed with relief. 'Thank you, I know Sirius would approve. But I still don't feel comfortable taking what belongs to a family that isn't mine—it's bad enough I'm keeping the house. After all, Teddy is more of a Black than I'll ever be. Sirius was just my godfather, not a blood relation.'

'That's not true,' replied Andromeda.

Harry looked at her blankly, not understanding. He was a Potter, not a Black.

Reading his expression, Andromeda explained. 'Harry, you're forgetting how much intermarriage there is among old wizarding families. Didn't you know your great-grandmother was a Black?'

He shook his head.

Glancing for a moment at Teddy, who was still sound asleep, she rose from her armchair. 'Let's go to the drawing room. I'll show you.'

They went upstairs and stood before the vast tapestry that depicted the Black family tree. It was blotted with scorch marks, where Sirius's mother had obliterated the names of everyone who'd offended her.

Andromeda scanned the tapestry, mumbling. 'Dorea Black ... let's see. She was Pollux's sister, making her my second cousin thrice removed, so she should be right here ... no, what's this?'

She frowned, looking at a scorch mark. 'Yes, I can guess what happened. Aunt Walburga must have cursed your great-grandmother off the tapestry when Sirius ran away and moved in with your grandparents.' She indicated an adjacent mark. 'This must have been your great-grandfather's name.'

Harry looked at the scorched area almost tenderly. He had so little to connect him with his own family.

'If you think about it,' she continued, 'you're no less a Black than you are a Potter. If your great-grandparents' genders were reversed, your surname would be Black.'

It was a surprising point but he couldn't refute it. The logic was no different from his claim to the Peverell line, which was undeniable.

'So you and I are related then?' he asked.

'Yes, distantly.'

'I suppose that means I'm related to Draco Malfoy as well,' he said, mostly to himself. He was amused that Malfoy was related by marriage to the Dursleys.

'Yes, you are. Incidentally, Draco would probably have been named Head of House if Sirius hadn't designated you.'

_Now there's a sobering thought,_ mused Harry. He'd never realised he was so closely linked to his onetime nemesis.

'Speaking of House Black,' she said, 'are you wearing the ring? Is it as ghastly as I remember? I tried describing it to Ted once but he insisted I was exaggerating.'

Harry revealed it to Andromeda, who unexpectedly burst out laughing.

'Yes, that's the one,' she said. 'And they thought I had bad taste for marrying a Muggle-born.'

'Can you tell me more about this Lord Black business?' asked Harry. 'All I know so far is that it gives me access to the vault, and it's also smoothed off one of Kreacher's remaining rough edges.'

'Harry, you're conflating two separate things: Head of House and the lordship. Being Head of House is important, because it gives you a seat on the Wizengamot and control over the vault. But the lordship...'

She smiled mischievously, and Harry saw a flash of the headstrong girl who'd defied her family. 'I'll tell you what a wizarding lordship means: not a blooming thing. They'll try to convince you otherwise, but the truth is that British wizarding titles were all granted in 1707, when the Ministry of Magic was established. They needed money to construct the Ministry around the ancient Wizengamot chamber, so they canvassed the old families and essentially gave out lordships to the highest bidders.'

'Are you serious? I assumed there was more to it than that.'

'No, there really isn't. Lords have the right to sit in a special section of the Wizengamot, and a few other arcane privileges, but otherwise lordships are a pile of nonsense. They're not even that old—1707 was last week as far as wizards are concerned.'

'That's a relief,' said Harry. 'And now I'm properly forearmed if anyone finds out.'

'If anyone finds out?' she said sceptically. 'They'll find out when you turn up at the Wizengamot.'

'Ugh, do I have to? The Light faction has plenty of votes right now.'

'No, you can wait. But you can't keep it secret forever.'

Andromeda turned again to examine the family tree. Running her fingers along a particularly tangled set of branches, she said, 'Don't marry a pure-blood if you can help it, Harry. Hybrid vigour's the thing—I married Ted and gave birth to the first Metamorphmagus we'd had in generations. And then Dora married a werewolf and got another one on the first try.'

Harry was silent, thinking again of Ginny and their erased future together.

Andromeda gestured towards one of the scorched areas. 'Have you tried repairing it, now that you have the ring?'

Harry shook his head. 'It hadn't crossed my mind—I almost never come in here. What do you suggest, _Reparo_?'

'You could try that, although it's more likely you'll need a charm that's specifically for textiles, or one for magical tapestries in particular.'

As predicted, Harry's _Reparo_ had no effect. 'I suppose you're right. I'll ask Hermione to look into it—she's always up for a bit of research,' he said. 'Which reminds me ... I hope it's all right, but I let her take a look through the family Grimoire. It was in the vault at Gringotts.'

'And it didn't try to hurt her?'

'No, I was able to grant her access using the ring. She spent half of Sunday looking through it and has already tried a few charms and a potion.'

Andromeda frowned. 'None of the recipes, I hope! One of my earliest memories is helping Great-Aunt Belvina make a Yule pudding, and she sent me to the larder to me fetch a jar of dried troll calluses.'

They were interrupted by a series of infantile squawks from downstairs. 'That'll be Teddy,' she said, and they returned to the sitting room where he'd been sleeping.

Nothing could have prepared Harry for what they found. Teddy—or what he assumed was Teddy—was sitting on the floor clapping his hands and bouncing while Kreacher entertained him by Apparating about the room. The infant had exchanged his earlier feline markings for a bulbous, snout-like nose and long, bat-like ears, generously tufted with white hair.

'Sweet Circe's ghost!' cried Andromeda. 'Is that you, Teddy?'

Harry couldn't help laughing. 'I see what you meant when you said there's never a dull moment.'

'There certainly isn't,' she replied, taking a seat on the sofa.

They knew better than to interrupt Teddy while he was having fun, so Harry and Andromeda made arrangements to meet at Gringotts on Saturday to sort out her access to the Black family vault.

'Thank you, Harry. It really is awfully generous of you to provide for Teddy like this.'

'It's the least I can do, really—particularly since I'm keeping the house. But I feel better knowing I have a Black family connection,' he admitted. 'I could do without the inbreeding, though.'

'You've done all right,' she said, looking at him. 'Hybrid vigour, after all.'

They chatted for a few more minutes until Teddy's shrieking laughs turned into shrieks of horror, and he started crying. Andromeda scooped him up and said, 'There's no point staying when he gets like this. I'd best bring him home—he'll be easier to quiet there.'

They said their goodbyes as best they could with a flailing infant between them, and Andromeda disappeared through the fireplace. Teddy's wails were instantly replaced by a blessed silence.

Before turning away, Harry caught his reflection in the gilt-framed mirror above the mantelpiece, and for the first time he really saw what he looked like without glasses.

He'd never troubled much over his appearance. His hair was a lost cause, and his enchanted razor meant he didn't need to examine himself closely while shaving. Ginny hadn't been particular about his appearance either, but whenever they were seated or lying down together she'd always removed his glasses first. '_I love this version of you_,' she'd say. '_Everyone else gets Eyeglasses Harry, but this one is all mine._'

Looking at his reflection above the fireplace, he could see her point. His eyes looked bigger without lenses to distort them, and his lashes were more noticeable as well.

_His mother's eyes._ Snape's dying wish had been to look at them one last time. Harry still hadn't come to terms with what he'd learnt that terrible day—that Snape had loved his mother, even beyond her death.

His mind strayed back to Ginny. How would she react when she saw photographs of 'her Harry' in the newspapers? _Not hers any longer_, he thought bitterly. He wondered when the hurt would go away.

Returning to the sitting room, he again considered his new teammates, and specifically Janet's 'prophecy.' The prophecy had appeared in his thoughts rather frequently, truth be told. _It's certainly a vast improvement from the last one_, he mused, and a delicious sensation rose through him.

He resolved to make it an early night. The sooner he turned in, the sooner he'd be back at training with his teammates. He could hardly wait.


	6. Chapter 6

When Harry awoke the next morning, he reflexively reached for his glasses on the nightstand. His hand fumbled about for a few moments, succeeding only in knocking his wand to the floor. He turned to have a better look, and when he opened his eyes it all came back to him—he could see without glasses!

It seemed like an inconceivable luxury to open his eyes and see clearly without an intermediary step. He couldn't believe he'd missed out on this for so long. As far as he was concerned, joining the Cannons was already the best decision he'd ever made.

When he reached down to retrieve his wand, however, he reconsidered that opinion. Pain shot through his muscles, and he realised he'd overdone it on Tuesday. Severely.

He should have known this was coming, as he'd been a little stiff the day before. But he hadn't felt this wretched since those first few weeks of Auror training, when he'd awakened every day into some new and exciting agony. The Healer who supplied his nutrition potions had taken pity and given him draughts for muscle pain as well. He wondered if there were any left in the bathroom cabinet, and whether or not they'd gone off.

Lying back down, Harry had never been more tempted to allow Kreacher to serve him breakfast in bed. But he immediately rejected the idea—what would his teammates think?

He attempted to sit up again. _Sweet mother of Merlin!_ This was not going to work.

'Kreacher!'

_Crack_. 'Yes, Master?'

'Would you be so kind as to serve my breakfast up here, on a tray?' asked Harry sheepishly.

Kreacher's fluffy eyebrows shot up, and his ears extended in delight. 'With pleasure, Master! Kreacher has long dreamt of the day when Master would allow him to serve breakfast in bed! Would Master like the usual breakfast?'

'That would be lovely, Kreacher,' said Harry, a bit worried about the can of worms he'd just opened.

He manfully resisted the urge to stay where he was and conjure a bottle to relieve himself in, but instead he dragged his aching body to the toilet and congratulated himself on doing so. He found an old pain-relieving draught in the cabinet, but when he sniffed the contents he decided not to chance it. Surely the team had a well-stocked potions cabinet, or even a Healer on staff.

By the time he'd returned to his bed and propped himself up on a stack of pillows he'd magically enlarged, he felt he'd earned his leisurely breakfast, which Kreacher arrived presently to deliver.

'Kreacher has long been preparing for this glorious day, Master!'

Breakfast was served on a large tray, which hovered over Harry's lap through the power of house-elf magic. Several other trays floated alongside it, topped with great crystal vases full of flowers that looked suspiciously like the ones sold at the corner shop. _I'll have to speak to Kreacher about that,_ he thought.

A fresh copy of the _Daily Prophet_ floated before him at eye level, on a special stand Harry had never previously seen. He was pleased to note that neither his name nor his photograph were on the front cover.

After scanning the news articles, he flipped to the sport news, curious whether there was anything about the Cannons. He groaned when he saw the headline: _'The Boy Who Quits?'_

_Just days after unceremoniously departing the Auror training programme at the Ministry of Magic, it appears Harry Potter has given up his new job as Seeker for the Chudley Cannons. Team observers reported that Potter did not show up for practice on Wednesday, prompting rampant speculation that Potter has already quit the team._

_Reactions within the Quidditch community varied widely, from disappointment to fury to jubilation. Xavier Spinthroft of Leicestershire, who described himself as a life-long Cannons fan, said, 'I should have known it was too good to be true. 'Twas surely the curse's doing. I only hope the poor lad is all right.'_

_By contrast, Janelle Leturgis of Norfolk, saw a darker motive behind Potter's move. 'Personally I've never trusted that Harry Potter, not really. Anyone that could defeat You-Know-Who twice is clearly another Dark Lord in the making. He's probably already started gathering followers.'_

_Meanwhile, Sylvester Chiffle, team manager for the Montrose Magpies, expressed relief that Potter will not be playing professional Quidditch. 'It would have been a circus, having him in the league. Quidditch deserves better than to have an attention-seeking glory-monger like Harry Potter barging in.'_

_Cannons team manager Darius Sprott emphatically denied that Potter had resigned. 'This is utter nonsense from start to finish. Potter is merely taking the day off to undergo a minor medical procedure in London and will be back for practice tomorrow.'_

_However, a spokesperson for St Mungo's Hospital told the _Prophet_ that there was no record of Potter visiting yesterday, which clearly confirms that Sprott is covering up Potter's hasty departure. The _Prophet_ can only speculate as to what Sprott hopes to gain from this feeble attempt to hide the truth._

Harry closed his eyes and lay back on his pillow, uncertain whether to laugh or cry. He wondered whether Ron would turn up presently or if he were already at work. Hopefully Ron wouldn't fall for it, knowing that Harry was indeed getting his eyes fixed yesterday.

He resolved to finish eating as quickly as possible and Apparate to the training grounds straight away. At the very least, it would give him earlier access to their potions cabinet.

When he arrived, he lurched haltingly into the building, where he found Lara looking highly amused. She had the _Prophet_ on her desk, open to the article about him.

'Have you come for practice,' she asked archly, 'or are you here to recruit me for your rising Dark army?'

Harry instantly relaxed. 'The latter, of course,' he said. 'You will now kneel before me.'

She laughed. 'Why do I have a feeling this sort of thing is going to be a regular occurrence?'

'Perhaps because it's already happened twice in one week,' answered Harry. 'Welcome to my life.'

'Did the _Prophet_ even try to contact you?' she asked.

'Where would the fun be in that?' he replied. 'The _Prophet_ wouldn't have anything to print if they had to check facts all the time. But really, I've no right to complain. After all, I wouldn't be here now if they hadn't printed those rumours on Sunday.'

'You're right,' agreed Lara. 'All hail the _Daily Prophet_, Newspaper of Record and Arbiter of Truth!"

Feigning outrage, Harry said, 'Not two minutes after I recruit you into my Dark army and you're already hailing someone else? That's it, you're sacked!'

Lara pretended to sulk but suddenly exclaimed, 'Hang on, you're not wearing your glasses! How are you feeling? I assume everything went all right?'

'Yes, it went perfectly, thanks. But I do need one thing ... is there a supply of pain remedies at hand? I seem to have over-exerted myself on Tuesday.'

'Yes, of course,' she said, walking towards a large cabinet. 'Do you need to see a Healer as well, or will a pain-relieving draught do the job?'

'Just the draught, thanks. And be sure to tell the _Prophet_ that I'm some kind of potions addict who turns up early to get a fix.'

'Consider it done,' she replied. She pulled a phial from the cabinet and handed it to him.

Harry drained it in one go, and within thirty seconds he was sighing heavily with relief. 'Oh … yes ... there's nothing like when a pain draught kicks in. I've been in the wizarding world for nearly eight years and I'm still amazed by how quickly they take effect.'

'There's a reason they call it magic,' remarked Lara.

Harry was about to head for the changing room when the main door opened and Tuttle walked in.

'Potter—there you are, and without glasses. How are things looking?'

'Crystal clear,' he said. 'I never realised how poor my vision was, even with glasses. Merlin only knows how I managed to find the Snitch as often as I did.'

'Excellent. Can't wait to test you again with the Launcher this afternoon.'

The other players began filing in, and unlike on Tuesday, most of them greeted Harry as they passed.

When Janet saw him she immediately gasped. 'Harry, you look fantastic! Mark my words, the witches will be gagging for it!'

Tuttle, who was still in the room ordering Lara around, glared at Janet but said nothing. Harry reddened, and not just because Tuttle had overheard.

'How are you feeling?' asked Janet. 'Can you see all right?'

'I can see perfectly. My only problem this morning was that I could barely walk from Tuesday's practice, but Lara got me sorted with a draught.'

Ryan walked in and said, 'Welcome back! I'm glad to see you haven't quit the team. I was out to dinner in Diagon Alley last night and was accosted by more than a few grieving fans.'

'Ugh, sorry about that,' said Harry. 'Have you tried using a Notice-Me-Not Charm? That's my personal favourite.'

'Normally I would have done,' replied Ryan, 'but I was glad to offer reassurances. Still, I think we're going to have to prepare for a new level of attention now that you're on the team. Reflected glory, and all.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Glory-mongering, you mean.' That was the one part of the article that had truly irritated him.

Ryan scowled. 'That was vile—Sylvester Chiffle was a right twat for talking about you that way. We'll have to teach the Magpies a lesson next month.'

'Agreed,' said Harry emphatically.

Their morning training session was similar to Tuesday's. Once again, Harry felt the strong sense of connection with his teammates during the flying drills, and he suspected they felt the same. As they flew towards the ground after the final drill, Ryan approached Harry from behind and clapped him heartily on the shoulder before landing.

At lunchtime the starters returned to the pub, where Candice greeted them warmly. 'You look much nicer without those spectacles, Henry,' she said. 'Definitely stick with the contacts.'

'I agree!' chimed Renée. 'Doesn't Henry look great?'

Numerous jokes were made about the _Prophet _article. Suresh and Darren argued about who would get to be Dark Lord Harry's second-in-command, and Janet bemoaned Harry's insatiable need for attention. 'It's sad, really. I reckon killing You-Know-Who was just a cry for help.'

As promised, Tuttle took charge of the Seeker training session after lunch. She tested Harry's spotting ability using the Launcher and was pleased to find his percentage had improved.

'You're better, Potter, but I still think there's a lot Barrowmaker can teach you.' She was silent a moment before turning to Owen. 'Well what are you waiting for? Get to it!' she barked before departing.

Harry looked at her as she walked away and asked Owen, 'Does anyone have Pensieve memories of Tuttle interacting with Ludo Bagman? I would give my eye teeth to see a few of those.'

'I hear she's actually mellowed out quite a bit since then, believe it or not,' said Owen. 'Anyway, let's head over to the benches ... apparently I'm to teach you everything I know about spotting a Snitch, so we might as well sit down.'

Once they were seated, Owen asked, 'So Harry, tell me what you do when you start looking for the Snitch during a match. When you're not trailing after the other Seeker like a strip of loo roll, that is.'

Harry paused a moment to reflect before answering. 'I suppose I sort of broaden my vision to take in a wide area. Like I'm focussing on a distant object, but without actually having one. And then I just scan for that flicker of movement.'

'That's a good start,' said Owen, 'but there's more you can do. Have you ever practiced any mind arts?'

Harry groaned. 'Yes, and I was complete rubbish at them. I was trained in Occlumency during the war and it was, to put it mildly, a disaster.'

Owen looked at him thoughtfully. 'That doesn't sound like a very conducive learning environment.'

Harry snorted. 'Now there's an understatement! I was taught by a professor who, to all appearances, detested me. He and my father had been rivals back in school, in literally every respect, and he'd had it in for me since day one. It was more like a battle of wills than proper Occlumency training.'

'Oh dear. And I'm assuming he was preparing you to withstand Legilimency from Voldemort?' asked Owen.

Harry nodded.

'Right, I can see why that was doomed to failure,' said Owen sympathetically.

Harry felt something unclench in his chest, just a bit. He still felt awful about his failure to learn Occlumency in fifth year, which had cost Sirius his life.

'Let's assume then,' said Owen, 'that you've never learnt any mind arts before. Because, frankly, it sounds like you haven't.'

'Agreed.'

'The biggest challenge with learning the mind arts is that most instructors have a kind of survivor bias,' began Owen.

'You've lost me already ... what's a survivor bias?'

'Survivor bias can mean a lot of things, but in this case I'm referring to what happens when somebody who's naturally gifted in a particular skill tries to teach someone who isn't naturally gifted.'

Harry thought a moment. 'So it's like when I try to give my friend Hermione flying lessons? She always gets frustrated and says I give rubbish advice like "Just relax and trust the broomstick."'

'Exactly,' said Owen. 'Similarly, with teaching the mind arts, there are too many instructors who give crap instructions like "Clear your mind" or "Try not to think about anything."'

'Sounds familiar,' grumbled Harry.

'I imagine your instructor was a natural at the mind arts,' observed Owen. 'He was probably able to learn Occlumency from instructions like that. But they clearly didn't work for you, and I know they wouldn't have worked for me either.'

On hearing this, Harry felt another small release of internal tension. But with it came another wave of sorrow, and a fleeting image of Sirius falling through the Veil. Owen seemed to notice his downcast expression but didn't say anything about it, which Harry appreciated.

'In a sense you already know the first step for Occlumency, or any other mind art. It's what you described earlier, when I asked what you do when you're looking for the Snitch. You simply relax your focus and expand your field of awareness.'

Harry nodded. This was already more useful than anything Snape had taught him.

Owen continued, 'Listen carefully, because I'm going to use these two terms in a very precise manner. When I refer to "attention" I'm talking about a very sharp and precise focus, like when you've already spotted the Snitch and start accelerating towards it.' He looked at Harry to confirm that he'd understood.

'Got it.'

'The other term I'll define is "awareness." Awareness is the broader view, that expanded field you were describing earlier. It's not looking at any one thing—instead it's taking in a wide range of things, although without any precision.'

'So attention is the sharp focus, and awareness is the broad, open ...' Harry paused, searching for the right word. 'The broad, open awareness,' he said lamely.

'No, that's good,' Owen reassured him. 'If you're already using the word "awareness" to describe awareness, it shows you understand it on an intuitive level.'

He went on. 'When your professor told you to clear your mind, you couldn't do it. But clearing your mind's not actually important, no more than we need to clear the arena of other flyers in order to look for the Snitch.'

'Er, you've lost me again,' said Harry.

Owen thought a moment. 'Think of it this way. When we're watching the arena using our awareness, there are still other players flying back and forth. But you'd be a pretty poor Seeker if you forgot what you were doing and just watched the Chasers the entire time.'

'Right.'

'Or—and I'm exaggerating to make a point—if you pulled a set of Omnioculars from your robes and started reviewing the Chasers in slow motion or watching replays.'

Harry smiled. 'That would truly be a piss-poor Seeker.'

'Right, so let's return to how you currently look for the Snitch. You survey the arena using your awareness rather than your attention, and you don't let the other players distract you. And furthermore, you've set a strong intention to spot the Snitch. This is why you're able to notice the slightest flash of gold from across the arena, but not get distracted when the Quaffle flies past.'

'I guess so, yeah.'

'Now the reason I said it's not really necessary to clear your mind is the same reason you don't demand all the other players vacate the arena before you can look for the Snitch. You allow the players to stay in your field of awareness, but you don't let them capture your attention.'

Owen paused a moment and shook his head quickly, as if to return to the present. 'Sorry, I'm dangerously close to losing the plot and teaching you Occlumency instead of how to spot the Snitch. I don't think Tuttle would appreciate that.'

Chuckling, Harry said, 'I can just imagine losing a match and telling her, "Sorry about missing the Snitch, but the good news is the opposing Seeker didn't make a dent in my mind shields!"'

Owen smiled and resumed his instruction. 'You're already fairly experienced when it comes to setting an intention to spot the Snitch and then maintaining an open awareness, rather than searching desperately through those Omnioculars. The final step is to put your complete trust in this intention.'

Harry interjected, 'Er, you haven't said anything about Bludgers. And I'm starting to wonder if I should take advice from someone who's been sidelined by injuries.'

Owen laughed. 'You raise an excellent point. But to answer your question, it's about intention again, same as with the Snitch. You firmly resolve not to let a Bludger catch you unprepared, and then you let go and trust your awareness to keep an eye out.'

'Yes, and the Beaters,' added Harry.

'Right, them as well. Anyway, my main point—and the point of this entire disquisition—is that you need to fully trust in your intention to spot the Snitch, the same way you trust your broomstick not to fall down for no reason.'

Owen looked Harry in the eye and said, 'You're already a highly instinctive flyer. One of the best I've seen, actually. When we were flying into that knot of Chasers the other day, you didn't hesitate like I did. You had complete confidence you'd be able to avoid them—you didn't give it a second thought.'

'I suppose so,' acknowledged Harry.

'So now do the same when it comes to finding the Snitch. Trust your awareness. The less you can think about it, the better. The same way I'd have been better off if I hadn't thought about how not to hit those Chasers.'

Harry took a deep breath and said, 'Wow, you've given me a lot to think about. Which seems ironic, given the actual instructions.'

Owen smiled and stood up. 'You're right, we probably should start flying before Tuttle sends the Beaters after us.'

At Owen's suggestion, they spent a while just racing around and practicing aerobatics, and Harry appreciated the opportunity to clear his head. Now that Owen had pointed it out, he realised his mind became very quiet when he flew, and that he inhabited his entire body rather than just his head. He invited himself to fully experience the sheer pleasure of flying, to see whether it had an added quieting effect, and he found that it did.

Tuttle's whistle sounded. 'Meet back here in ten minutes for a practice match! Except you, Potter—I want to talk to you.'

Under different circumstances, Harry might have been thrown off-balance by her request, but he was still elated from all the free-form flying he'd just done. He needn't have worried, though—Tuttle merely instructed him to look for the Snitch rather than tracking Owen in the practice match.

'It was a good strategy last time, but you need to practise finding it yourself,' she said before dismissing him.

Unlike the match on Tuesday, this time Tuttle mixed up the teams. Harry was initially surprised that she shuffled the Chasers and Beaters, instead of letting the starters hone their formations. But then he recalled that last-minute substitutions are common in league play, and that it made perfect sense for the reserve players to practise alongside the starters.

Unfortunately for Harry, this meant Suresh and Gary were no longer on the same side. Instead, Suresh was paired with someone named Titus, and together they didn't have the best rhythm. After a few close shaves with a Bludger, Harry found he wasn't able to relax his thinking mind the way Owen had instructed him.

In the end, it was Owen who got the Snitch. Not only did he spot it first, but he was also closer, so he made an easy catch. Harry was disappointed, and Owen flew over to cheer him up. 'That was a tough break with those Bludgers.'

'I guess so,' said Harry, still feeling lousy. He'd never missed the Snitch before, except during that match in his third year when Dementors had swarmed the pitch.

Owen gave him a serious look. 'Listen to me, Harry. You're going to miss the Snitch sometimes. Not often, I suspect, but sometimes. You can't let it bring you down. It really is just a game.'

Harry nodded, feeling a bit better. 'You're right, thanks. This isn't exactly life or death.' He narrowed his eyes and looked at Owen. 'Rematch tomorrow?'

'You can count on it, Potter,' said Owen before zooming off.

-––—––-

As was becoming tradition, Harry chatted with Lara before practice the next morning.

'How are you feeling today?' she asked. 'Do you need another pain-relieving draught?'

'No, I think I can manage without one,' he replied.

She looked at him sceptically. 'Are you sure? There's no need to be a hero. Besides, the reporters are coming today before lunch, and we'll want you on your best behaviour.'

'Oh right, that's today.' Harry sighed heavily. 'Yeah, in that case I'd best take one. The last thing the team needs is for my temper to make an appearance.'

Lara's eyes lit up mischievously as she handed him the bottle. 'By any chance had you forgot your pain draught when you spoke to that _Prophet_ reporter last year? Your diatribe was ... memorable.'

Harry groaned, knowing exactly which diatribe Lara was referring to.

The previous autumn, Rita Skeeter had contacted Harry about a tell-all article she was preparing about Harry's childhood with the Dursleys. Her research had been thorough—she'd used Compulsion Charms on the Dursleys, their neighbours, and Harry's schoolteachers and classmates. She'd learnt all the details about his endless chores, the cupboard under the stairs, Dudley's bullying, and even 'Harry hunting.'

When she approached Harry for comment, he was furious and he knew he had to to stop her. The details of his childhood were nobody's business, and he feared reprisals against the Dursleys from an outraged wizarding populace. He suspected Rita was just bluffing about publishing it, but he couldn't risk it—he wanted to keep his early history private. He therefore agreed to grant her an exclusive interview in exchange for killing the piece.

Although the interview had mainly covered his months on the run with Ron and Hermione, the resulting article was a lurid exploration of a scandalous 'love rectangle' (as Rita had called it) between Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. The _Prophet_ editors had allowed Rita Skeeter's broad hints at homosexuality, but they had at sensibly drawn the line at incest.

The article was nevertheless appalling—_'It would require the utmost naïveté to believe that four hormonal teenagers, sharing a dormitory against a backdrop of war, would not have seized every chance for mutual comfort. And then when Harry and Hermione found themselves alone in the forest during those cold, winter months, with nothing but a tent for shelter, their undernourished, velvety limbs must surely have twined together.'_

Harry had been livid, of course, and Mrs Weasley—bypassing her usual Howler—had ambushed Rita with a Body-Bind Curse, cast a _Sonorous_ charm on her own voice, and berated the cowering journalist for half an hour.

A junior reporter from the _Prophet_ subsequently waylaid Harry at the Ministry to get 'his side of the story' and was verbally shredded for his efforts. Harry's tongue-lashing—which was printed in its full, uncensored glory—was praised by wizarding linguists for 'savagely combining both magical and Muggle vulgarities,' and for its 'colourful anatomical imagery involving Merlin, a herd of Thestrals, and the reporter's mother.'

Harry looked sheepishly at Lara. 'That was ... not my best moment,' he acknowledged.

'Nonsense, it was brilliant,' she said. 'My younger brother and all his mates learnt it by heart. But not to worry ... I'll be standing near the reporters and can send you meaningful glances if you start getting testy.'

Not long after, Tuttle set the players to running laps around the pitch, and Harry used the time to mentally prepare for the press conference. He intended to focus his remarks around the team and to discourage questions about his change of career. He knew he'd be pelted with probing personal questions, but he resolved to answer them as tersely as possible. It would surely help to have Lara present, and his teammates as well.

During the break between their calisthenics and the flying drills, Darius pulled Harry aside.

'How are you feeling? Are you ready to meet with the reporters?' He was clearly questioning Harry's skill at public relations.

'Thanks for asking, but I'm all right,' replied Harry. 'I'm aware that I'm representing the team, so I'll do my best to keep steady. Besides, we're starting flying drills presently, and they always leave me in good spirits.'

'Splendid! Carry on then,' said Darius, and Harry returned to the pitch.

As predicted, the aerial drills were just what Harry needed to clear his head. One was a complex weaving manoeuvre with Darren and Janet, and it was possibly the most exhilarating experience he'd ever had on a broomstick. After that he was paired with Owen to practice feints, and they had a great time taunting each other. Once again, Harry was impressed by how smoothly Owen could alternate between deep insights and taking the piss.

Harry lost track of time and was surprised to hear the whistle signalling the end of training. He and Owen had been practicing 'near fouling'—interfering with an opposing player without quite drawing a foul. It was great fun, and they kept at it even after the whistle blew.

When Harry landed he was flush with pleasure from the drills, and even the sight of the gathered reporters couldn't dampen his mood. Lara, who was standing between a pair of photographers, grinned cheekily at him, and Harry automatically smiled back. Tables and chairs had been set up for Tuttle, Darius, and the starting players. Roughly a dozen reporters were there, and nearly as many photographers.

The question and answer portion went better than Harry had expected. Most of the reporters were from Quidditch publications, and so their questions focussed more on the sport than on the team's newest celebrity. Harry spoke glowingly about his teammates, and he gave high praise to Owen for his ability as both Seeker and mentor. Naturally there were nosy questions from the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_, but Harry handled them with unusual aplomb.

The most entertaining question, however, came from Xenophilius Lovegood, representing the _Quibbler_. 'Harry, is it true you left the Ministry because you uncovered plans to replace Aurors with former Minister Fudge's army of Heliopaths?'

'No,' replied Harry. 'But do you really think I'd admit it if I had?' he added with a wink.

Next, photographs were taken, and then Darius announced, 'We've got a schedule to keep, and I'm sure the players are keen to shower and get some lunch.'

After the reporters had gone, Darius caught Harry's attention and said, 'Well done! You really showed yourself to be a team player—and I was glad to hear no mention of, er, centaurs.'

'Thestrals,' corrected Harry.

During lunch at the pub, the starters spoke mainly about the press event, and Suresh started a betting pool on what would get the most prominent coverage.

Gary, ever the Hufflepuff, believed Harry's mentoring relationship with Owen would be most popular, at least in the Quidditch journals. 'Cannons fans are loyal, and they'll appreciate that Owen hasn't been forgot.'

Ryan disagreed. 'No, I say the big story's going to be about "the curse," and how the Saviour of the Wizarding World has come to break it. Harry's always reeked of destiny—sorry, Harry—and they're going to want to play that angle.'

'You're both wrong,' said Janet. 'It's going to a be straight-up glamour piece. Harry's no longer working for the Ministry, he's newly single, and this will be his first public appearance without those horrid eyeglasses.'

'Oi! I'm right here!' protested Harry.

Suresh said, 'Sorry, Harry, but it's true. Those glasses looked like something you found in a bin.'

Harry grumbled but said nothing.

'Do you think there's any Dark wizard potential?' asked Renée. 'This might fit with Ryan's curse angle—that the losing streak is some kind of apocalyptic omen, and Harry joining the team is going to somehow unleash the demonic hordes.'

'I like it,' said Darren. 'Count me in.'

'On the wager or the demonic hordes?' asked Suresh, who was taking notes.

'Why not both?' was Darren's reply.

'It's your turn, Harry,' said Suresh. 'What can I put you down for?'

Harry sighed. 'I have learnt through vast experience that I am unable to predict what new horrors the papers will come up with. So just put me down for a wildcard option involving ...' He thought for a moment. 'Involving Celestina Warbeck and an island colony of Squibs.'

'Got it,' said Suresh as he wrote. 'Warbeck, Squibs.'

The conversation eventually turned to everyone's plans for the weekend. When it came around to Harry, he said, 'My friend Ron is dragging a group of us to the cinema to see a film called "The Matrix." He saw it last week and was completely gobsmacked. Mind you, he's a pure-blood and has hardly seen any Muggle entertainment, so he'd be equally impressed by an episode of "The Wombles."'

'Actually,' said Ryan, 'I saw it with my cousin a fortnight ago and it was fantastic, like nothing I've ever seen. I think you'll love it.'

'Oh good, glad to hear it,' said Harry. 'And then on Saturday I'm having some friends round to dinner. You're all invited, if you like.'

Gary, who was married with a young child, gave his regrets, and Renée and Suresh were otherwise engaged. But Ryan, Darren, and Janet eagerly accepted, and Ryan suggested asking Lara as well.

'Does this mean you know how to cook?' asked Janet. 'Or will we be eating from takeaway cartons?'

'In fact I do know how to cook. Breakfast in particular,' replied Harry. 'But I won't be cooking on Saturday—my house-elf Kreacher will take care of it.'

'You have a house-elf?' exclaimed Suresh. 'What, did the Ministry give you one they'd confiscated from a Death Eater, as payment for services rendered?'

'No, I inherited him from my godfather, along with his house,' replied Harry.

Janet said, 'And by "godfather" I assume you're referring to the notorious mass murderer, Sirius Black?'

'The exonerated mass murderer,' corrected Ryan.

'Details,' shrugged Janet.

'Yes, the very same,' said Harry. 'I should warn you that Kreacher's a few gobstones short of a set. But his cooking is rather good now, and he's been hinting he wants to prepare a banquet for a crowd.'

Suresh shook his head. 'Your life is genuinely weird, Potter.'

Renée, who had been quiet, said, 'I wondered where you lived. I'd heard you didn't get on with the Muggles who raised you. And I saw what happened to your parents' house in Godric's Hollow, on a class trip.'

'You took a class trip to the house where my parents died?'

'Yeah, for History of Magic. I reckon most wizarding schoolchildren do.' Some of the others nodded.

After a pause, Harry said, 'I'm not sure what's more surprising—that you've all visited my parents' house, or that you took class trips for History of Magic.'

Gary laughed. 'Harry, can you imagine a class trip with Binns? I suppose he could have brought us round to some of the goblin battlefields near Hogsmeade.'

'That's true,' said Harry, 'but I suppose not being able to leave the castle without disintegrating would have put a damper on things.'

'Without disintegrating?' asked Darren. 'Are you saying your History professor was a ghost? That's so cool!'

'Believe me, it wasn't,' corrected Gary. 'He was literally as boring as the grave. And I don't think he taught us about anything that happened after 1750.'

Suresh smirked and said, 'That's Britain's finest wizarding school for you.'

Their food had arrived, and for a while everyone concentrated on eating. But eventually Janet said, 'Where should we go after dinner tomorrow night? Somewhere wizarding or Muggle?'

'No idea,' replied Harry. 'I don't go out much. Until this week I was on an early schedule for Auror training, and this past year I spent most of my leisure time with my girlfriend at Hogwarts. Former girlfriend, that is,' he added with a sigh.

'That simply won't do,' insisted Janet. 'You'll get nowhere with our little project if you stay home all evening with your unshaggable teammates and a house-elf. And don't get any ideas about Lara—she's off limits too.'

Harry's denial was instantly cut off by Janet. 'Don't even try, Potter. I saw how you were looking at her this morning after practice. Without your glasses it's much easier to see the gleam in your eye.'

Harry, who was turning red by this point, said 'I know Lara's off limits—we were just having fun. And yeah, under different circumstances I might be interested, but I'm not ready to date anyone seriously.'

Darren said, 'You've clearly spent too much time around pure-bloods, Harry. You're what, nineteen?'

'At the end of this month, yes.'

'Right ... do you think anyone expects a nineteen year-old Muggle footballer to settle down? No, I didn't think so,' said Darren. 'Don't forget that Tuttle ordered you to have yourself a holiday!'

They returned to the training facility soon after, and Lara accepted Harry's invitation to dinner on Saturday. He was looking forward to having everyone over.

During practice, he found himself marvelling at how much his social life had changed in less than a week, on top of the career change. He'd known for a long time that circumstances could change on a sixpence, but most of the sudden changes he'd experienced had been for the worse, not for the better.

_Except for when I found out I was a wizard_, thought Harry. That had been an enormous shift for the better, in spite of Voldemort and all the crap he'd encountered in the wizarding world. Was he now experiencing another shift of the same magnitude?

In some ways it seemed like his post-war fog was finally lifting, and his grief as well. He'd begun thinking of Fred, Remus, and Tonks—and everyone else they had lost—as people who'd lived rather than people who'd died. Until this week, it seemed like everything he'd experienced since the war could be described as 'the aftermath,' but now he felt as if he were entering a new phase.

Ron was stunned that night when Harry told him who was coming to Saturday dinner. 'Are you telling me we're actually having dinner with Ryan Bellamy, Janet Lindhurst, and Darren Rogers? That's un-bloody-believable! I won't even know what to say to them. I reckon I'll be tongue-tied or—worse—make an idiot out of myself.'

Hermione sniffed. 'Ronald, you're perfectly capable of talking to Harry, and he's far more famous than any of those people.'

'Harry doesn't count,' he said dismissively. 'These are the Cannons we're talking about!'

Rolling her eyes, Hermione said, 'I can't believe what a child you are! You seem to have forgot that you're famous too. You've been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, for heaven's sake.'

Ron took a deep breath. 'Of course, you're right. Thanks for reminding me. Old habit, I reckon.' He turned to Harry and said, 'If I say something stupid, do me a favour, mate, and bring the conversation back round to how I helped save humanity.'

'I will, but you needn't worry—they're lots of fun, and easy to talk to. Same goes for Lara ... she's the team assistant.'

Looking at her wristwatch, Hermione said, 'You'd best be leaving for the cinema. The film starts at half-seven, you know.'

'Yes, Mum,' said Ron, and Hermione scowled at him.

'You're sure you won't come with us, Hermione?' asked Harry.

'No thanks, once was enough for me. Besides, I need to do more work on my potion. I'll come round first thing tomorrow as well—I hope that's all right.'

'It's fine,' said Harry. 'See you then!'

Harry and Ron Apparated into an alley near the cinema, and they soon found their friends near the front entrance. Ron had persuaded George, Lee, Neville, and Luna to accompany them.

'Hannah wanted to join us,' explained Neville, 'but her family is celebrating her grandfather's birthday.'

'You'll have to show her the film some other night,' said Ron. 'I can guarantee you'll want to see it again.'

Luna spoke, in her usual airy style. 'The film sounds very interesting. I read a review in a Muggle newspaper Dad subscribes to—he likes to keep an eye out for any mention of unusual animal sightings. It seems that Muggles are starting to recognise that ordinary experiences are not as real as they might appear.'

'Er, yeah,' said Ron, in the usual tone he used when responding to Luna. 'By the way, Hermione insisted I warn everyone that there's a lot of violence, mostly from guns and other Muggle weapons. She had to close her eyes in places.'

George said, 'I reckon it'll be odd watching battle scenes from a comfortable seat, rather than in the middle of the action. Sounds like a nice break, actually. All the adrenaline without any of the mortal peril.'

'Yeah,' said Ron, 'that's how I felt about it. Awful things kept happening to the characters, and a part of me just felt relieved that it wasn't my job to fix any of it.'

They purchased their tickets, and George and Lee—always looking for new product ideas—took their time perusing the Muggle sweets. Before long they were all seated, and the film began.

Harry was enthralled from the start. The special effects were leagues ahead of anything he'd seen before. He knew vaguely that they were produced using computers, but this was nothing like the graphics on Dudley's old video games. One of the fight scenes reminded him of Dumbledore's duel against Voldemort in the Ministry, only the characters were using Muggle weapons rather than wands.

Harry knew it was normal to identify with the main character in a film, but he had to admit there were strong similarities between himself and Neo. As soon as Neo joined the rebels, Morpheus told him that he was the One, and that he alone could save humanity from the machines. Harry could relate to that kind of pressure and responsibility.

The Agents seemed invincible, with their ability to Apparate and their invulnerability to weapons, and Harry was reminded of the Death Eaters who'd chased them through the Department of Mysteries.

The most powerful moment, however, was at the end, when Neo died and came back to life. The Agents' weapons no longer worked against him, just as Voldemort's curses had all failed after Harry's sacrifice.

As Harry watched the climactic scene, when Neo effortlessly halted bullets mid-trajectory and caused them to fall harmlessly to the floor, he was overcome by a sensation he'd half-forgot. It was a sense of wholeness, of knowing, and of indescribable peace.

He realised he'd experienced it once before. It was after he'd returned from his vision of King's Cross Station, in the clearing where Voldemort had killed him. He'd had no fear, and not simply because he'd survived death. He'd known in that moment that fear had never been necessary, and that everything that had ever happened was fundamentally perfect. His parents' death, his childhood with the Dursleys, everything he'd suffered and everyone he'd lost—at its core was an indescribable perfection, by virtue of its mere existence.

Harry wondered how he could have forgot. Had it been lost in the aftermath of the battle? Harry's grief, and his empathy towards everyone else's suffering, had been overwhelming. Furthermore, it would have been unthinkable to tell George or Mrs Weasley, for example, that Fred's death was utter perfection. Perhaps he had set aside his realisation in the face of more pressing needs.

But watching the film reawakened it, and he couldn't imagine ever losing it again. How could you forget ultimate truth?

Ron tapped Harry on the leg. 'So what did you think, mate?' he asked, as the house lights came back on. 'Was that amazing or what?'

Harry could hardly find words. 'Yeah,' he exhaled. 'That was something.'

Somehow he got to his feet and exited the cinema with his friends. He heard Lee and George praising the special effects, and Luna expressing surprise that most people hadn't previously realised that there is no spoon. Ron and Neville laughed about the scene where the Oracle tells Neo not to worry about breaking the vase, and how it was just like when Professor Trelawney had warned Neville about the teacup.

They went for ice cream afterwards in Diagon Alley, and Harry was too preoccupied to bother casting his usual Notice-Me-Not Charm, even though they were seated on the terrace.

Unfortunately he was noticed by a rowdy pair of wizards leaving a tavern. They both wore Wimbourne Wasps jerseys, and prior to spotting Harry they were loudly debating whether or not the coach should put O'Connell in as Keeper.

'Oi, Potter!'

Harry and the others turned.

'Yeah, you. Boy Who Lived!' said the second one.

'Nancy Boy Who Lived, more like,' said the first, and they both laughed.

Neville and Ron both pulled out their wands, but Harry motioned for them to stay still. 'Just ignore them,' he muttered.

'You can fuck right off, Potter. The Cannons are a shit team and you're a shit Seeker, you fucking tosspot.'

'Tosspotter,' said his companion, and they both laughed again.

Neville couldn't take it any longer. He stood up and faced them with his wand. 'I think you should stop now,' he said firmly.

One of the men fumbled for his wand and aimed it towards Neville. It was pointed in the wrong direction.

'You bloody wanker! You can't even hold a wand the right way round,' shouted his companion, who had managed to drop his own wand. He bent down to retrieve it and unexpectedly heaved onto the pavement.

'That's what you get for hogging all the chips, arsehole.'

At Ron's signal, Neville backed away. Although the men were obnoxious, it was clear they weren't a threat.

Harry quickly cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm, and Ron raised several other privacy wards.

Nobody spoke. Neville was still rigid with fury, and George and Lee were casting dark glances at the two men, who were struggling to stand up.

'I was hoping to have swizzleberry ice cream, but unfortunately all they had was strawberry. But I suppose that's better than no ice cream at all,' remarked Luna.

Although Luna's non-sequitur relieved some of the tension, they were mostly quiet as they ate. Harry was very tired all of a sudden, and it felt like his pain draught had worn off. It had been a long week.

They said their goodbyes, and everyone headed home. Harry was relieved to return to Grimmauld Place without attracting Kreacher's attention. He was soon in bed.

His thoughts drifted towards the film he'd just seen. The special effects really were amazing. And the ending had been brilliant, although looking back he couldn't quite recall why it had affected him so much. Probably because Neo had come back to life, just as he had. Or something like that.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione knew it was bad manners to turn up at Grimmauld Place so early, but her potion was nearly ready and she couldn't contain her excitement. And besides, hadn't Harry said it was fine for her to come over first thing?

She was enthusiastically greeted by Kreacher, who was removing a sheet of scones from the oven. 'Good morning, Miss Hermione! May Kreacher serve breakfast to Miss Hermione now? Please say yes!'

She was torn—she hated to disappoint Kreacher, but she really was keen to put the finishing touches on her potion.

'Forgive me, Kreacher, but I need to attend first to my potion downstairs. I'll be up in half an hour.'

Kreacher's ears drooped.

Thinking quickly, Hermione added, 'But I'd love a mushroom quiche if you wouldn't mind preparing one.'

'Yes, with pleasure!' he said and scurried back to his work area.

Having escaped Kreacher, she dashed into the basement potions laboratory. There she added the few final ingredients to her cauldron and then cast an enhanced steeping charm to ensure it came out perfectly.

When she returned to the kitchen—mixture managed—she found Harry eating his breakfast. 'Good morning,' she said, as Kreacher laid her breakfast before her. 'I hope it's all right I came round so early.'

'Of course. You know you're always welcome,' he replied. 'You don't have today's _Prophet_, by any chance?'

'Sorry, not yet. I suppose you're anxious to see how they covered yesterday's press conference?'

He nodded. 'The only thing keeping me from distraction is knowing I have Darius and the entire team as eyewitnesses. So even if the _Prophet_ twists my words beyond recognition, the Cannons won't be upset with me.'

'It seems they already mean a lot to you,' she observed.

'Yeah, they really do. I can't believe I've only known them a few days.'

'I look forward to meeting them,' she said. 'Oh, look—there's the owl.'

Harry retrieved the newspaper, which was still rolled up, and placed it on the table. He took a deep breath before unrolling it. 'Here we go,' he said nervously.

On the cover was a large colour photograph of Harry, apparently taken right after he'd dismounted his broom. With his eyes closed, he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. He then turned towards the camera, his gaze heavy, and his lips curled into a crooked smile. His expression could only be described as 'smouldering.'

The headline, printed in two-inch letters, was simply, _'The Man Who Lived.'_

After a silence, Hermione said, 'I suspect today's edition of the _Prophet_ is going to sell out.'

Harry swallowed and said nothing.

She leaned forward to examine the photo more closely. 'Is that in slow motion?'

'Looks like,' he said.

'Isn't there any article?' she frowned, scanning the page.

'Only a caption apparently,' said Harry. His voice sounded scratchy.

Hermione read it aloud:

'_Bespectacled moppet no more, Harry Potter, 19, made his enthralling press debut yesterday at the Chudley Cannons training pitch. For full Quidditch coverage see pages 13-17, and see page 21 for our readers' favourite knicker-drying charms.'_

'Knicker-drying charms?' she repeated incredulously, unable to say more.

Harry had no response. He looked again at the front cover before turning to the Quidditch section, which soon engrossed him.

Hermione quietly studied him as she ate. She wondered if he'd ever been aware of his own magnetism before. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen it this strongly herself—she suspected only Ginny had.

It was more than just his appearance. He was attractive enough, but he wasn't classically handsome as Cedric Diggory had been. His face was thin and his features were rather too angular, and of course his hair was a fright. But his eyes were lovely, and somehow all his quirky parts resolved into a rather pleasing whole.

What made the photograph so compelling, however, was his sheer swagger. She'd only seen it a few times before, most notably during the final confrontation with Voldemort. She remembered the frisson she'd felt when Harry, bold as brass, had addressed the Dark wizard as _'Riddle.'_

Hermione wondered how seeing the photograph would affect him. He was still rather broody about Ginny—perhaps this would give him the confidence to look elsewhere.

Eventually Harry looked up from the Quidditch section. 'I'm pleasantly surprised, but they got the coverage right,' he said with satisfaction. 'I suppose the _Prophet_ is trying to make up for announcing on Thursday that I'd quit the team.'

'Or perhaps,' replied Hermione, 'it's because loads of other reporters were at the same press conference.' Then, looking at her wristwatch, she said, 'Only five minutes until my potion is ready!'

'You've been on about this potion all week,' said Harry. 'What does it do anyway?'

She leaned towards him and said in a low voice, 'It measures magical strength.'

'You're joking! I didn't even know that was possible.'

'It's possible,' she explained, 'but the method was banned several centuries ago, and all copies of the potion were supposedly destroyed.'

Harry was aghast. 'Hermione, why on earth would you make a potion the authorities tried to wipe from existence? Just how Dark is it?'

'There's nothing wrong with the potion itself,' she replied, feeling defensive. 'It requires blood, of course, but we've established there's nothing inherently Dark about that. The problem is that pure-blood families like the Blacks were using it on infants.'

Harry inhaled sharply as he grasped the implication. 'Do you think maybe those children wound up in Muggle orphanages, rather than ...' He didn't finish the sentence.

'It's certainly possible. You and I might be descended from children like that, for all I know. They still had wizarding blood.'

He nodded. 'So how does the potion work anyway?'

'It's quite clever, really. You need a couple of metal goblets—one for the person whose blood you want to test, and one for the control. First you use a charm to ignite the control potion, which will produce a flame that represents the strength level of an average-powered wizard. Then you add a drop of blood to the test goblet and ignite it the same way. If that wizard has above-average strength, the flame will be brighter than the control flame.'

'And if the wizard is weaker than average...'

'The flame will be less bright than the control,' she answered.

'What happens for a Squib?' he asked.

'Apparently it just sputters before burning out. Anyway, the potion should be ready now? May I bring it up here?'

'Well, normally I have a strict _"No blood magic in the kitchen"_ rule, but I'll waive it just this once.'

'Thanks, I'll be right back.'

She returned shortly after with a large flask of the potion she'd just brewed. She set it on the table and conjured two small metal goblets alongside it. But before she could continue, the fireplace flared green and Ron stepped into the kitchen.

'Hiya Harry! Did you see the Quidditch coverage? Pretty good, I thought. Oh, hi Hermione,' he added, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

Hermione looked uneasy. 'Er, good morning. Is everything all right?'

'Yeah, I'm fine. What's all this?' he asked, gesturing towards the potion and goblets.

'Just a potion I'm working on. Nothing very interesting,' she said, avoiding his gaze.

Harry looked at her questioningly but remained silent.

'Not so fast, Granger,' said Ron. 'Since when have you refrained from talking about a potion because it wasn't "interesting?" I may not be a fully-qualified Auror, but I can tell when you're hiding something.'

She knew she was trapped. 'Fine. I didn't want to say anything because it involves blood magic,' she said. She hoped he'd believe that was her only reason.

'What's it do, then?' asked Ron.

She sighed. 'It tests magical strength. You add a drop of your blood to the potion, and ...'

'What?! Wasn't that potion banned? I heard they used to use it on babies,' he said with obvious disgust.

'It was,' she admitted. 'But clearly that's not what I'm doing.'

Ron turned to Harry. 'Did you know about this?'

Hermione spoke before Harry could reply. 'I only told him right before you arrived. This was all my doing.'

Ron was quiet a moment, and then he narrowed his eyes. 'Why didn't you want me to know about it?'

Hermione said nothing.

'You were afraid I'd insist on getting tested, weren't you.' It wasn't a question.

'I just didn't think it was a good idea to foster ... competition,' she said lamely.

'I'm not stupid, Hermione. I know exactly why you didn't want me to try it out. You were afraid I'd come out poorly and then get upset.'

'I never said that!' she protested. 'And of course you wouldn't come out poorly!'

'Well obviously,' said Ron. 'I'm a pure-blood after all.'

All three of them froze as soon as he said it. Ron's face flushed all the way to his ears.

Hermione felt a wave of fury, and she spoke through clenched teeth. 'What ... did ... you ... say?'

'I'm sorry,' he sputtered. 'I didn't mean it like that.' He looked genuinely horrified.

Without saying a word, Hermione conjured a third goblet to join the two already on the table, and she filled each of them with the potion.

She aimed her wand at the first goblet and said, '_Incendiolus_,' producing a medium-sized flame that was somewhat brighter than a candle.

Glaring at Ron, she cut her finger and squeezed a drop of blood into the second goblet, which she then ignited. The flame flared upwards, much larger and brighter than the control.

'Take that, pure-blood!' she spat. 'Come on, give us a finger. Let's see what you've got!'

Ron glanced desperately at Harry, who had backed away from the table. He looked at Ron sympathetically but kept his mouth shut.

'Fine,' said Ron, holding out his index finger. Hermione cut it with her wand and squeezed a drop of blood straight into the third goblet. _'Incendiolus.'_

The flame was strong—not as bright as Hermione's, but noticeably brighter than the control.

Ron and Hermione both exhaled, and everyone looked relieved.

'Not bad, all things considered. It's no surprise you're stronger than I am, after all,' acknowledged Ron, and Hermione's tension eased. 'Harry, reckon you'll have a go?'

'Yes, why not?'

'We'd better stand back,' joked Ron, moving half a step away from the table. 'Just in case.'

Hermione conjured a fourth goblet and poured in some potion. Harry added a drop of blood, which Hermione ignited.

There was an awkward silence. Harry's flame was brighter than the control, but not by much. It was noticeably less bright than Ron's.

Hermione, mortified, quickly extinguished all four goblets and Vanished the flask's contents. 'I'm sorry, Harry ...' she began.

Harry was pale but managed to reply. 'Sorry for what?'

'Sorry for making that sodding potion in the first place. Obviously it doesn't mean anything.'

'That's right,' said Ron. 'Anyone can see it's total bollocks. I mean, what about your Patronus?'

'Right.'

Hermione looked at Harry. 'With your permission, I'm going to erase the potion instructions from the Grimoire. The Ministry was right to ban it.'

'Go ahead,' he replied absently.

Ron tried to lighten the mood. 'So Harry, what do I need to know about your teammates before I meet them? I don't want to make an arse of myself.'

Harry relaxed slightly. 'They're brilliant—I'm sure you'll get on fine. But don't make same the mistake I did and ask why you never met them at Hogwarts. They all went to different schools.'

'Different schools to Hogwarts?' asked Hermione. 'Like Beauxbatons? Or somewhere in North America?'

'No, different schools in Britain. Apparently they're a well-kept secret,' replied Harry. 'Ron, are you familiar with any of them?'

'Er,' hesitated Ron. 'Come to think of it, my cousins probably all went to different schools. I guess it just never came up.'

'How many of these schools are there?' asked Hermione, feeling rather alarmed.

'Renée said there were several dozen, I think.'

'Blimey!' exclaimed Ron. 'Weird that we've never heard of them.'

Hermione was deep in thought. How could she have been ignorant of something this important? This certainly cleared up a lot of questions she'd had about wizarding society, but she was appalled she hadn't learnt about them sooner.

'Are they all boarding schools like Hogwarts?' she asked.

'I don't think so,' said Harry. 'It sounds like they're mostly day schools.'

'I could have gone to a day school?!' cried Hermione. 'Merlin help us if my parents find out! Professor McGonagall made it sound like it was Hogwarts or nothing. Do you know if they taught other subjects, like literature or the sciences?'

Ron laughed. 'Trust Hermione to be disappointed we didn't have more subjects at Hogwarts.'

'You'll have to ask them,' said Harry. 'But be prepared for them to take the piss—apparently Hogwarts types are notorious for not knowing about the other schools. Owen reckons there's a ward on the castle.'

Hermione's eyes flew open. 'That has to be it!' She turned to the others and said, 'Excuse me, I need to write to Professor McGonagall at once. And maybe Professor Babbling, and Bill ...'

Before leaving, she put her hand onto Ron's arm and looked at him earnestly. 'I'm sorry about earlier. You were right. I wasn't giving you enough credit. You're not fourteen anymore.'

'It's all right,' Ron mumbled. 'And I'm sorry too. That was awful what I said—I don't even know where that came from.'

They embraced a bit awkwardly, and then Hermione turned to Harry. 'See you tonight, and sorry again about that awful potion. You know it's complete rubbish, right?'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'See you tonight.'

Hermione threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fire and went home. _I have to send those letters before something happens to make me forget again!_

Later that morning, Harry met Andromeda at Gringotts to give her access to the vault, which they visited together. They agreed to leave the books for Hermione to peruse later and concentrated instead on the artefacts, many of which Andromeda recognised.

'We should probably turn these over the Ministry,' she said, indicating two ornate chalices and a tiara. 'I'm certain they're cursed, although I can't remember the details.'

There were numerous jewellery cases, which she opened in succession. 'I'd like this pocket watch for Teddy one day, but I'll leave it here ... And I always coveted these earrings,' she said. 'Is it all right if I have them?'

'Of course,' said Harry.

She opened a box containing a very pretty gold necklace. 'My grandfather had intended this for Narcissa. I can't imagine why she never received it.'

'Do you reckon Walburga held it back for some reason?' ventured Harry.

'Yes, that's probably what happened. Would it be all right if I offered it to Narcissa? I've wanted to reestablish our relationship, but it's been awkward. Giving her the necklace might defrost things a bit.'

'If you like. She's not exactly my best mate, but she's your sister, and I'll always appreciate how she lied to Voldemort for me.' He left out the part where Narcissa's manipulation of Kreacher led to Sirius's death.

Next they examined a large silver drinking horn, exquisitely carved. 'This could only be goblin-made,' said Andromeda admiringly. 'Pity it's not more useful.'

'Now here's a thought,' said Harry. 'What if we gave it back to the goblins, as a peace offering? Other than my ban, it was the Ministry who paid for my damage to Gringotts, not me.'

'That's a good idea. With goblins you can apologise all you want, but all they really care about is treasure.'

'Should we do it now?' asked Harry. 'Or would it be more polite to owl for an appointment?'

'I'm no expert on goblins, but I know they appreciate swift action. We should ask for their director straight away.'

Harry put the drinking horn into his expandable pouch, and they rode the cart back up to the lobby. Harry walked up to a clerk and requested to meet with a director.

'Why do you wish to speak to a director?' asked the goblin coldly. 'Director Ragnok does not normally speak to wizards.'

'I have what appears to be a goblin-made artefact, and I'd like to offer it back to the Goblin Nation as a token of my gratitude for restoring access to my vault,' replied Harry.

The goblin looked surprised. 'One moment,' he said, before hurrying away.

Harry and Andromeda glanced at each other. 'That seems promising,' she said.

Several minutes later the goblin returned and said, 'Follow me.'

They were led to a large office, which was decorated with paintings depicting historical goblin battles. Harry was surprised to recognise several of the scenes from History of Magic. _So I did learn something after all._

A particularly severe-looking goblin awaited them. 'My name is Ragnok. You are Harry Potter,' he said simply. 'And who is this?' he added, indicating Andromeda.

'This is my cousin, Andromeda Tonks.'

Ragnok nodded. 'State your business.'

'I've lately come into possession of the Black family vault. I brought Andromeda here today to inspect it with me, since she was born a Black.' He pulled the drinking horn from his pouch and placed it on Ragnok's desk. 'We found this horn and suspected it was goblin-made.'

Ragnok raised and inspected the horn, carefully examining the intricate scrollwork. 'You are correct, this is goblin-made. Thirteenth century, I believe.'

_No point in beating about the bush_, thought Harry. 'I'd like to return it to the Goblin Nation.' He didn't elaborate—goblin-made items belonged to goblins as far as Gringotts was concerned.

Ragnok nodded. 'I accept the return of this horn on behalf of its rightful owners. Does this conclude our business?'

'Yes,' replied Harry. 'Thank you for your time.'

Ragnok stood, and the goblin who'd led them there brought them back to the lobby.

As they left, Andromeda said, 'Well done. I've heard it's a good sign when a goblin is terse with you, particularly during a high-stakes interaction. It means they see you as an equal rather than someone requiring either formality or contempt.'

After they ate lunch together in a nearby Muggle restaurant, Harry returned home to Grimmauld Place. He was glad to have formalised Andromeda's access to the vault, and it was a relief not to feel quite so beholden to the goblins.

Harry didn't feel like staying indoors so he went up to the roof, which he'd newly fitted with garden furniture. Neville had given him a couple of plants, but they weren't thriving under Kreacher's care. The house-elf was prone to extremes, so he either drowned the plants day after day—rain or shine—or he attempted to 'toughen them up' with neglect, which was apparently a traditional house-elf rearing method. Harry thought this explained a lot about Kreacher.

Relaxing into a lounge chair, Harry allowed his mind to wander. It had already been a strange day—first there had been that photograph in the _Prophet_, and then the debacle with Hermione's potion.

Harry had been unable to say much when he and Hermione first saw the photo, since he was shocked to see himself looking so wantonly at the camera. Furthermore, he was loath to admit it, but he knew Janet was right when she said he'd have no shortage of willing partners. He'd had a few minutes to kill in Diagon Alley before Andromeda arrived, and from the shadows he noticed several young witches in front of a newsagent's, looking at the copies of the _Prophet_ on display. _'Yummy,'_ one of them growled. Another made a show of fanning herself.

He fleetingly hoped that seeing the photograph would cause Ginny to change her mind and want him back. But he quickly dismissed the idea—sexual attraction had never been a problem between them. In fact, she'd admitted that their strong alchemy had caused her to delay breaking up with him on several occasions.

_No, it's definitely over between us,_ he thought sadly_. I've changed too much. _

_So what's next? _Deep down he knew what he wanted. _Pudding_. Extra helpings, in fact.

Basking in the sunshine, he indulged for a while in vivid fantasies involving faceless witches in shadowy alcoves. He resisted the urge to help things along manually, choosing instead to delay gratification in hopes of a more satisfying conclusion that night. _And maybe tomorrow morning as well_.

Eventually his thoughts settled, returning to Hermione's potion and the unpleasant discovery that hewas not, in fact, a powerful wizard. _I shouldn't be surprised,_ he thought. He'd seldom been first to master a spell in school, and his only Outstanding O.W.L. had been in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Admittedly he was strong in Defence, at least during the war, but he'd been uniquely motivated then. His performance in Auror training had never been as strong. He wondered whether it would have improved against real opponents rather than his instructors and the other trainees.

Ron had cited Harry's Patronus as evidence he was a powerful wizard. But Harry recalled what Auror Murdoch had said about it, _'Too showy, waste of power.'_ It was a bit galling to realise Murdoch had been right all along.

He knew he'd nothing to be ashamed of. He was still a bit above average. Not that it should matter, of course—to have any magic at all was an enormous privilege. But it smarted to know he'd lost another piece of what made him special. _First Parseltongue, now this._

He still had Quidditch, at least. And it wasn't just Gryffindor Quidditch anymore—he had an entirely new role to fill, playing for the Cannons. Harry relished this wide-open sense of possibility, one hundred percent free from prophecies. _Except for Janet's, _he thought with a smile.

Several hours later, he welcomed his new friends in the formal reception hall. They arrived one after another and spent a moment looking around the room.

Lara spoke first. 'This house is ... not what I pictured.'

'Oh dear,' said Harry. 'What were you expecting?'

'Something a bit less ...' she hesitated. 'Gloomy?'

'I think the word you're looking for is _Dark_,' said Janet. 'Seriously Dark. Dementor love-nest Dark.' She looked around a little longer before facing Harry. 'Then again, this will make a great headquarters for your evil army!'

'Actually,' Harry pointed out, 'this was the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.'

Darren shook his head. 'You're having us on, surely. Any second now you're going to do a _Finite incantatem_ and we'll be standing in an airy loft filled with IKEA furniture.'

'This is the house Harry inherited from his godfather, remember?' said Ryan.

'The mass murderer,' added Janet helpfully.

'That's right,' said Harry. 'Would you care to meet his mother?' He gestured towards the entrance hall, and added, 'I should probably warn you about her, but I don't want to spoil the surprise.'

They assembled before the sleeping portrait, and Harry cleared his throat. 'Walburga, I'd like to introduce my friends.'

She opened her eyes and looked out at them._ 'Misbegotten half-bloods, the lot of you! Get out of my hallway! You disgust me!' _She bared her yellowed teeth at Ryan and growled, _'And you, bearing the stench of a Muggle father! You're even worse than the loathsome son of a Mudblood who dares to inhabit my home.'_

Harry silenced the portrait with a tap of his wand, as Louisa had taught him. His four guests stood there in shocked silence.

Janet was first to recover. 'What the blazes was that?'

'It sure as hell didn't come from IKEA,' commented Darren.

Harry laughed. 'I'm sorry, I couldn't resist springing her on you. That's a portrait of Sirius Black's mother, Walburga.'

'The mass murderer thing is starting to make more sense,' observed Janet.

'Exonerated,' coughed Ryan.

There was the sound of incoming footsteps before Ron and Hermione entered. 'There you are,' said Ron. He looked at the group standing before the portrait and said, 'And I see you've followed proper etiquette by introducing them to the lady of the house.'

'I couldn't stop myself,' admitted Harry. He turned to his new friends. 'She's attached to the wall by a Permanent Sticking Charm, for now anyway. But on that I'll say no more.'

After introducing everyone, Harry escorted them to the sitting room. Ryan, who seemed a little flustered, looked incredulously at Ron and Hermione. 'It's a bit hard to believe I'm in the same room with the fabled Golden Trio. I mean, Harry's old hat by now, but here's the complete set.'

Janet scoffed. 'Don't be naive, Bellamy. It could be naught but lies and Polyjuice.' She turned to Ron and said, 'I'll need to see some proof—do you have your Order of Merlin on you?'

'Sorry, it's on my other robes,' replied Ron. 'But seriously, I'm gobsmacked to be here with three of the Cannons. I've been a fan my whole life—Harry can tell you.'

'Oh right!' said Ryan. 'I understand we have you to thank for sending Harry our way. Having him with us has already been quite the adventure.'

'Sounds familiar,' laughed Hermione. 'That's been our experience since we first met him. Just be grateful you haven't encountered a troll yet.'

'Wait, that story was true?' exclaimed Ryan. 'I assumed that was just the _Prophet_ free-associating as usual.'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, that one's true. Unfortunately.'

Darren said, 'Suresh will want to know whether the troll thing happened before or after the Basilisk attacks. He's started making a timeline of all the mortal peril Harry faced at Hogwarts.'

'The troll came first, then the Basilisk.' replied Ron. 'Huh, I suppose it sounds completely mental when you put it like that.'

'That's because it is completely mental,' said Janet. 'I realise I only attended North Squiffing Secondary, but I recall learning that trolls and schoolchildren don't mix.'

Hermione lit up. 'That reminds me—I'm dying to hear more about the schools you all attended. Did you study non-magical subjects as well as magical ones?'

'Yes and no,' said Ryan. 'As you're well aware, there's a lot to cover in a magical education, so that didn't leave much time for supplementary classes during the school year. But a lot of schools offer summer electives covering the arts and Muggle subjects, since students can't use their wands then anyway.'

Hermione's face fell. 'I could have studied Muggle subjects during the summers?'

'Didn't you study them independently anyway?' asked Harry.

'Of course I did,' said Hermione. 'But I didn't have any assignments.' She looked bereft.

Janet eyed Hermione suspiciously. 'Excuse me, are you having us on?'

Harry and Ron laughed. 'No,' said Harry. 'We love Hermione, but she's ... a bit of a swot.'

'I don't see why wanting to learn and working hard at it makes you a swot,' grumbled Hermione.

'That is literally what defines a swot,' said Janet.

'You're being unfair, Janet,' said Ryan. 'Not everyone was as sport-mad as we were.'

'Hermione certainly wasn't,' laughed Ron. 'She used to bring a book to Harry's Quidditch matches.'

'I needed a distraction from my nerves! I didn't grow up flying, and it made me anxious just watching him. Not to mention the time Professor Quirrell jinxed his broom, or when Dobby charmed the Bludger to follow him. Or when Dementors took the field … Oh dear, I see your point about Hogwarts and mortal peril.'

Suddenly Kreacher appeared in the room with a loud _crack_. 'Master, dinner is ready. Would Master prefer to eat in the kitchen or dining room?'

'The dining room, if you please,' said Harry, and Kreacher vanished.

Lara smirked as they went to the dining room. 'A house-elf, Harry? Why can't you just send him out for your daily pain potion? He could serve it to you on a silver tray, when he brings your breakfast.'

'I do not eat breakfast in bed!' protested Harry. 'Well, maybe once. The other morning when I was so sore. But not since, I swear.'

Janet smiled darkly. 'You are going to regret telling us about that, Potter.'

At that moment, a vast array of Indian dishes appeared on the table. 'Thank you, Kreacher,' called Harry and Hermione simultaneously.

'He makes curries?' asked Darren. 'Is that a standard house-elf thing, or just those belonging to Dark wizards?

'No,' said Ron. 'Harry had to train him up. When we first met him he only served food that had gone off.'

'The more I hear about your life, Harry,' said Ryan, 'the more amazed I am that our side won the war. Could you possibly have had more obstacles?'

'Apparently Voldemort could have summoned away Harry's glasses during the heat of battle,' offered Ron. 'But, lucky for us, he never thought of it.'

Lively conversation continued throughout dinner. Harry was pleased that Ron wasn't nervous around the newcomers. He got the sense, however, that Janet had rubbed Hermione the wrong way. It wasn't shocking, he realised, given Janet's brashness and Hermione's sensitivity.

Eventually they divided into smaller conversations—Ron and Ryan spoke animatedly about Quidditch, and Hermione and Lara appeared to cover a wide range of topics, from Lara's school to Hermione's experiences during the war. Meanwhile, Harry, Darren, and Janet discussed their after-dinner plans.

'Where do you reckon we should go?' Janet asked Darren. 'Harry's never been out much, except maybe for Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, so we need to show him a good time.'

Darren thought for a moment. 'How about Penumbra?'

Janet's eyes gleamed, and she smiled slyly. 'You're a Dark genius, Rogers. This should put you ahead in the contest for Harry's second-in-command.'

'What's Penumbra?' asked Harry.

'It's a deliciously sinful bar in Knockturn Alley,' answered Janet. 'You'll love it.'

Harry frowned. 'I don't think that's a good idea. I'm not exactly popular in Knockturn Alley.'

Janet shook her head dismissively. 'It's only technically in Knockturn Alley, and that's because the proprietor isn't allowed to own property in Diagon Alley. He's a vampire, after all.'

'You want to go to a vampire bar? I'm starting to revise my opinion of you,' said Harry, only half joking.

Darren interjected, 'Janet's just having you on. It's true that the owner's a vampire, and it is in Knockturn Alley, but it's not what you're imagining. The owner's name is Alistair, and he was Muggle-born several centuries ago. He's the closest thing you'll find to a Light vampire.'

'It's true,' confirmed Janet. 'I just wanted to see how you'd react.'

'A Light vampire?' asked Harry. 'How does that even work?'

'Well, for example, during the war he provided illegal portkeys to transport Muggle-borns and their families to the Continent. That's how I got to know him, as part of the war effort. Apparently he's fairly high-status in the vampire hierarchy, so he gets away with that sort of thing.'

'All right, I'm impressed,' replied Harry. 'But what about the part where he survives on human blood?'

'He has thralls for that,' explained Janet. 'They take turns, and believe me, no one's complaining.' After a moment she added, 'And don't worry about the Knockturn Alley part—the main entrance is through a passage from Diagon Alley. It's not really a Dark bar at all. It's mainly for wizards looking to indulge in a bit of decadence.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. He was intrigued.

'That's why it's called Penumbra,' she continued. 'Loosely translated it means _half dark, half light_.'

'Sounds perfect,' said Harry in a low voice, prompting Janet to laugh.

'Down, boy!' ordered Janet. 'We'll get you sorted soon enough. I reckon half the witches in Britain are up for it tonight, after seeing this morning's _Prophet_. You'll probably receive owls from grateful husbands over the next few days.'

They finished the main course, and Kreacher served a half-dozen Indian sweets. 'That's settled then,' said Lara. 'I'm coming round for dinner nightly.'

Darren nodded in agreement. 'Seconded. Can we come here for lunch as well?'

Ryan shook his head. 'No, that would break Candice's heart. Besides, lunch at the pub is Cannons tradition, and you know how wizards feel about tradition.'

'Yeah, I'd hate to ruin our winning streak,' smirked Janet.

After eating they relaxed around the table and drank French-style coffee. 'I'm impressed by how contemporary your house-elf's cooking is,' said Darren. 'Coffee after dinner and everything!'

Lara agreed. 'I've occasionally wondered whether house-elves were magically bound to only serve traditional English cookery. Yorkshire pudding, mushy peas, that sort of thing.'

'Hermione gets all the credit,' said Harry. Hermione glared at him sharply and he quickly added, 'After Kreacher of course.'

Harry continued, 'Her parents are Muggles and fairly adventurous when it comes to food, so she wasn't as willing as the rest of us to stick with the usual fare.'

'We'll have to explore that sometime, Hermione,' said Ryan. 'My father's a Muggle, so I've been exposed to a much wider range of food than most wizards. I've had trouble persuading my magical friends to try different cuisines.'

'That sounds good,' said Hermione, 'but we might need to sneak in sandwiches for Ron. Indian cuisine is about as adventurous as he gets, and you may have noticed he only ate the butter chicken and naan.'

'That's not true,' protested Ron. 'I had a lamb samosa, and some of the sweets.'

'All of the sweets, more like,' mumbled Hermione.

Janet stretched her long arms upwards. 'So who's up for part two? Harry, Darren, and I are heading out for drinks after this.' Ryan and Lara both opted out, and Ron and Hermione turned down the offer as well.

'Hermione's coming over to my place,' said Ron, and Harry suppressed a smirk. _Apparently I'm not the only one with big evening plans_, he thought.

Harry summoned Kreacher into the dining room so everyone could thank him, and the ancient house-elf nearly burst into tears. 'Kreacher is overjoyed that Master has invited so many friends to dinner. Kreacher loves serving more than anything. Thank you, Master!'

After he left, presumably to blubber in private, Ron said, 'You'd never believe how much Kreacher hated Harry at first. Remember that Christmas, Harry, when he sent you a box of maggots?'

The others burst out laughing. Lara said, 'Harry, I think I now understand why you're able to take unusual occurrences in stride.'

'Yes,' said Darren. 'And I'm gradually realising how you reached a point where breaking into Gringotts seemed like a rational decision.'

'Too right,' laughed Ron. 'And we can't even blame Hermione for that one. Usually she was our source for mad ideas, like the time she brewed Polyjuice Potion in a disused lavatory in our second year.'

Ryan looked at Hermione in awe. 'I knew you were the brains of the outfit, but that's truly remarkable. In your second year?'

'Yeah,' said Ron proudly. 'She even stole Boomslang skin from our professor's private cupboard. Harry and I had to create a distraction.'

Hermione blushed. 'I just did what was necessary. It sounds like all of you did as well.' She paused. 'What a relief it's all behind us.'

'Hear hear!' said Ryan, raising his mostly-empty coffee cup.

'Right then,' announced Janet, standing up. 'Time to celebrate!'

Everyone rose and said their goodbyes, leaving only Harry, Janet, and Darren.

'Where should I Apparate to?' asked Harry.

'The passage leading to Penumbra is near Flourish and Blotts, so we can meet there,' replied Darren.

'Great,' said Harry. 'Just give me a few minutes—I'll be there presently.'

Darren and Janet left without him, and Harry went into the bathroom. He washed his face and cleaned his teeth Muggle-style—Hermione had trained him well.

He looked at the mirror and breathed deeply. _This is it_, he thought. _If I play my cards right, I'll be returning with company. Someone other than Ginny._

Yes, he was ready for this, and he wanted it. Smiling, he stepped out of the bathroom and turned on his heel to Apparate.

When Harry arrived outside Flourish and Blotts, he found Janet and Darren touching up their appearances before the darkened shop window. Janet was using her wand to charm her lips redder, and Darren was artfully tousling his hair. Harry was reminded of his dad, who had done something similar in the memory he'd seen of him years earlier.

'There you are, Potter,' said Janet. 'Let's get this thing started.'

She and Darren led Harry into a nearby passage, which they followed for about twenty yards before reaching a dark metal door. It was luxuriously ornamented with curving vines, and two shaded amber lights at the top framed a sign that said 'Penumbra' in gleaming letters. Harry flushed with anticipation. He'd never been anywhere like this.

Darren opened the door and Harry was struck by how dark it was, darker even than the passageway. Each of the tables was softly illuminated, and there seemed to be a lot of people there, but he was unable to distinguish any faces.

Observing his reaction, Darren explained, 'All the tables are warded with low-level privacy charms. You can see the general outline of whoever is there, and there's no obstacle to having a closer look, but it's impossible to recognise someone from more than a few feet away.'

Harry smiled. This was perfect—he could enjoy himself in public without being mobbed.

The hostess, a slender witch wearing form-fitting robes, surveyed them coolly but made no indication of recognising Harry. She greeted Darren, however, and led them towards a table. As they followed her through the room, Harry found he was able to see people more clearly as he passed, but that they became indistinct as soon as he was farther away.

He was pleased to be led to a very private booth on the far end, until it occurred to him that he was there to meet witches and not just hang about with mates. Frowning, he scanned the room again, and he noticed an area near the bar where people were more clearly visible. He decided that must be where the mingling occurred.

They slid onto the upholstered benches and Harry opened the drinks menu. 'They have the usual offerings, like beer and Firewhisky,' explained Darren, 'but I recommend trying the cocktails. Personally I like the Red Phoenix—when you finish it, just wait a few minutes and it renews itself in a burst of flames. It costs more, but one tumbler lasts the whole night. It tastes a bit fruity.'

'That sounds interesting,' replied Harry, 'but I'm not sure I want to commit to a single cocktail for the entire evening. Perhaps I could try a bit of yours so I know for next time.' He turned to Janet and asked, 'What's your favourite?'

'I'm partial to the Elderflower Aurora. It's hard to describe but there are waves of flavour as you sip it. Best to go slowly, to really savour the experience.'

'I'm not sure. I suppose I should read all the descriptions.' He started perusing the menu.

'Try the Sword of Gryffindor,' said a silky voice.

Harry looked up and saw a slim man roughly his own height. He had silvery hair to his shoulders and very black eyes. His face was unlined.

'Alistair!' greeted Darren. 'You've found us already—please, have a seat.'

The vampire slid into the booth. 'Welcome to my establishment, Harry Potter,' he said from across the table. 'It's a pleasure to meet you.'

'Thank you, likewise. This is a remarkable place you've got here. I've never been before.'

'Indeed,' replied Alistair.

Harry looked again at the menu. 'I don't see the Sword of Gryffindor listed anywhere.'

Alistair smiled. 'You of all people should know that the Sword of Gryffindor doesn't present itself to just anyone. But I promise you'll like it, and it's perfectly safe.'

'Unlike the real sword of Gryffindor,' murmured Harry.

Alistair signalled for a waitress, and one appeared nearly instantly to take their orders.

Harry observed the vampire, who was catching up with Darren. He'd seldom been in close contact with vampires, and he hadn't yet studied them in his Auror training. He knew, however, that they could be very charismatic, and that it was easy in their presence to feel as if you'd been under a Compulsion Charm.

Auror Harry would have exercised constant vigilance, never letting his guard drop even an inch. But Seeker Harry knew he was among friends, and although he observed basic protocols such as having his back to the wall and his wand accessible, he allowed himself to surrender a bit to the atmosphere.

Alistair and Darren finished chatting, and Harry turned towards the vampire. 'I was impressed to hear what you did during the war,' he said.

Alistair nodded. 'I was born to Muggles a long time ago, and I've had plenty of time to confirm that pure-bloods are in no way superior to other wizards.' Harry wondered whether Alistair was referring to their flavour rather than their magical ability, but he didn't say anything.

Janet said, 'We're here to give Harry what you might call a change of perspective. He's newly single and could use a new outlook.'

Darren smirked, 'I wouldn't say no to a new outlook either, should the opportunity arise.'

'You don't need my help with that, surely,' said Alistair. 'And I'm not that kind of proprietor,' he added with a playful gleam in his dark eyes.

'Of course not,' replied Darren. 'I'll drag him over to the arena once we've loosened him up a bit,' he said, indicating the open area near the bar.

The waitress returned with their drinks. Harry's came in a tall, narrow glass, and the smoky liquid was illuminated by a tall shaft of light from within. The flavour was full-bodied, with herbal notes and the tang of spirits. Subtle waves of sensation travelled through Harry as he sipped.

He breathed deeply. 'This is good,' he said. 'Thank you for recommending it.'

Darren and Janet fell into their own conversation, leaving Harry and Alistair to speak more privately. 'You are a powerful wizard,' said Alistair simply.

'No, I'm not,' replied Harry. 'My magical strength is barely above average.' Had he been compelled to say that?

'I'm not talking about magical strength,' said Alistair. 'I'm talking about the kind of power that's available to any human, but which few are able to wield.'

'And what's that?' asked Harry.

Alistair leaned closer, and the table seemed to narrow, drawing them nearer to one another.

'Real power. Unimpeded life force. Some might describe it as charisma, but charisma is only a side effect.' He reached and gently brushed aside Harry's fringe, revealing his scar.

'Nothing remains here,' he said, fingering the scar lightly. Harry was surprised to find himself allowing Alistair to touch him like that.

Alistair continued. 'Your entire life there was a presence here,' he murmured as he continued to stroke Harry's forehead. 'But it's gone now, and your strength remains. A weaker man would never have withstood it. I know this as a vampire, for we too are a kind of Horcrux. This is why most vampires turn Dark—they can't oppose its power.'

He brushed his fingers down from Harry's forehead along his cheekbone before withdrawing his hand. 'But you and I have resisted. Godric would be proud.'

Harry's eyes widened. 'You were a Gryffindor?'

'Yes, hundreds of years ago.'

Harry continued sipping his drink. The fire had spread through his entire body, and his eyelids felt heavy. But he was fully alert.

'What should I do with this power,' he asked breathily.

'First you feed it,' said Alistair. 'Right now it's still new and growing.'

'And how do I do that?'

'You know how,' replied the vampire. 'Trust your cravings.'

Harry reddened slightly. 'My cravings are rather ... base.'

'Your heart elevates them. You sacrificed your life. You've shattered the illusion of the self.'

Harry felt his body fill with pleasure, and a deep sense of satisfaction overtook him. An image of Neo from 'The Matrix' appeared in his mind, bullets landing harmlessly on the ground.

Alistair motioned towards the open section, which Darren had called the arena. 'It's for you to choose,' he said. Harry rose from the table, glass in hand, and walked alone towards the arena. Several faces turned towards him as he passed, but he barely noticed them.

He approached a young witch, perhaps a year or two older than himself. She was roughly his height, with dark wavy hair. He scanned her body, pausing momentarily on her full lips, before looking into her hazel eyes.

'Hi,' he said. 'I'm Harry.'

She swallowed. 'I know. I'm Elizabeth.'

'Nice to meet you Elizabeth.' He saw that she didn't have a drink. 'May I get you something?'

'Yes, thanks. A Glittering Heart, please.'

Resting his hand lightly on her arm, Harry guided her to the bar, where he ordered her cocktail.

While the bartender prepared the drink, Harry turned his attention back to Elizabeth. He took another long look at her through half-lidded eyes before speaking.

'What's in a Glittering Heart? This is only my first time here, so I'm not familiar with the menu.'

She replied, 'It's fizzy, with cranberry juice and some kind of citrus I think. You'll have to try it.'

'I will,' he said, with a slow smile.

The barman slid the cocktail across the counter and Harry paid for it. 'Here you are,' said Harry, handing her the drink.

'Won't you try some?' she asked.

He looked at her lips again. 'I will,' he repeated, and her cheeks deepened in colour.

'Shall we find a table?' he said.

'Yes,' she replied, allowing him to lead her to an empty booth. He slid next to her, their legs touching.

She took a long sip from her cocktail before looking back at him. 'Are you ready?' she asked.

'Yes,' he said, turning towards her. Their lips met, and he tasted her deeply. 'Cranberry,' he murmured, before leaning in again.

She ran her hand over his thigh before sitting up, panting a little. 'I'd like to finish it first,' she said. 'It's hard to Apparate holding a drink.'

He smiled. 'Take your time.' He took another sip of his own cocktail.

She looked at his glass, which was nearly empty, and said, 'Will you be wanting another?'

'No,' he said. 'I have everything I need.'

She shivered and leaned into him again. It was a long while before their lips parted.

'Is there anything I should know about you?' he asked.

She took a languorous breath before answering. 'I live in a village, not far from Bristol. I work for the Ministry, in the Floo department.'

His eyes never left her as she spoke. 'Go on,' he said.

'I finished my studies at East Kettleton two years ago. I played Chaser ... I can't wait to see you fly, even though I'm a Puddlemere fan. I've got tickets for their next match against the Cannons.'

'I still want to know more about you,' he said. 'It sounds like you know enough about me.'

'I was in hiding the last year of the war,' she said. 'My mother's a Muggle, and my sister and I stayed with her to keep her and my grandparents safe. My father had to claim he abandoned her, just to keep his job.'

'That's awful, I'm so sorry,' he said.

'You're the last person who needs to apologise, Harry.' She'd pronounced his name softly, like an exhale.

She sipped from her glass again. 'Will you have some more?'

'Just a taste,' he said, and kissed her lightly. 'I don't want to lose my wits.'

She gasped softly and squeezed his thigh, and then her hand slid up and inwards. He closed his eyes a moment and allowed the sensation to wash over him. They would need to leave soon.

'Let's go,' he said. 'Walk in front of me.'

They walked past his original table and Harry caught Janet's eye. She was with Darren and two others, and she winked at Harry as he passed.

Elizabeth led him out the main door, into the passage.

'Side-along?' he asked. She nodded, and he took her hand. He caressed it a moment before grasping it more firmly.

He Apparated her straight into his bedroom at Grimmauld Place. She looked around and giggled.

'You didn't waste any time,' she remarked.

'Should I have?' he asked, backing away slightly.

She smiled and moved towards him. 'No,' she whispered.

-––—––—––-

_Author's Note: I promise this isn't turning into a vampire fic! Alistair is a relatively minor character, and his primary purpose in this scene was to kick-start Harry's pulling career. The next chapter will have the same tone as previous sections._

_Also, to anyone who's upset that I "nerfed" Harry, please pause to consider that Hermione's potion mightn't measure everything. Perhaps there's another reason for Harry's strong Patronus ..._


	8. Chapter 8

After their dinner at Grimmauld Place, Hermione and Ron stepped from the fireplace into Ron's flat. It was small but pleasant—not as centrally located as Harry's, but that didn't matter much for wizards. And compared to his room at the Burrow, it was a palace.

'So did you enjoy meeting the Cannons?' asked Hermione. 'You seemed to comport yourself well enough.'

'Yeah,' said Ron. 'Harry was right—they're easy to get along with. If you'd told me two years ago I'd spend half an hour talking strategy with the Cannons' star Chaser, I would have thought you were barmy. But Bellamy was brilliant.'

'Yes, he seemed nice enough,' agreed Hermione. 'And I thought Lara was lovely. I can't say I got much of a read from Darren yet.'

'And Janet was a riot,' added Ron. 'She's got a tongue on her all right.'

'I noticed that,' said Hermione tartly.

Ron was quiet a moment, with the expression of someone trying to make up their mind. He inhaled and turned towards Hermione. 'I reckon maybe we should talk.'

She looked at him remorsefully. 'Are you still upset about the potion?'

'Yes and no,' he replied. 'Er, maybe we should sit down.'

Her eyes widened in alarm. They seated themselves on the sofa.

'Erm, Hermione ... this morning got me thinking.' He hesitated. 'I don't know if it's going to work for us as a couple.'

Her throat clenched shut. 'What?' she said, her voice cracking.

'I don't think we should see each other any more.'

She was dumbstruck, and the colour drained from her face. Her lower lip started trembling.

'Is this because of the potion?' she asked, and tears began to fall.

'Not exactly. I mean yeah, that's an awful potion, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that you tried to hide it from me, and that you didn't trust me not to be upset.'

'But you are upset!' she said, a bit desperately. _How could this be happening?_

'Yeah, but not the way you were thinking. Not like I would have been upset a few years ago.' Ron looked down, then ran his hands through his hair before looking up again.

Her face ashen, she said, 'I'm sorry. I know I apologised, but I still feel awful about it. I shouldn't have underestimated you like that.'

'That's the thing, Hermione. I feel like you're always underestimating me.'

'That's not true. I'm so amazed by you all the time, how much you've grown up in the last year and a half. You've become the man I hoped for ... someone strong and mature ...' she trailed off.

'Can't you hear yourself? It always feels like you think you're ahead of me, and I'll never catch up. That I'm the only one who could ever be immature, and not you.'

'I know I can be immature too. I still act like a bossy little girl sometimes. But you help me overcome that. I thought we were so good for each other.' She was openly weeping by now, and Ron conjured a handkerchief for her.

'I think we were good for each other ... for a while,' he said. 'I couldn't have got through the thing with Fred without you. But if you think about it, we got together, er ... in the heat of the moment. And maybe we're not really that suited for each other.'

'You suited me,' she sobbed. 'Why don't I suit you?'

He tried putting his arms around her but she stiffened and pushed him away.

'I'm sorry, Hermione. It's just ... maybe you think I suited you, but I don't always feel like you respect me. Not like you respect Harry.'

She looked up at him, her sobs momentarily disrupted. 'Is this about Harry? You know I don't care about him that way.'

'Of course I know that,' replied Ron. 'But he's the one you treat like an equal. You told him about that potion and didn't worry how he'd take it. I feel like I'm always going to be in second place in your mind.'

'I can't believe you're still jealous of Harry.'

'I'm not jealous of Harry,' said Ron irritably. 'I'm just tired of being treated like a child by my girlfriend. I've already got one mother.'

'Is that how you see me? Like your mother?' demanded Hermione.

'When you boss me around and congratulate me for managing to grasp the right end of my wand, yeah I see you like my mother.'

'It takes two, Ronald!' she blurted. 'I wouldn't have to act like your mother if you didn't act like a bloody child all the time.'

'My point exactly!' cried Ron.

She was quiet for a while. 'So that's it, then. You're going to throw away everything we had together?'

'That's not how I'd put it. But yeah.' He softened again. 'I'm sorry, Hermione. I hate to hurt you like this. But I think it's better this way. Maybe we can still be friends again.'

She started to shiver. 'I can't believe this is happening.' She lowered her head into her hands. 'I can't believe this is happening.'

He put his arm around her, and this time she didn't resist. She wept heavily as he held her.

After a long while, she said, 'I should probably go home now.'

'Are you all right getting home?' he asked.

She nodded. 'I can probably say "Granger House" clearly enough.' Shoulders slumped, she walked heavily to the fireplace, and Ron walked with her.

'I'm so sorry,' he said.

Unable to reply, she took a pinch of Floo powder and dropped it into the grate. 'Granger House,' she said dully, before being sucked home to her parents.

She emerged into the lounge, where her mother was in an armchair reading.

'Home so soon? How was your evening?' said Emily automatically.

'Oh, mum,' cried Hermione, causing Emily to jump from her chair and go to her.

'Darling, what is it? Is everyone all right?' she asked, wrapping her arms around her trembling daughter.

'Everyone's fine,' choked Hermione. 'Only ... Ron ...' She couldn't form the words.

'Oh, my baby.' She squeezed Hermione harder.

Daniel, who had overheard the commotion but not the content, stepped into the room. 'What's wrong?'

Emily answered, 'Hermione and Ron have split up.'

'I'm so sorry, dear,' said Daniel, stroking Hermione's hair. 'Had you been considering it for a while? I know it's awful either way.'

Hermione's sobs recommenced. 'It was his idea, not mine,' she said, her face burning.

They sat together on the sofa, with Hermione sandwiched between her parents like a small child. She cried heavily for a while, as they held her and tried to offer comfort.

'He's a bloody fool,' snarled Daniel. 'You're one in a million, you know that.'

'Not the one he wants,' she choked.

They were quiet a little longer before Daniel said, 'Shall I put on the kettle? I should have suggested it sooner.'

Hermione nodded slowly. 'Just a tisane though. I think I just want to go to bed.'

Emily held her while Daniel went to the kitchen, and he soon returned with a hot mug. Hermione sat up and took it from him. She inhaled the aroma and let the steam soothe her aching brow.

'I just never saw it coming,' she said. 'He said we weren't suited for each other. He said I treat him like a child.'

Daniel and Emily exchanged glances.

'What?' said Hermione accusingly.

Emily couldn't stifle a small laugh. 'Darling, you are unfailingly observant even in extremis.'

Hermione was not amused. 'So you agree with him then? You think I treat him like a child?'

'No, sweetheart, that's not what I meant,' said Emily reassuringly. 'I was only agreeing that you and Ron aren't necessarily well suited to one another. You're just such a remarkable young woman and ...'

'Are you saying Ron wasn't good enough for me?' asked Hermione indignantly.

'We're your parents,' said Daniel. 'Nobody's good enough for you, as far as I'm concerned anyway.'

'We were just worried because wizards marry so young,' explained Emily. 'First loves are usually just that—a first love. I'm glad I had my first love, but thank goodness I didn't marry him.'

Hermione's agony seemed to lift for a moment, but it was replaced by a heavy sorrow. 'But how will I ever find someone who knows me like Ron does? Who can understand what I've been through?'

'Darling, you will,' cooed Emily. 'You're so young. I didn't even meet your father until I was twenty-four.'

'Twenty-four!' gasped Hermione. 'I don't want to wait that long!'

'No, sweetheart,' replied Daniel. 'It doesn't have to be that long. You just have your whole life ahead of you. I don't think you realise how wonderful you are, and how much you have to offer.'

Hermione's tea had cooled, and she drank it steadily. It soothed her parched throat a bit.

'How will I even interact? I can't see him right now, but I can't ask Harry to avoid him. They're best mates!'

'Surely Harry can make time for both of you,' said Emily.

Daniel added, 'You'll find the time. It's not like you're all spending an hour a day commuting.'

Hermione smiled. 'Thanks, daddy,' she said before draining the last of her tea. 'I should go to bed now. I'm really tired.'

Her parents rose with her. 'Do you want me to come tuck you in?' asked Emily.

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, please.'

Not long afterwards, Hermione was lying under the blankets in her single bed, with Emily in a chair next to her.

Stroking her daughter's hair, Emily said, 'I know this is awful. I've been through it myself, when I was around your age. But time will help, and all your wonderful qualities—your kindness, your curiosity, your enormous heart—all of those will help carry you through this.'

Hermione nodded, sniffling.

'I have no doubt in my mind,' continued Emily, 'that you will get through this. You'll see, love.'

'Thank you, mum,' said Hermione sleepily.

Emily bent forward and kissed her forehead. 'I love you so much, darling.'

Hermione exhaled heavily, and Emily turned off the lamp as she left.

-––—––-

Early the next morning, Harry awoke to the lovely sensation of warm, overlapping limbs. _Ginny,_ he thought with satisfaction, and rolled towards her. But when he opened his eyes, the familiar fan of vivid red hair was absent, and instead he saw a dark-haired woman still asleep. He felt a small stab of disappointment, but it was followed by lush memories of the previous night.

He and Elizabeth had left Penumbra relatively early, so they'd had ample time to explore after satisfying Harry's initial urgent need. She'd been as eager as he was, and once he was able to think straight he attended to her thoroughly. Ginny had trained him well.

There had been pockets of conversation—she told him more about her life and ambitions. She admitted that the photograph of him in the _Prophet_ had 'stirred her up' and influenced her decision to go to Penumbra that night. Naturally she hadn't expected to meet Harry himself.

He'd spoken very little about his own life—he mainly asked open-ended questions, or told her how attractive he found her. Elizabeth had tried several times to steer the conversation around him but she was thwarted, partly by his impaired verbal skills, but mostly by his lifelong habit of self-protection.

Looking back, he was astonished by how easily he'd got her into his bed. He didn't know whether it was the alcohol, the conversation with Alistair, the 'deliciously sinful' atmosphere of the bar—or some combination of the three. He found himself wondering whether he could repeat it.

Elizabeth rolled over. Eventually her breathing grew more shallow, and she opened her eyes soon after. Recognising him, she smiled and said, 'Hello,' in a husky voice.

'Hello yourself,' he replied, kissing her lazily on the forehead. She reached for him, and before long they were lying on their backs again, satisfied.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next time he opened his eyes she was out of bed and wearing the top half of the glow-in-the-dark Prongs pyjamas George Weasley had given him.

'Good morning,' she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 'Should we get some breakfast?'

Harry sat up and stretched his arms. 'Yes, I'm famished.'

'I'll bet you are!'

Running his hand through his hair, he said, 'We have two options. We could either have breakfast in bed, courtesy of my somewhat demented house-elf, Kreacher. Or I could prepare breakfast myself. Which would you prefer?'

She looked skeptical. 'Do you really know how to cook, or are you threatening me with "bachelor wizard cookery" which generally involves wand-toasted bread and tinned beans?'

He laughed, 'Don't forget the tomato, mangled by a cutting curse, and a glass of murky pumpkin juice. But no, I really do know how to cook—I was raised by Muggles.'

'Oh right, I'd forgot ... As much as I'm tempted to stay in bed with you and eat grapes off a platter, I can't turn down the chance to have Harry Potter cook me breakfast.'

'All right. Let me go down first, so I can break the news to Kreacher. The kitchen is three floors down.' Harry got out of bed and pulled on the previous night's boxer shorts and a dressing gown.

After visiting the loo, he went downstairs to the kitchen and found Hermione at the table, with a cup of tea and an untouched scone in front of her. Her eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles underneath, and her hair was bushy.

'Hermione, what's the matter?'

'Ron broke up with me,' she replied hoarsely.

'Ron broke up with you?" he repeated, sitting down next to her. 'Why? What happened?'

She sniffled and wiped her nose with a wadded handkerchief. 'He said we're not suited to each other. And that I treat him like a child.'

'Oh Hermione, I'm so sorry.' He wrapped her in a hug. 'When did this happen?'

'Last night, after dinner.'

Elizabeth walked tentatively into the kitchen, still wearing only the pyjama top. 'Er, pardon me ...' she said.

Hermione turned pale and pulled away. 'Oh my god, you've got company ... I'll just leave ...'

'No,' protested Harry, placing his hands on her shoulders to stop her. 'Please don't go. Hang on a minute.'

He went to Elizabeth and pulled her into the hallway. 'I'm so sorry, Elizabeth, but my friend is having a crisis. I'm afraid you'll have to go.'

'Was that Hermione Granger?' she asked, peering over his shoulder.

'Can I offer you breakfast some other time?' he asked, ignoring her question. 'I'm terribly sorry to kick you out like this.'

She looked disappointed. 'Of course. Does that mean I'll see you again? I wasn't sure what to expect. Penumbra, you know.'

He took a deep breath. 'Yeah. I can't say I'm relationship material. I just got out of something serious and ...'

'I understand,' she said. 'Owl me sometime. Or come find me at the Floo department.'

'Can you see yourself out? The fireplace is one floor up. I'm so sorry.'

'Yes, of course,' she replied, and they kissed again before she returned to his bedroom to get dressed.

Harry pulled his dressing gown closed before returning to the kitchen, where Hermione was tearing her scone into increasingly small pieces. He sat down again beside her.

'What happened? Are you all right?'

'No, I'm not all right,' she said. 'It's over. We're not suited to each other. I don't respect him enough.'

'Is that what he said?'

She nodded.

Harry wasn't sure how to respond, so he tried to be silently supportive instead. He loved Hermione, but he had to admit Ron had assessed things correctly. Harry had never entirely understood their relationship.

'I still can't believe it,' she said. 'I'd waited so long for him to grow up, and he finally had done ...' Tears rolled from her eyes, and Harry conjured her a fresh handkerchief.

'He'd become the man I always wanted ... he'd even developed table manners.' She started to sob.

'And now that he's trained,' she continued. 'He'll find someone else, and she'll get to have him.'

Harry, still unsure what to say, made vaguely soothing noises.

'And his parents!' she said, in a fresh burst of woe. 'I already thought of them as my in-laws. And now that's never going to happen.'

'Er, Hermione,' started Harry. 'Didn't you mostly complain about Mrs Weasley, and how she treats Fleur?'

'Perhaps,' she said. 'But I was prepared for it.'

Harry was ravenous by that point, but he had no idea how to extricate himself and prepare breakfast. Could he possibly communicate silently with Kreacher using the house-elf bond?

_Kreacher! _he thought desperately.

_Yes, Master!_ replied Kreacher from within Harry's mind.

_Could you please make me breakfast? The usual, but with extra sausage and some buttered toast._

_Kreacher is delighted to serve Master this way! Only the most fortunate house-elves can receive orders silently! Kreacher is very very lucky! Thank you, Master!_

Harry wasn't sure how to dismiss Kreacher, and he was worried that Hermione would notice he wasn't paying proper attention.

_Thank you, Kreacher. That will be all._

Harry felt a tiny pop in his mind, which he hoped meant Kreacher was no longer present. _It was bad enough having Voldemort in there,_ he thought.

'... and then he said I'd proven his point,' continued Hermione, still crying.

Harry was relieved to hear food-preparation sounds from the other end of the kitchen. 'I'm so sorry, Hermione,' he said. 'Trust me, I know how awful this feels.'

'Oh, Harry, of course you do! I forgot about you and Ginny.' Her eyes grew wide, 'And I can't believe I intruded on you and your, er– company.'

'Never mind that,' replied Harry. _At least I got in there once more before breakfast,_ thought a devilish part of his mind, and he was mortified on its behalf.

'Did you meet her last night? Do you think you'll see her again?'

'I wouldn't mind seeing her a few more times, but I don't envision anything serious.'

'I hope she knows that,' cautioned Hermione.

'We met at a decadent vampire bar in Knockturn Alley, so I doubt she'll have any misapprehensions.'

Hermione was aghast. 'You went into Knockturn Alley? Do you have a death wish?'

Harry did his best to explain Alistair and his unusual circumstances.

'He was in Gryffindor? How many centuries ago? It would be fascinating to talk with him—he sounds much more informative than any of the Hogwarts ghosts or portraits. I'd have so many questions!'

'I'm not sure I'd recommend that. At least not in your present condition. He was oddly ... compelling.'

'Are you afraid I'd fall under his influence and become his thrall?' she asked, smiling a little.

'I daresay you'd forget about Ron pretty fast.'

'And forget my own name as well. No thanks.' She let out a heavy sigh. 'Oh, Harry, how will I manage?'

'You've managed before without Ron,' he observed.

'And I was miserable.'

'That's true, but I should point out we had a Horcrux with us. Two, actually, if you count the one behind my scar.'

'You're right. I'd forgot about that.' She was quiet a moment. 'Merlin, what an awful time that was.'

Harry nodded. 'It really was.'

'That's the thing, Harry. Where will I find someone else who can understand what we've been through?'

'I don't know, Hermione. But we're not the only people who fought in the war, or who suffered.'

'I know that,' she said. 'But someone who understands the loneliness, and the despair, and what it was like to carry a Horcrux for months. Someone who doesn't think we were mad for breaking into Gringotts.'

'Actually, that was quite mad,' observed Harry, and she swatted him.

He continued, 'Honestly, I'm probably the last person who should try to cheer you up. Here I woke up next to a beautiful witch and my first thought was to be disappointed she wasn't Ginny.'

'Oh, Harry,' she said sympathetically.

He sighed. 'I know how you feel, wondering whether anyone else can really understand what we've been through. I don't think even Ginny understood, and that's part of what pulled us apart.'

After a silence, Hermione giggled unexpectedly. 'The solution to this problem should be obvious ... It's a shame I only see you as a brother.'

'I know, same here,' he replied affectionately. 'It would certainly be convenient. No need to explain my panic attacks around fluttering black curtains, for example.'

She squeezed his hand.

They were quiet again, until Harry took a deep breath and spoke. 'Fortunately things do change, eventually. I can't believe how much my life has changed in a single week. Last Sunday I was still a bespectacled Auror-in-training.'

'And now you're shagging some trollop you met in Knockturn Alley,' smirked Hermione.

'And you're practising blood magic in your leisure time.'

'Ugh, that stupid potion. None of this would have happened if I hadn't made it.'

'Do you really believe that?'

She sighed. 'No, I suppose not. I'm sorry again about how that turned out. Are you all right?'

'I am,' said Harry, sincerely. 'There's nothing wrong with being average.'

'Above average,' she corrected.

'Alistair gave me some perspective on that. Magical strength isn't everything.'

'Well, a fat lot of good it's doing me right now,' said Hermione ruefully.

'You could at least charm your hair. I'm sure it would lift your spirits to look in the mirror and see old Bellatrix looking out at you.'

'Don't be horrid,' she scolded. 'Should we try the charm on your hair, as Ron suggested?'

'Suit yourself.'

She pulled out her wand and pointed it at Harry. _'Domina capilli.'_

His hair seemed to ruffle momentarily, but nothing changed.

_'Domina capilli.'_

A low growling sound emanated from Harry's scalp, and a bit of smoke appeared.

'No, I think we've only made it cross,' said Hermione. 'Clearly this isn't the charm for you.'

'Perhaps we can use blood magic to create some hair gel. Could you look into that for me?'

'Very funny. But seriously, thanks for cheering me up. And sorry again for causing your paramour to ... withdraw prematurely.'

'Hermione!'

She smiled mischievously.

Kreacher set Harry's breakfast on the table, and Harry thanked him before turning back to Hermione. 'Won't you have something?'

'I will, thanks. But after that I should go home—Mum was making noises about renting videos and eating ice cream.'

'Sugar-free ice cream, surely?'

'No, the real thing. Apparently this qualifies as an extenuating circumstance.'

He ate voraciously, and Hermione managed to eat a scone and a piece of sausage from Harry's plate.

'Harry, how will you juggle your friendships with Ron and me? I don't think I can be around him anytime soon.'

'I'm sure we'll work something out. Maybe you can send a Patronus before coming round, just in case he's here,' suggested Harry.

'Good idea. And you might consider having Prongs guard the premises while you're ... entertaining guests. Seems rather appropriate, really.' He scowled at her, but she continued. 'Actually I'm glad to see you're moving on. Gives the rest of us hope.'

'Thanks,' said Harry, a bit embarrassed. He hadn't wanted his escapades discovered quite this quickly.

They said their goodbyes, leaving Harry to his remaining piece of toast. He supposed he'd be hearing from Ron soon—perhaps he should get a nap in first.

Harry walked upstairs to his room, and on the disheveled bed he found a handwritten note from Elizabeth:

_Thank you for the extremely lovely evening (and morning). I expect you to provide breakfast next time._

_Yours,  
Elizabeth_

He lay down and inhaled the scent from the pillow she had used. It was different to Ginny's scent, which he knew he would never forget. _But they say variety is the spice of life, _thought Harry.

Ron turned up late that afternoon, long after Harry had awakened from his much-needed nap.

'I suppose you've heard already,' he said simply.

'Yeah,' replied Harry. 'She came round this morning.'

'How was she?'

'About how you'd expect. We spent a while talking.'

'Thanks, mate,' said Ron. 'Sorry you're caught in the middle.'

Harry shrugged. 'It's all right. How are you doing?'

'I hate to admit it,' he sighed, 'but I mostly feel relieved.'

'Had you been planning it a long time?' asked Harry.

'I guess you could say it had been brewing for a while, but I didn't really feel certain until yesterday. I reckon the thing with the potion pushed me over the edge. Gave me an excuse even.'

'I didn't realise things were that bad,' said Harry.

Ron shook his head. 'They weren't ... I loved her, you know. Still do. But I just couldn't be with her anymore.'

Harry nodded. 'I'll admit it didn't come as a total shock. I always wondered what drew you together.'

Ron sighed. 'I think it started when I saw her with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball. That was the first time I noticed how pretty she was.'

'Same here,' replied Harry with a chuckle.

'Yeah, I never saw that coming,' smirked Ron. 'Anyway, I think I sort of fixated on her after that. Like if she'd only choose me, that would prove I was special. After all, Viktor Krum had chosen her. But who was I kidding ... why would she choose me over you? That's what I thought anyway.'

Harry sighed. He hated that Ron had tormented himself for no reason.

'But then after Krum she hardly dated anyone. I could never figure out why more blokes weren't after her.'

'They were probably scared you'd curse their bollocks off,' observed Harry. 'Everyone knew you liked her, and that she liked you.'

'It took me the longest time to realise it. Let me tell you, it was like torture living with her in the tent. Sometimes I knew for certain that she fancied me, but then I'd get stuck with the Horcrux and it would convince me I'd been fooling myself. Why would a girl like Hermione—_"the most brilliant witch of her generation"_—be interested in a tosser like Ron Weasley?'

'You know she never saw you that way,' said Harry.

'I know that now. But remember how I was back then.'

Harry nodded, and Ron continued.

'When we were held captive at Malfoy Manor, and I heard her being tortured ... I couldn't bear it. And they were going to give her to Greyback ... I wanted more than anything to rescue her, to keep her safe, to give up my life for her even. If I could just protect her, I'd be worthy.

'The day we finally got together, during the battle, was already the most intense day of my life. Hers too, I expect. I think I was half-mad from adrenaline, and when we kissed it was unbelievable. I knew I'd probably die within the hour, but it didn't matter because Hermione had chosen me.

'But then it was over, and Fred had died. And Lavender, and Lupin, and Tonks ... Hermione was my only comfort. She stayed with me—Mum never noticed, or didn't say anything about it. Hermione took care of me, and I never wanted to be apart from her. She was the only thing that made sense.'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'That's what it was like for Ginny and me.'

'Right. But unlike you and Ginny, Hermione and I were never ... a good fit. I feel like an arse just saying it, but the alchemy just wasn't there. I think without the mortal peril there wasn't actually much spark.

'I wanted there to be,' continued Ron. 'Merlin, she's so pretty! But I just felt like a naughty schoolboy around her, and not in a good way. Like I wasn't really allowed to touch her. Lavender, on the other hand ...' Ron grinned.

'Oh, I remember,' chuckled Harry. 'All of Gryffindor remembers. I think the portraits are still talking about you.'

'You couldn't pry me and Lavender apart,' he said fondly.

'I know. We tried.'

'Why couldn't I have that with Hermione? I could have tolerated the bossiness and all the rest. It would have been a turn-on, to be honest.'

Harry laughed. 'Ronald Weasley,' he scolded, imitating Hermione. 'Your penmanship is abominable! How are we going to punish you?'

'Exactly!' cried Ron. 'I tried to goad her into it a few times, but she never got the hint. She was just too bashful. Always in her head or something.'

'I assume you didn't tell her any of this last night. She certainly didn't mention anything about your sex life.'

'Merlin, no! I just said we weren't well suited to each other and figured she'd attach her own meaning.'

'Good move,' said Harry. 'I'd probably be duelling you right now if you'd been more explicit ... So what are you going to do now?'

Ron sighed. 'I'll keep my distance in the near term. I'm sorry if that's awkward for you. I won't mind if you make her first priority for a while.'

'I'm sure we can work something out. You're always welcome for dinner if she's not coming.'

'Cheers. As for my other plans, I'd like to start dating other witches, if I can do it without Hermione finding out.'

'As long as you leave me out of it,' said Harry. 'I don't want to have to hide anything from her.'

Ron looked a bit sheepish. 'How would you feel if I asked out Janet?'

Harry raised his eyebrows. 'That could be awkward. But obviously it's none of my business, and I won't stop you. Hopefully she'll make things simple and shoot you down.'

'Oi! Some friend you are,' protested Ron. 'But seriously, do you think I'm her type?'

'I know she likes tall men, so you've that going for you. But remember she saw you just yesterday with your long-term girlfriend, so you might want to wait at least a day or so before turning up with flowers.'

'She doesn't strike me as the flowers type, honestly.'

'Me neither. But with witches you never know.'

'True,' agreed Ron. 'Say, did you have fun last night with Darren and Janet?'

Harry didn't reply, but apparently his facial expression spoke volumes.

'You didn't!' exclaimed Ron. 'Not with Janet, I hope?'

'Merlin, no! First thing, I'm about six inches too short. And second, that would be fraternisation among Cannons, which is strictly forbidden.'

'Who then? Someone you met last night?'

'Yes, a witch named Elizabeth. She went to one of the other schools,' replied Harry.

'Blimey!' said Ron, his eyes widening. 'There are several dozen schools worth of witches we've never met! Did she come home with you?'

'She did, but that's all I'm going to say,' said Harry. 'We've never been in the habit of talking about our conquests.'

'Too right we weren't—not while you were dating my sister!'

Harry looked at Ron. 'Have you told your family yet? About Hermione?'

'No, I'll tell them tonight at dinner. Speaking of which, I should be going.' He rose and started walking towards the fireplace. 'Thanks again for being there for Hermione. And thanks also for understanding, and for not making me feel like a bastard for breaking things off.'

'It sounds like it was the right decision, and I'm glad you did a clean job of it. That'll make things easier in the long run.'

'I hope so. See you soon!' he said before Flooing off to the Burrow.

After Ron left, Harry went up to the rooftop to enjoy the midsummer evening light, and to think about everything Ron had told him.

It had never occurred to Harry that his friends might not be sexually compatible. He knew they weren't demonstrative, but he'd attributed that to Hermione's discretion rather than to an underlying problem. He'd always been able lose himself completely in Ginny's company—it was unfortunate that Ron and Hermione hadn't enjoyed something similar.

Harry occasionally wondered why he had never been romantically interested in Hermione. She was certainly pretty enough, and she knew him better than anyone. But it just felt wrong somehow, for reasons he couldn't articulate.

Perhaps it was because he had no real family, and he'd adopted her as a sort of sister. But he also saw the Weasleys as family, and he'd not had that problem with Ginny.

His thoughts flowed automatically towards Elizabeth. He knew he'd enjoy seeing her a few more times, but he didn't see a future beyond that. The task of allowing another person to get to know him as Ginny had done seemed too arduous. Better just to have fun for a while and then move on to someone new. Or not even to have a plan at all.

-––—––-

Emily wasn't sure she'd ever seen Hermione go so many hours without opening a book. And she was certain her daughter had never sat still in front of a television that long. It seemed, however, that the Muggle prescription for a broken heart was superior to any magical remedy.

They'd started with 'A Room With A View,' which had been one of Hermione's favourites at age thirteen. Emily was struck by the uncanny resemblance between Hermione and the lead actress—how had she not noticed it before? Fortunately the actor playing her love interest looked nothing like Ron.

Next they watched 'Four Weddings and a Funeral,' which Hermione had never previously seen. She got weepy during some of the romantic bits, but otherwise seemed to enjoy it. 'It's so delightfully English,' she said approvingly, 'and thoroughly Muggle.'

They ended with a rather risky selection, 'There's Something About Mary,' which had been recommended to Emily by one of their dental assistants. At first she worried the comedy was too rude for her ladylike daughter, but Hermione surprised her by laughing uncontrollably during the most appalling scenes.

Daniel dutifully supplied them with Thai takeaway during the third film, and mother and daughter sat contentedly on the sofa afterwards.

'Thanks again, Mum—this was exactly what I needed. Although I'd never previously suspected just how lowbrow my humour apparently is.'

'I should probably be relieved that after seven years at a boarding school, something has the power to shock you,' replied Emily.

'I'm only sorry Fred Weasley never got to see that film. I'll recommend it to George though.'

Emily saw Hermione's eyes dim when she mentioned the Weasley twins, but she didn't think it was from grief over Fred.

After a long silence, Hermione said, 'Oh, Mum ... how do I start over? I don't even know how to go about my day. I saw Ron most evenings, or Ron and Harry. I suppose I've neglected my other friendships, now that I'm no longer at Hogwarts.'

'It's only been a few weeks since you finished school. There's no need to feel bad about it.'

'I know, but I used to see them every day, and I don't think I've seen Luna, Ginny, or Neville once since then.'

'Then you should ring them,' suggested Emily. 'Or owl them, I suppose.'

'I should do, yes. I can't say I'd be much fun though.'

'It's not your job to entertain them. I'm sure your friends would want to be supportive,' said Emily.

'In my hour of need, you mean?' said Hermione, with an edge to her voice.

'Well, yes.'

Hermione sighed. 'I feel so ashamed somehow. Like I should have seen this coming, and that everyone else knew but me.'

'Oh, sweetie,' said Emily, stroking Hermione's hand.

'How could I have missed all the warning signs?' she asked. 'I'm supposed to be so observant, but I was completely blindsided.'

'Don't be so hard on yourself. You're only human, and we all have blind spots.'

'I suppose,' she said glumly.

They were quiet for a while, until Emily asked a question that had long plagued her. 'Don't take this the wrong way, but your father and I never quite understood what you saw in Ron. I knew I couldn't ask while you were together, but would you mind explaining it to me now?'

Hermione frowned, 'You didn't like him?'

'No, of course we liked him—he's unquestionably a fine young man. But I'll admit we were rather surprised to learn that you and he were a couple, when you restored our memories last summer. Although that particular revelation got overshadowed by the rest.'

Hermione reddened, and Emily felt a twinge of remorse for alluding to how angry she and Daniel had been the previous summer when they found out the truth. Indeed, she was still upset that Hermione had deceived them for years, but she'd dropped the subject months earlier.

'I'm sorry it's not more obvious to you what I saw in him, because it's long been clear to me. I just saw so much potential in him—I could see he was a diamond in the rough. Everyone overlooked him because of Harry, and perhaps I did too at first. But then I made a sort of game of noticing his good qualities, and of seeing the best in him.

'I'll admit it was frustrating at times,' she continued, 'waiting so long for those qualities to fully develop. And it broke my heart, because I saw how unhappy he was making himself. I just felt so protective of him, as if he were a plant I was nurturing.'

She started to cry. 'That's what makes it so hard now. He's finally become the man I wanted, with all the attributes I saw in him when we were still children—and more besides. But he doesn't want me anymore.'

'Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry.' Emily held Hermione as she cried. 'Next time it doesn't have to be that hard. You don't need to identify another diamond in the rough. You're an amazing young woman, irrespective of witchcraft, and you deserve a partner who's already reached his potential, or near to it.'

'Thanks, Mum,' sniffled Hermione.

Emily couldn't resist asking another longstanding question. 'Why is it you were never interested in Harry? If nothing else, he has those lovely green eyes.'

Hermione seemed surprised by the question. 'I don't know, honestly. As soon as we became friends I think I just adopted him as a brother—perhaps because he's also an only child.' She looked at her mother and shrugged, as if to dismiss the topic. Emily suspected there was more to it than that, but she didn't persist.

Hermione pulled the blanket from her lap and started to fold it. 'I should get ready for bed,' she said. 'I didn't sleep well last night, and I don't want to look a fright for my internship tomorrow.'

'You've got youth on your side,' replied Emily. 'Just drink another glass of water tonight and you'll be fine. But be sure to use the fluoride rinse afterwards. I may have bought ice cream, but I won't let your teeth pay the price.'

'I promise I will,' she said, smiling. 'And the ice cream was a real treat. Almost made it all worthwhile.'

Emily, who insisted on cleaning up, sent Hermione upstairs with a final hug. _My brave, beautiful girl,_ she thought.

At least this was a rite of passage Emily could relate to, unlike Hermione's other experiences. She and Daniel were still gutted by what they'd learnt the previous summer in Australia, that their daughter had narrowly escaped death again and again. And when Emily saw her scars and found out she'd been tortured ... she'd needed Daniel to hold her for hours as she wept, and she still had nightmares about it.

It was awful to feel so helpless to protect her own daughter. She supposed every parent had to accept this truth, but somehow the magical aspect made it more egregious.

Emily and Daniel no longer wished their daughter weren't a witch. They knew it was central to her identity—it was impossible to imagine a non-magical Hermione. But they hated the gulf it had created within the family, and it chafed a bit when she was patronising towards them.

They hoped that having Hermione at home for the first time in years would bring them closer, particularly now that the war was over and she was no longer keeping secrets.

As Emily went to sleep that night, she reviewed her memories of the day they'd spent together. She knew now how precious those memories were, having spent nearly a year not knowing she even had a daughter. Would Hermione have to become a mother herself before she fully grasped the cruelty of what she'd done? Emily hoped it wouldn't pain her too much when she finally realised it, and that she and Daniel would be there to comfort her.


	9. Chapter 9

When Harry entered the training facility the next morning, he was immediately ambushed by Janet.

'I believe you've set a Cannons record, Potter! Not ten minutes after entering the arena, you were heading for the door with a ravishing young witch—who was walking suspiciously close in front of you, I might add.'

Harry reflexively scanned the room for Tuttle and was relieved not to find her. He noticed, however, that some of his other teammates had overheard and were smirking at him. 'I knew I could count on you to call attention to it,' he told her, only a little embarrassed.

'Call attention to it? I'm taking credit for it!'

'I beg your pardon? I don't recall you doing any of the heavy lifting!' protested Harry.

'What are you on about? She looked fairly light to me. But regardless, it was I, your trusty Keeper, who dragged you from that crypt you call home and towards your destiny.'

Harry smiled. 'If it was my destiny, then who are you to take credit?'

'Argh, curse you, Hogwarts!' she cried, shaking her fist. 'Mark my words, North Squiffing will have its revenge!'

'In all seriousness,' said Harry, 'thanks for inviting me out. I certainly wouldn't have found Penumbra on my own, and Alistair was ... memorable.'

'He most certainly is. The only trick is remembering anything else after you've met him. He may be Light, but he's still a vampire.'

'Yes, I noticed that,' agreed Harry.

The next moment, Tuttle threw open the door and shouted, 'Cannons, outside!' prompting Harry to quickly stash his clean clothes in his locker and jog out to the benches.

The coach began their practice with a brief preamble. 'Last weekend's charity tournament meant you all got a holiday,' she barked, glaring momentarily at Harry. 'But we're playing the Falcons on Saturday, and I expect you to demonstrate you know which end of a broomstick to sit on. So that means I'll be working you extra hard this week. Got it? Good, now give me ten laps!'

Harry realised he hadn't given much thought to their upcoming match—he'd spent the last week just getting used to his new life. But now that Tuttle had reminded him, he found was rather nervous about it. The outcome of a Quidditch match depended heavily on the Seeker's ability, and he didn't want to blow it.

Unfortunately it was to be an away game, played at the Falcons stadium in Falmouth. Harry would have preferred to make his debut at Chudley Stadium, with a friendlier crowd. He knew from the incident on Friday with the intoxicated Wasps supporters that Quidditch fans could be downright hostile to opposing players, and he doubted his status as the Saviour of the Wizarding World would protect him. But he was looking forward to getting back onto his broom later that morning. During the previous year he'd often gone weeks without flying, but now he was restless after only two days.

After laps came calisthenics, which were extra gruelling, and Harry hoped the trainers would ease up towards the end of the week. He anticipated needing more pain draughts in the days to come.

As expected, the flying drills cleared his mind, and he was in good spirits when they left for lunch. As they walked, his teammates argued over who had won Suresh's wagering pool about Saturday's press coverage. All of them had been correct, except for Harry's prediction involving Celestina Warbeck and a Squib colony.

Renée finally threw her vote behind Janet. 'They were bound to mention Harry's new look,' she said, 'but we couldn't have predicted the _Prophet_ would put a veritable boudoir photo of him on the front page.'

'Harry, what was going through your mind in that photo anyway?' asked Suresh. 'You looked like you had your hand on your willy outside the frame.'

'He was looking at Lara,' smirked Darren. 'But I get the impression he's moved on since then.'

They sat at their usual table, and it was decided that Janet had indeed won the bet. This was, however, a moot point, since no gold had been involved, but she seemed more than happy just to have bragging rights.

'Never underestimate the power of the _Daily Prophet_ to over-sexualise the Boy Who Lived.' crowed Janet.

'Pot, meet kettle,' muttered Suresh.

Harry was relieved when Candice arrived to take their orders, after which the conversation broke into smaller groups. Ryan turned to him and said, 'I neglected to ask for Hermione's contact information, and it appears her address is magically hidden even from owls. Could you tell her I'd like to get together with her and Ron for dinner sometime? Assuming he's willing to try sushi, that is.'

Harry hesitated before answering, but he supposed there was no point hiding the news. 'I can guarantee that Ron would sooner eat Basilisk than sushi. But that's irrelevant, because he and Hermione just broke up.'

Janet and Ryan both looked at him in surprise. 'Are you serious?' asked Ryan. 'When did that happen?'

'Right after dinner on Saturday,' said Harry. 'And yes, it surprised me as well. I mean, not entirely, but I wasn't exactly expecting it either.'

'That's rough,' said Ryan. 'I hope he's not taking it too hard.'

'Excuse me,' interjected Janet, 'but I don't think Harry specified whose decision it was.'

'And I shan't,' replied Harry.

Ryan looked at him thoughtfully, as if he had more questions, but he didn't ask any. 'Anyway, do tell her I'm still up for dinner sometime if she'd like.'

'I will,' said Harry, although he doubted Hermione would take up his offer right away—not while she was still recovering from shock. He remembered how he'd felt right after Ginny had dumped him, and he made a mental note to invite Hermione and some close friends to dinner in a day or so.

The conversation turned towards the upcoming match. 'The Falcons are solid,' said Gary. 'They have a winning record this season, and their Beaters are first-rate. I'll be surprised if they don't concentrate on Harry.'

Harry must have looked a little green, because Gary hastened to reassure him. 'Don't worry, we'll have you covered. Spencer had plenty of problems, but Bludgers weren't one of them.'

'The Falcons' Seeker is a little inconsistent, so I think we'll have an edge,' added Suresh. 'How's the training with Owen going?'

'Really well, I think,' said Harry. 'I'm looking forward to putting more of his tips into practice this week.'

'He's your best bet,' agreed Suresh. 'He's probably the best spotter I've seen. Shame about his injuries.'

And so the conversation continued throughout lunch. Harry was feeling a bit better about the match against the Falcons—he had the whole team behind him, and they really were much better than their standings would suggest.

After lunch, as they walked back to the training grounds, Ryan approached Harry. 'Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?' he asked.

'Er, go ahead,' said Harry uneasily.

'Now that Hermione is single, are you going to pursue her?'

Harry shook his head firmly. 'No, definitely not. In spite of what Rita Skeeter might claim, there's never been anything between us. She really is like a sister to me.'

Ryan seemed to relax. 'Then I suppose I've an added reason to want dinner with her,' he admitted. 'But perhaps you shouldn't tell her that—I don't want to seem like a circling vulture.'

'That's really not how I'd describe you,' said Harry. 'But yeah, I think she prefers to get to know a fellow first. It took her seven years with Ron, after all.'

Ryan nodded and was quiet for the rest of the short walk. Harry tried to maintain a neutral expression, but he was pleased—Ryan seemed like a solid bloke, and his interest in Hermione appeared genuine. Harry doubted he'd feel the same way if Darren had been asking after her, since he was clearly a bit of a player. _Not that I'm in any position to cast judgment_.

When they resumed practice, Harry was assigned to Owen, who had become his de-facto personal trainer. The older Seeker was already setting up the Launcher, including the special crystal that produced random appearances of the Snitch.

'We're going to work some more on your spotting,' Owen told him. 'I think you'll get a better feel for the method without having to dodge Bludgers—you'll get enough of them during our practice matches.'

'All right,' replied Harry, who was already straddling his broomstick. 'Shall I lift off then?'

'Yes, please. I'll give you a moment to set your intention before activating the Launcher. When you get up there, relax for a moment and then make the following firm resolution: _When the Snitch appears within my field of awareness, may it immediately be promoted to my attention_.'

Harry repeated the phrase to Owen, and then he launched and started circling above the pitch. He took a moment just to fly around, letting the pleasure of it overtake him for a short while. He then called Owen's phrase to mind. _When the Snitch appears within my field of awareness, may it immediately be promoted to my attention_. He allowed its meaning to sink into his bones.

Owen must have activated the Launcher, because the first Snitch soon appeared. Harry hadn't been looking for it as actively as he normally would have done, but it appeared to him nevertheless. He flew towards it, caught it, and then dropped it to the ground.

The next Snitch appeared moments later, and he flew to catch it. He was astonished by how much easier it was to find the Snitch this way, compared with looking for it more deliberately. He caught the most of the following Snitches as well.

Eventually he fell back into using his attention to look for the Snitch, and his catch rate decreased accordingly. Owen seemed to notice he was flagging and whistled him down.

'That was really good for a while,' said Owen. 'But what happened towards the end?'

Harry shook his head in irritation. 'Old habits,' he grumbled. 'Why do I keep reverting to a method that requires more effort and doesn't even work as well?'

'That's normal when you're first learning,' said Owen. 'Our faculty for focussed attention is much more developed than our peripheral awareness. You just need to keep practising at it, and it'll become more automatic.'

'What should I do when I catch myself relying too heavily on my attention?' asked Harry. 'I tried switching back to your method, but it didn't seem to take.'

Owen looked thoughtful before replying. 'Later on you might find you're able to simply switch back. But for now, while you're still getting the hang of things, I recommend clearing your head with a fun bit of flying, and then deliberately reset your intention using that phrase,' he advised. 'And feel free to come up with your own wording—there's no rule saying you have to use mine.'

'No, I like yours,' said Harry, before pausing a moment to think. 'When I catch myself falling into bad habits, I wonder if that wouldn't be a good time for a feint, just to clear my head a bit.'

'That's a great idea. Of course, now you've given away your strategy—I'll be onto you,' smirked Owen.

'Take any advantage you can get, old-timer,' taunted Harry.

'Enough of your lip, Potter—get back in the air, and leave off the Omnioculars this time.'

Harry circled above the pitch again and carefully set his intention. _When the Snitch appears within my field of awareness, may it immediately be promoted to my attention_. He let the words resonate through his entire body.

The Snitches appeared to him one after another, literally like magic. He found himself looking in a direction seemingly before the Snitch even appeared there. It was a deeply satisfying experience, and not only because he made all his catches. He felt as if he were in deep harmony with something larger than himself.

When Owen blew the whistle a while later and Harry landed, he was pleased to see only one black Snitch near Owen's feet.

'That was tremendous!' exclaimed Owen. 'You've clearly got the knack of it.'

Harry took a moment to regain the full power of speech. 'That was ... incredible. I could have spent all day up there. Everything seemed to be unified into a single experience, with the Snitches as much a part of myself as my own hands. Finding them felt more like a reunion than anything. Like being reunited with someone I love.'

Owen looked at him appraisingly. 'Let's sit down a moment,' he said.

'Can you sit on the ground all right?' asked Harry, remembering Owen's injuries. 'Or would you prefer the benches?'

'The ground is fine for a short while,' he replied. 'Thanks for asking.'

They sat on the grass, which was no longer damp from the morning dew, and Owen turned to Harry. 'I don't mean to pry,' he said, 'but I'm getting the feeling you had some very ... profound experiences during the war.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'I suppose so. But it's hard to know, really. My life has never been what you'd call normal.'

'I've no doubt of that,' said Owen. 'But I don't simply mean unusual experiences. I'm talking about experiences you can't even put into words.'

Remembering what had happened after his vision of King's Cross Station, Harry nodded.

'The newspapers were short on specifics about what happened when you were believed dead, during the final confrontation with Voldemort,' remarked Owen. 'I don't recall reading any interviews with you on the topic.'

Harry shook his head. 'I never talked to any reporters about that. Several asked, but I told them it was classified. Which was true, at least in part.'

'I certainly wouldn't want you to disclose anything you oughtn't,' said Owen. 'And I've confirmed my theory anyway.'

'What theory is that?'

'I think something changed you very deeply, perhaps during the war, or maybe some other time. But either way, the result is you're now primed for perceptions and experiences that go beyond the mundane,' explained Owen.

'More so than magic?' asked Harry. 'That already goes well beyond the mundane.'

'No, this goes way beyond magic. It's a completely different way of experiencing your mind and, by extension, the world.'

Before Owen could explain further, Tuttle blew the whistle and ordered them to the benches.

'Practice match, ten minutes!' she shouted. 'Starters versus reserves. Starters in orange.'

As the players returned to the building for their break, Harry resumed speaking with Owen. 'I suspect you're right,' he said. 'And I'm glad you brought it up. I don't really understand what happened, and it hadn't occurred to me I could talk to anyone about it.'

'Yeah, if you told the wrong person you might find yourself in a secure ward at St Mungo's,' replied Owen, smiling.

The group gathered again on the pitch, and Harry charmed his robes orange. The only problem with the practice matches, he thought, was that he always had to play against Owen. But he enjoyed their friendly rivalry, and he liked seeing that someone as wise as Owen could still have a sense of humour. Like Dumbledore, he supposed, only less secretive—and considerably less dotty.

Before the players lifted off, Owen approached Harry, 'Remember to set your intention,' he said. 'I'm going to do my absolute best to catch the Snitch—make no mistake—but for the team's sake I hope you'll beat me to it.'

With a deep inhale, Harry nodded before launching into the air. He raced the length of the pitch and back before the balls had even been released. He wasn't even going think about them. Instead he set his intention to locate the Snitch (adding in a bit about avoiding Bludgers), and surrendered to the experience of flying.

Harry's field of awareness was wide open. He couldn't have told you what the other players were doing—that wasn't his concern. A corner of his mind was devoted to tracking Owen, in case he spotted the Snitch first, but otherwise Harry allowed his being to merge with the entire playing area. Occasionally he found his eyes starting to scan for the Snitch, looking for it rather than waiting for it to appear. But he caught himself and lightly repeated the intention he'd set.

Owen suddenly accelerated steeply upwards, and Harry aimed his broomstick and rocketed in the same direction. He soon saw, however, that no Snitch was present, and he gave up the chase. Unfortunately this caused his mind to shift away from awareness and more towards attention, and he knew he wouldn't easily spot the Snitch this way.

Harry tried to expand into awareness, but the Chasers suddenly caught his eye. It looked like Renée had just intercepted a pass from the reserves, he noted absently as he scanned for the Snitch. _Reset your intention_, thought Harry. But it just wasn't working—his Omnioculars had taken over.

Knowing desperate action was necessary, Harry temporarily stopped looking for the Snitch and instead flew corkscrews for about fifty yards. His body surged with the thrill of it, and when he resumed his Seeker pattern he was easily able to reestablish his intention and surrender to his larger awareness.

Except for that short interlude, Harry was completely oblivious to the gameplay. He'd needed to avoid a Bludger several times, but he'd done so automatically and without fear. His mind was wonderfully quiet, and he'd never felt so elated during a match.

Finally the Snitch appeared, about three-quarters of the length of the pitch away, and lower down. Seemingly without Harry's input, his Silver Arrow changed course and shot towards the Snitch, and Harry grabbed it while Owen was still at least ten yards away.

'Fantastic!' shouted Owen. 'I didn't even spot it until you began accelerating.'

Harry was beyond words. He simply held the Snitch above him and let out a loud _whoop_, which drew similar cries from his teammates, who had flown around him and were slapping him on the back.

'Owen, thank you!' he finally called out. 'That was like nothing I've experienced before!'

'Wait until you try it during a real match,' replied Owen, and they flew down to the benches, where Tuttle began telling everyone what they'd done wrong.

Although the starting Chasers had done well, Tuttle found reasons to nitpick them, but Harry could tell from their expressions that they were pleased with how they'd done.

'Potter, what the hell was that corkscrew?' demanded Tuttle. 'You did a fine job today, but next time I catch you showboating like that, you'll wish You-Know-Who had finished you off!'

'That was deliberate and strategic,' explained Harry. 'Owen's feint had thrown me off balance, and I needed to clear my head with a short burst of aerobatics. It was a calculated risk, but it took less than fifteen seconds.'

Tuttle looked at him sharply but didn't immediately reply.

'Potter was acting on my advice,' added Owen. 'I agree it was worth the risk.'

'Fine,' said Tuttle. 'But if you ever miss the Snitch doing that, Potter, you'll be the laughing stock of the entire league.'

Gary and Suresh congratulated Harry as they walked back to the building. 'Play like that on Saturday and we've got it in the bag,' said Gary.

'I couldn't have done it without you,' was Harry's sincere reply. 'I barely had to think about Bludgers at all.'

Suresh said, 'Tomorrow afternoon, we should have the Beaters really turn up the heat on you—the opposing Beaters, that is. I agree with Gary that you'll likely be the Falcons' main target.'

'You're probably right,' agreed Harry, 'and that sounds like a good practice strategy, though I can't say I'm looking forward to it.'

Before he could head to the lockers, Lara caught his attention. 'Excuse me, Harry,' she said. 'We need to get you fitted for your Cannons robes.'

'Er, now?' asked Harry, who felt in desperate need of a shower.

'No, sometime tomorrow, here at the facility. You could either come in at half past eight or return early from lunch. Do you have a preference?'

'Early tomorrow sounds good,' said Harry, who was excited to be getting his official team robes.

Lara continued. 'Do you know what number you'll want?'

'I'm sorry?'

'Your player number, on your uniform,' she clarified.

'Er, I've no idea. I don't even know which numbers are currently in use.'

She explained, 'Seeker numbers are usually single-digit. Spencer was number seven—not that it gave him much luck—and Owen wears number six. But you're free to choose any of the others.'

Harry thought for a moment. Number four was out, thanks to Privet Drive associations, and he knew number one would look too egotistical. Luckily, an idea popped into his head: Why not go with number three, in honour of his two best mates? It struck him as a nice reminder of the power of teamwork.

'Three,' he said decisively.

'Excellent,' replied Lara as she wrote it down. 'And then later this week we'll take your official team photograph, for your player card. Unless you want us to use the photo from Saturday's _Prophet_,' she added with a smirk.

Harry couldn't help laughing, and Janet, who had overheard, said, 'No, that photo needs to go on his Chocolate Frog Card. Although there could be a scandal if he starts travelling into the other cards. We don't want Bridget Wenlock and Morgana duelling over him.'

'I do not have a Chocolate Frog Card,' protested Harry.

'Not true,' said Lara. 'My younger brother got one last week.'

'Oh for Merlin's sake,' grumbled Harry. 'You'd think they'd give a bloke a heads-up.'

For a moment Janet just looked at him. 'Are you actually too jaded not to be excited about having your own Chocolate Frog Card? That's every wizarding child's dream.' Lara nodded in agreement.

'Sorry, it just touched a nerve,' sighed Harry. 'Ever since my eleventh birthday, when I found out I was a wizard and learnt the real reason my parents died, I've received more attention than I ever wanted—with little or no say in the matter. And to make matters worse, a lot of that attention was hostile, particularly after Voldemort returned and the Ministry was telling everyone I was delusional. So in a sense, finding out I'm on a Chocolate Frog Card is not entirely dissimilar to seeing my photograph plastered everywhere with the label _"Undesirable Number One."'_

Janet looked at him with unexpected compassion. 'I'm sorry, Harry. Here I've been pushing you into the spotlight without considering whether that might be uncomfortable for you. I suppose I'm so used to you being public property that I didn't ask how you might feel about it.'

Touched, Harry said, 'Please don't apologise, Janet. The only thing that got me through it all was having friends who could make me laugh about it. Ron's twin brothers in particular. So I really appreciate how all the Cannons—and you as well, Lara—bypassed the gawking phase and immediately started taking the piss.'

'I think we have Tuttle to thank for that,' remarked Lara. 'She really set the tone.'

'I'm relieved to hear it, Harry,' admitted Janet. 'But please let me know if I ever cross the line. I know I'm rather unfiltered, and I'd hate to make you truly uncomfortable.'

'Thanks, I'll definitely tell you if that happens,' he replied.

As he finally headed into the locker room, he was flagged by Ryan, who had already showered and was getting ready to leave. 'Could I bother you for Hermione's contact information? If you don't think she'd mind, that is.' He handed Harry a Muggle notepad and a biro.

'Of course, no problem,' said Harry, and he jotted down Hermione's particulars. 'I'll include her phone number as well, since you presumably know how to use one. I can guarantee you'll impress her parents that way—I'm not sure Ron ever got over the habit of shouting.'

Ryan laughed and said, 'Thanks, I'll take any advantage I can get. She really seems ... remarkable. Has she always been like that?'

'She's always been brilliant, if that's what you mean,' replied Harry. 'We had to train her a bit when it came to rule-breaking, but she caught on fast enough.' He paused, and added, 'But yeah, she's pretty remarkable. I couldn't even count how many times she's saved my life.'

Ryan shook his head in amazement. 'I suppose we're all just glad you met her. Anyway, thanks for this,' he said, holding up the notepad, 'and see you tomorrow.'

The next morning, Lara and the tailor were waiting for Harry at the appointed time. 'It's an honour to meet you, Mr Potter,' said the tailor, a short and rather round wizard with tufty grey hair. 'I'm Benedict Thimble, and my family has supplied the Cannons uniforms for centuries.'

'Nice to meet you too, Mr Thimble,' replied Harry, making a note to remember his name for Hermione. 'I'm thrilled that I'll soon have my own Cannons uniform. There's certainly nothing like them.'

'Indeed no,' said Thimble. 'There's no dye to produce that colour, and the charm is a family secret. I know you have something similar for your practice robes, but it's not quite the real thing.' Harry was slightly alarmed to learn that his real uniform would be even brighter than his practice robes, which were already blinding.

Thimble directed Harry to stand on a small block, and then he pulled out a tape measure similar to the one Ollivander had used. It extended and retracted as it flitted around Harry's body, and his measurements appeared on a nearby parchment. Next, Thimble pulled out a set of black robes and performed various charms on them, referring to the parchment. The robes resized accordingly, and Thimble gave them to Harry to try on.

'These seem all right,' said Harry, as he stretched his arms and moved around a bit.

'No, we can get them much better than that,' insisted Thimble, who pulled the robes around Harry's shoulders and used his wand to make minor adjustments. Harry felt the fabric grow, allowing him a bit more freedom of movement.

'Extend your arm upwards, as if you were reaching for a Snitch,' ordered Thimble. 'Excellent, thank you.' He continued making adjustments. 'Now outwards ... good. Cross-body ...'

Harry kept contorting himself as Thimble tweaked the robes. The tailor seemed to be doing a good job providing freedom of movement without turning the robes into something Hagrid could wear.

By the time he was done, the robes were sleek in all the right places and spacious everywhere else. Harry wondered if he'd used charms similar to the ones Hermione employed on her capacious handbags.

'Thank you, Mr Potter. I believe I've everything I need from you.' He turned to Lara and said, 'I'll have them for you end of day tomorrow.'

'Perfect, thank you,' she replied.

'Yes, thanks,' said Harry, who had removed the robes. 'I don't think I've ever had clothing fitted quite so thoroughly.'

'You'll have to come round the shop sometime to see about the rest of your wardrobe—ten percent team discount,' said Thimble, handing Harry a business card. 'Now that you're a professional Seeker, you can't go about wearing pumpkin sacks. We carry Muggle styles as well.'

Harry glanced at his workout clothes, which were far from glamorous. _I suppose my regular clothes aren't much better_, he thought. 'I might do that, cheers.'

After the tailor left, Lara said, 'A lot of the players buy from his shop. I think it'll suit you.' She turned and grabbed an envelope from her desk, which she handed to him. 'And I've something to show you. My brother lent it to me, with the strict requirement you autograph it for him.'

Harry opened the envelope and found a Chocolate Frog Card with his own picture on it. He was still wearing eyeglasses, and he wasn't exactly grinning but his expression was friendly. Harry supposed the photograph had been taken during an interview after the war.

He turned the card over and read the description:

_Harry James Potter, who defeated the Dark lord Voldemort in 1998, is the only wizard known to have survived the Killing Curse—not once but twice. The first time was as an infant, and Voldemort's resultant incapacitation led many to believe young Potter had somehow defeated him. It was later revealed, however, that Potter's mother Lily had sacrificed her life to protect her child._

_As a teenager, Potter and two close friends endured numerous hardships in their effort to weaken Voldemort, culminating in a pivotal battle at Hogwarts during which Potter survived a second Killing Curse and ultimately defeated the Dark wizard. Potter is currently in training to become a Ministry Auror._

Harry raised his eyebrows. 'That's actually not bad,' he told Lara. 'It would have been nice if they'd mentioned Ron and Hermione by name, but otherwise it's remarkably accurate.'

'Except for the Auror part,' corrected Lara.

Harry shrugged and said, 'Even so, this is still probably the most truthful piece ever written about me. I should owl them a thank-you note.' He looked at her and added, 'Thanks for showing it to me. I reckon it does feel good to see myself on a Chocolate Frog Card, considering how I used to collect them.'

'I did too,' she said, handing him a self-inking No-Smudge quill. 'Would you mind autographing it? It would mean a lot to my brother.'

'I'd be glad to,' replied Harry, who took the quill and signed his name to the card. Lara thanked him, and he went to the lockers to prepare for practice.

It was another hard session, but Harry was beginning to feel the benefit of the more strenuous workouts and hoped he wouldn't need a pain draught the next day.

When his afternoon Seeker training began, Owen handed him a pair of what looked like earmuffs. Before Harry could ask about them, Owen said, 'This is a crowd simulation headset. It's easy to concentrate in a quiet setting like we have here, but on Saturday you'll be in a packed stadium with several thousand screaming spectators. It's important we prepare you for it.'

'That makes sense,' replied Harry, looking more closely at the headset. He pointed out some small runes on the side and asked, 'What are these?'

'That's how you change the settings. We can vary the crowd's mood from friendly to hostile, and we can even charm it to have people shouting your name. There's also a way to add game commentary from an announcer.'

'Incredible,' remarked Harry. 'How's it set currently?'

'I've currently got the default setting, which is friendly and non-personal, and with game commentary. We'll start with the randomised Launcher, and then maybe later you and I can chase after a real Snitch together.'

Harry nodded, and Owen showed him how to activate the headset. When Harry pulled it over his ears, he was momentarily overwhelmed by all the noise.

'Sweet Merlin! Is this really what it's like during a match?'

'Almost,' smiled Owen. 'It's pretty fantastic actually, as you'll find out soon enough. The adrenaline rush is indescribable.'

'Wait, how am I even able to hear you over this?' asked Harry.

'I'll give you a hint,' replied Owen. 'It's a five-letter word, starts with M.' Harry responded with a two-finger salute before kicking off.

Once he was in the air, he quickly adjusted to the loud volume, but the noise itself was quite distracting. He had to fly a short while to settle his mind and set his intention properly, and he wasn't sure whether he even saw the first Snitch Owen had launched.

He caught the next one, though, and more after that. He set an additional intention to disregard the announcer's commentary but remain aware of the game score. It wouldn't do, for example, to catch the Snitch when his team was down more than 150 points, although he didn't envision that happening with the Cannons' strong Chasers and Janet at the rings.

After a while, Harry noticed that Owen was frantically waving him down. When he landed and removed the headset, Owen said, 'That's the one problem with the headset—even though it lets nearby speech through, it drowns out the whistle.'

'Oh dear,' replied Harry. 'How long were you trying to get my attention?'

'Only a minute or so. Next time I'll just Stun you,' he said with a smirk. 'So, how did you feel up there?'

'It took a bit of getting used to. Did I miss any at the start?'

'Only one,' replied Owen. 'Not bad, really. And you missed three more after that.'

When Harry looked disappointed, Owen reassured him. 'Don't be upset—that's actually tremendous progress this early on. I hadn't counted on you being so adept at the mind arts.'

Harry actually burst out laughing. 'Do you feel that rush of wind?' he asked Owen. 'That's my Occlumency teacher spinning in his grave. In fact, can you write that down and owl it to Professor McGonagall, the Hogwarts headmistress, so she can read it to his portrait?'

'Er, I'm not sure I want to abet petty revenge on the deceased.'

'Oh, believe me,' replied Harry, 'Snape was all in favour of petty revenge on the deceased, namely my father.'

Owen was quiet a moment. 'Don't I remember reading about a Headmaster Snape, who had been spying against Voldemort for years?'

'Yes, that's the one.'

'I thought he sacrificed his life to protect you. He loved your mother, right?'

Harry looked at the grass, half-hoping Tuttle would shout at them for standing idle. 'That's true,' acknowledged Harry. 'But it was a bit more complicated than that.'

'Because he hated your father?'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'And I think he blamed me for costing my mother her life.'

Owen nodded in understanding. 'That does sound complicated.' He asked Harry to hand him the headset and said, 'I'm going to make the crowd more hostile and add in some personal taunts.' He used his wand to fiddle with the runes, and at one point he pronounced Harry's name. 'All right,' said Owen, handing the headset back to Harry. 'This is advanced mode, so don't feel bad if you get rattled. You know what to do about that.'

Harry pulled the headset over his ears and pressed the rune to activate it. Once again he was struck by how very loud it was.

As he lifted off, he noticed the tone of the crowd had changed. There was more booing, and even though he couldn't make out what people were saying, Harry could hear a sharper edge in their voices. He was reminded of those two Wasps fans from Diagon Alley.

It was an uncomfortable feeling, but Harry tried to ignore it. He set his intention to look for the Snitch, and he caught it sometimes, but he couldn't help feeling distracted every time he heard '_Potter!_' shouted angrily from the crowd.

He tried a bit of stunt flying to clear his head, and it helped a little, but hearing his name in harsh tones always seemed to unsettle him. He was almost relieved to see Owen waving him back to the ground.

'You noticed me sooner this time,' said Owen, after Harry had landed and removed the headset. 'I reckon you were keen to get that thing off.'

'Yeah,' said Harry, without further elaboration.

'Do you want to sit down a moment?' asked Owen as he handed Harry a water bottle. Harry nodded and accepted the bottle, and they sat together on the grass.

'You've taken more than your share of abuse, haven't you?' asked Owen.

Harry sighed. 'You have no idea,' he said, taking a long gulp of water.

His mind was a blur of hostile memories, ranging from the Dursleys to Draco Malfoy. The quotation from the Magpies team manager popped into his head: _'Quidditch deserves better than to have an attention-seeking glory-monger like Harry Potter barging in.' _He saw a row of badges flashing 'POTTER STINKS.'

'Now that you're an acknowledged hero,' said Owen, 'it's easy to forget just how horribly they treated you. And I'm only aware of the public abuse, and not what you might have endured at school.'

'And at home,' muttered Harry, before realising he'd said it. He hardly ever spoke about the Dursleys.

'You mean with your Muggle relations, after your parents died?'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'My aunt and uncle. They didn't like wizards.'

'That must have been hard,' said Owen.

Harry suddenly realised he might have given Owen the wrong impression. 'They didn't hit me or anything. I mean, my cousin and his mates did, but they were the same age as me.'

'Verbal abuse still counts. In fact, it often leaves deeper scars,' remarked Owen.

'Maybe so,' said Harry dully. After a while he said, 'So how do I deal with this? I mean, I guess I handled it all right playing Quidditch at Hogwarts, but that was a lot fewer people, and mostly just the Slytherins—one of the other houses.'

'You have everything you need, Harry. You just need to put the pieces together.' When Harry looked at him curiously, Owen continued. 'I'm going to have you stay seated and activate the headset. When you hear the angry crowd, and particularly your own name, you're going to feel emotions come up. Probably some physical sensations as well.'

'Yeah, I imagine so.'

'See if you can just observe your reactions. You don't need to change them or suppress anything. Just try to notice what's happening.'

'Should I set an intention?' asked Harry.

'Good instinct, yes,' said Owen. 'Your intention should be to remain in that wide, open space of awareness that you've been practicing. When your emotions arise, you'll be experiencing them as you are now—in your expanded state of awareness—and not as a helpless kid anymore.'

Harry pulled on the headset, but before activating it he closed his eyes and set his intention. _Remain in open awareness. Allow the emotions to arise. _He activated the headset, and the angry shouts began.

His throat started to tighten, and his eyes clamped shut. A well of sadness opened within his torso. He felt very small. But he felt the wide space of awareness, and this made it a little more tolerable.

A shrill female voice began shouting _'Potter!'_ and a fresh wave of anxiety washed through him. But a corresponding spaciousness arose from the field of awareness, holding the anxiety in check without suppressing it.

Next a whole group of people started chanting, _'Potter stinks!'_ repeatedly. Harry's heart began to race and his breathing grew shallow. He realised his eyes were still clamped shut, and so he opened them. Owen was before him, and the wind was blowing lightly over the grass. Harry relaxed a little.

The announcer mentioned him by name for the first time. 'That was a remarkably clumsy move by Potter—it might cost them the match,' he said harshly, and Harry felt his stomach lurch and his face begin to redden. He saw an image of Sirius falling through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, and his eyes grew hot.

A much stronger wave of spaciousness expanded within him, as if to protect him from the emotional onslaught. He felt uplifted even, and the angry voices seemed smaller and less significant. The painful emotions were still present, but they felt like raw fuel for the larger, more buoyant sensation. His breathing grew calm and steady.

He remained in that state of balance for another minute before deactivating and removing the headset. 'That was ... intense,' he said.

'I could tell from watching you,' remarked Owen.

'So am I going to feel better now?' asked Harry hopefully.

'It's not that simple. You'll probably do better next time I send you up looking for the Snitch, and not get rattled so easily, but your old trauma isn't going to disappear all in one go. But now you have a tool for addressing it.'

'A tool is better than nothing, and I'm already feeling better,' said Harry. 'By the way, you should probably start teaching mind arts professionally after retiring from Quidditch. In case coaching Seekers isn't enough to pay the bills.'

'Thanks, I'll keep that in mind. Now let's get you up there again before the practice match.'

Harry reactivated the headset and began flying. Luckily he was still in the expanded state from before, so it was easy to set his intention and wait for the Snitch to appear. He did pretty well and caught most of them, though he got distracted when some of the crowd started chanting his full name in a sing-song voice that reminded him of Bellatrix Lestrange. He accelerated on his broomstick for several seconds, just to feel the wind on his face, and that seemed to rebalance him.

Eventually Owen waved him down, and Harry saw there were only five black Snitches on the ground. 'That was great,' praised Owen. 'If you can do that well on advanced mode, you'll have no problem on Saturday. Remember there will be plenty of Cannons fans in the stadium as well.'

'Really? I assumed it would mostly be Falcons supporters.'

'No, Cannons fans are exceptionally loyal, and the team provides portkeys from Chudley Stadium to transport them to away games.'

'So what you're saying,' began Harry, 'is that you've exposed me to my darkest demons for no reason?'

Owen smiled. 'I admit it—I was just trying to throw you off before our practice match.'

'I should never have trusted you, Barrowmaker,' snapped Harry. 'Come to think of it, I think I've seen you before ... wearing black robes and a skull mask.'

'You've found me out, Potter. This is the part where I burst into evil laughter and Disapparate, never to be heard from again.'

The whistle blew, and they began walking to the benches. 'Between getting my vision fixed and everything you've taught me,' observed Harry, 'it's a miracle I ever caught the Snitch back in school.'

'Yes and no,' replied Owen. 'I suspect you were unconsciously relying on more subtle methods for finding the Snitch, even then. Obviously your conventional eyesight wasn't up to the job.'

'Interesting ... are you saying I'm something of a Seer when it comes to Quidditch? And here I got a Poor on my Divination O.W.L.'

'You failed an O.W.L.? Don't let Darius find out, or he'll kick you off the team,' joked Owen.

Harry was about to reply when he noticed nobody else was talking and Tuttle was glaring at them. 'Are you finished with your tea party then?'

'Yes, Tuttle, thanks!' replied Owen cheerfully.

'Glad to hear it,' she growled, before announcing the teams for the practice match. She mixed up the Chasers, and Suresh and Gary would be playing opposite Harry. _Oh dear_, he thought.

'Ten minute break, Barrowmaker's team in orange!'

Gary approached Harry as they walked towards the building. 'Just remember it's nothing personal, all right?'

'I know,' replied Harry. 'It'll be good practice for Saturday.'

'And you're in good hands with Lyle and Titus—they work much better as a team than with Suresh or me,' he said, a little unconvincingly.

When Harry returned to the benches after the break, he was stopped by Tuttle. He swallowed when he noticed she was holding out the headset.

'I've spoken with Barrowmaker, and we want you to wear this during the match today,' she said.

'Er, which mode?'

'I've set it to neutral. You'll hear your name and commentary, but it'll be an even mix of positive and negative. You can expect the same on Saturday.'

Harry exhaled. That was better than advanced mode, at least. 'All right,' he said, taking the headset.

He relaxed a moment before putting it on, allowing himself to expand into open awareness. Then he activated it and set his intention to let the Snitch appear to him, and to remain aware of Bludgers as needed.

They took off, and Harry commenced his circling pattern. It was fine for the first minute or two, but then the Bludgers starting coming—often. He dodged them fairly well, and Lyle and Titus came to his rescue most of the time, but Harry wasn't able to relax as he'd done on Monday.

Partly to clear his head, and partly to get away from the Bludgers, Harry decided to feint. He started near one end of the pitch, about twenty feet below the rings, and shot upwards and across. The air felt cool on his cheeks, and even though he knew Owen had abandoned the chase, Harry kept flying just to get some space.

He renewed his intention and started circling again. He had grown accustomed to the noise from the headset, and although the hostile chanting was offset by occasional cheers, he didn't find himself swayed by either. In the end it was just noise.

The Snitch appeared near one of the goals, and he and Owen both raced for it. But before either one of them caught it, the Snitch shot off in a different direction and seemingly disappeared. Harry resisted the urge to don his Omnioculars and instead strengthened his intention to rely on awareness.

They circled for a while longer, and Harry continued dodging Bludgers. He knew he'd have to be lucky to win this match, since Owen wasn't being targeted nearly as much as he was.

Harry was flying around the edge of the pitch when he saw the Snitch near the ground. His broomstick shot towards it, but Harry sensed that a Bludger was heading straight for him. He swerved to avoid it, and the Snitch changed direction as well. Owen shifted course, and _slam! _

Harry was knocked off his broom by the other Bludger, and he landed hard. Fortunately he'd been only several feet from the ground, but he felt a sharp pain in his tailbone. _Could I have broken it?_

Just as the team Healer ran towards Harry from the benches, Tuttle blew the whistle and shouted, 'Who's got the Snitch?' Owen and Harry turned towards each other, their hands empty.

The Healer approached Harry with his wand out and asked, 'Are you all right?'

'Mostly,' said Harry, 'but I might have broken my tailbone.'

'Let's have a look,' said the Healer, who helped Harry lie back gingerly and roll over. His pain diminished considerably, and from under him rolled a slightly dented Snitch.

'Potter's side wins,' shouted Tuttle, and there was an explosion of laughter from the players who'd witnessed the big reveal.

'Did he land on it?' asked Gary, who'd flown in to make sure Harry hadn't been injured by the Bludger he'd sent.

'Yes,' replied Owen knowledgeably. 'It was the classic Snitchbottom Manoeuvre, last seen in aught nine against Ballycastle.'

Harry was laughing as well—this was even less dignified than when he'd caught his first Snitch by swallowing it.

Both sides had gathered around him, and after a few diagnostic charms the Healer helped him to his feet. 'Just a bit of bruising, which I can treat in my office easily enough. For privacy, more than anything.'

'Bugger that!' shouted Janet. 'Give us a show!'

Harry laughed again and said to her, 'Remember our discussion about crossing lines? You just crossed one.'

'Oh fine,' she said. 'Way to be a spoilsport, Snitchbottom.'

They walked together to the benches, and the Healer conjured a cool pillow for Harry to sit on while Tuttle gave her notes.

'You two,' she shouted towards Gary and Suresh. 'Nice job keeping the pressure on. And Potter, well done spotting the Snitch same time as Barrowmaker. Not the smoothest catch I've seen, but you can get hit by all the Bludgers you like as long as you end up with the Snitch.'

'Er, thanks?' mumbled Harry, causing both Janet and the Healer to snigger.

When Tuttle had finished, the trainer led them through their stretches, and the Healer kept an eye on Harry just in case. Afterwards they walked together towards the building.

'I'm sorry,' said Harry, 'I don't know your name.'

'My name's Charles MacAlister. Glad to be of service, Potter.'

Harry smiled. _At least he wasn't unduly pressured into a healing career._ 'Thanks for your help. And please call me Harry.'

'Or just Snitchbottom,' suggested Suresh.

'Oh great,' groaned Harry. 'I can see this is my new life.'

'It certainly is, Snitchbottom,' echoed Ryan.

'Et tu, Bellamy?' replied Harry plaintively.

'We'll try to keep it from the press,' he said. 'Does that help?'

'I'll believe it when I don't see it,' grumbled Harry.

Healer MacAlister escorted him into his office and quickly restored Harry to his pre-Bludger condition. He handed Harry two small bottles and said, 'Take one of these muscle relaxants now, and the next tomorrow morning. It shouldn't interfere with your practice, and it'll nip any Bludger aches in the bud.'

'Thanks again,' he said, and then headed towards the showers. _So much for not needing a pain draught tomorrow._

As he showered, he pondered the evening ahead of him. He'd resisted the temptation to have Elizabeth over and had instead invited Neville, Luna, and Hermione to dinner. He knew Hermione would benefit from company and that their friends would want to cheer her up. Normally Ginny would have been included as well, but obviously that wasn't going to happen. Presumably Ginny would reach out to her privately.

He wondered if Owen's technique for releasing trauma could help him get over Ginny faster. Would it work on heartache as well? He decided to give it a try.

It was easy to feel expansive as the water fell on him, and from there he invited the sense of loss he'd been carrying into the foreground. But the anguish arose more quickly than he'd anticipated, and only the physical sensation of the water kept him from being overwhelmed.

No, he didn't want to face this yet. He'd stick instead with his previous approach. _Maybe Elizabeth can come over tomorrow night_, he thought idly, and his pain was soon forgotten.


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione looked in the mirror before heading downstairs for breakfast. Her eyes were only slightly bloodshot, and the circles underneath weren't as dark as on Monday. She looked a bit washed out in her black robes, but she no longer resembled death warmed over.

She raised her wand to her hair and said _'Domina capilli.'_ It was satisfying to watch the chaotic frizz resolve into elegant curls, and as usual she wondered about the spell's arithmantic underpinnings. She hoped one of her former professors could tell her more.

Hermione had written to Professor McGonagall on Saturday about the harmful ward she suspected was on Hogwarts—the one blocking their knowledge about the other schools—but she hadn't received a reply. Bill Weasley, on the other hand, had responded straight away and agreed the situation needed urgent attention. They were to meet for lunch later that day.

Upon entering the kitchen she was greeted by her mother. 'There you are, darling. Did you sleep all right? What time did you get in?'

'Good morning, Mum,' she said. 'Where's Dad?'

'He took an emergency client before office hours,' replied Emily. 'Did you have a nice evening with Ginny?'

'Yes, it was good seeing her. She gave me some perspective, having recently gone through a big split herself. Admittedly, she wasn't on the receiving end, but there's a lot that's similar.'

'Did you see the message I took down for you, on the pad next to the telephone?'

'No,' said Hermione. 'I never look there. I can't even remember the last time I received a phone call.'

'Well, someone rang you last night—a young man named Ryan. He said he's one of Harry's teammates.'

Hermione was astonished. 'And he rang me up on the telephone? Did he say how he got my number?'

'He said Harry gave it to him, since his owl couldn't find you.'

'I wonder why Harry didn't just provide my private owl address.'

Emily laughed, 'I asked him something similar, and he said he had so few opportunities to use his telephone skills to reach another wizard that he couldn't resist.'

'I can't blame him,' said Hermione. 'Phones are a lot faster than owls, and you can always leave a message if nobody answers.' She picked up the notepad and saw there was only a name and number. 'Did he say why he was calling?'

'He mentioned getting sushi together,' replied Emily. 'I'm sorry the message is so brief—I was in the middle of making dinner.'

'Oh right, he said on Saturday it was hard to find wizards willing to eat foreign foods. I'd completely forgot about that.' She sighed and added, 'I suppose I needn't worry about packing a sandwich for Ron.'

Hermione poured herself some coffee and put bread in the toaster before sitting down. 'Did he mention Ron as well?'

'No,' said Emily, 'not a peep. What did you think of him? Did he seem nice?'

'Who?' asked Hermione absently. She had started eating some cut fruit that was on the table.

'Ryan, of course.'

'Oh.' Hermione blinked. 'Yes, he seemed nice enough, for an athlete anyway.'

Emily laughed. 'What's that supposed to mean? Isn't Harry an athlete?'

'Yes, but that's different. He's a Seeker, which is probably the least athletic of the Quidditch positions.'

'Don't let Harry hear you say that,' advised Emily.

'I didn't mean it that way,' said Hermione. 'No, I think Ryan's a Chaser. They do a lot of throwing and catching, so he's a good deal taller and more muscular.'

'I'm not seeing a problem here,' smirked her mother.

Hermione looked at her. 'Are you insinuating that he was asking me out on a date? Honestly, I hope he wasn't—last he saw me I was in a serious relationship.'

'Maybe Harry told him you're single now.'

'There's a mortifying thought,' she said, returning to the counter to fetch her toast.

'All you've said so far is that he's tall and muscular. What other horrors are you hiding from me? Please don't tell me he's ...' she paused for effect, 'blond.'

'Mum!' protested Hermione. 'He is blond. Dirty blond anyway, with streaks from the sun.'

'He sounds revolting. Are you willing to be seen in public with him?'

'You're being tedious, Mother. I don't know ... he's not really my type.'

'Yes, I suppose tall, well-built blonds aren't most people's cup of tea.'

'Would you stop already? He just reminded me of the sort of boy I went to primary school with. Popular, good at football.' Her voice got quieter, 'A bit like Errol Reddington.'

Her mother's expression changed. 'Oh.' She was quiet a moment. 'That was a long time ago, sweetheart.'

'I know,' said Hermione. 'But I never exactly got closure, did I?'

'I suppose not,' replied Emily.

Primary school had been very difficult for Hermione. Not academically, of course, but socially. At best she'd been ignored by her peers, and at worst she'd been actively bullied. Errol Reddington had been something of a ringleader.

He'd targeted her for any number of things, but her hair and teeth had always been in the top slots. To make matters worse, he was one of the burgeoning heartthrobs in her year, so his abuse had stung all the more.

It all ended abruptly when she learnt she was a witch and began attending Hogwarts. But she still dreaded running into her former tormentors when she was staying with her parents. Once when she was thirteen she'd been spotted on the high street by Errol and some of his mates, and they'd shouted insults at her.

She knew Ryan couldn't help looking like her former bully, but she remained suspicious of the type. Things generally came too easily to people like that, so she assumed they'd never developed much character. His being a professional athlete only reinforced her opinion.

'I hope you'll at least go out with him,' said Emily. 'It's not his fault who he looks like, and I doubt Harry would have given him your number if he didn't think highly of him.'

'That's true,' admitted Hermione. 'And I am fond of sushi. But I should probably wait a week at least, until I'm less maudlin.'

'How were things at your internship yesterday? Did you manage all right?'

'It was better than I'd expected, actually. I suppose I really am able to throw myself into a project. We're preparing for a big meeting with the goblins on Friday, and I've been tasked with a lot of background research.'

'When you say you were tasked with it, may I assume you mean you threw your hand into the air and eagerly volunteered for it?' asked Emily, wearing a fond smile.

'Now that I'm no longer in school I'm trying to break my habit of raising my hand all the time,' said Hermione, 'but I admit it may have shot up more than once recently.'

'Don't change too much, darling. Your father and I love your enthusiasm.'

After breakfast, she travelled by Floo to the Ministry and took the lifts to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She had been excited to work so close to Ron, but now she was nervous she'd run into him.

Hermione was proud to have secured a rare internship with the DMLE—Professor McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt had both recommended her for it. It was for a special task force to improve relations between wizards and non-human magical beings. Currently all non-wizard diplomacy was handled through the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which invariably set negotiations off on the wrong foot. The task force was to explore transferring diplomatic relations to the DMLE.

Although Hermione was hoping to start with house-elves, as she had numerous ideas for improving their treatment, the task force's highest priority was goblin relations. There had been concern that Hermione's ban from Gringotts would prove an insurmountable obstacle, but the Ministry wizard who had negotiated their restitution had a high opinion of Hermione and said it wouldn't be a problem. He maintained that goblins were more than willing to drop grievances in exchange for gold, particularly when future benefit was to be had.

Even though Hermione's research assignment was restricted to past diplomatic efforts between wizards and goblins in Britain and in other countries, she had devoted much of her leisure time to learning about goblin culture and even studying the language. She wasn't required to learn it—nearly every goblin in Britain spoke English—but she couldn't resist the challenge.

She spent the entire morning in the Ministry archives, poring over goblin-wizard legal history and taking copious notes, which she would compile into a report on Wednesday. The hours passed quickly, and before long it was time for lunch with Bill Weasley.

They met at a cafe near Gringotts. Bill greeted her with a big hug and said, 'I'm so sorry things didn't work out between you and Ron. Fleur in particular was looking forward to having you in the family, not least as an ally against my mother.'

Hermione smiled sadly. 'I know. I'm sorry Fleur and I won't share that bond. And I'll miss being part of the family as well.'

'You're still family as far as we're concerned,' he said warmly, and they found a table.

After placing their orders, they turned to the subject at hand. 'I asked my parents about the other schools at dinner on Sunday, and they were as shocked to learn about them as I was. When pressed, Dad was able to dimly recall the names of a couple of schools, but he had a foggy expression as if he'd been Confunded. Mum hadn't heard of them at all, even though I checked and found one of her uncles had been headmaster at Blockhurst.'

'I can't believe how insidious this is,' remarked Hermione. 'I can scarcely imagine what effect it's had on wizarding society all these years.'

'Same here,' agreed Bill. 'What did McGonagall have to say about it?'

'I haven't heard back from her.'

Bill was silent a moment before slapping his forehead in exasperation. 'Of course not,' he said. 'She's at Hogwarts.'

Hermione's eyes shot open. 'You're right! How didn't I think of that?' She was frustrated by her own stupidity. 'What do you suppose happened when she read my letter?'

'Could have been any number of things. It's possible she didn't receive the letters at all. Or they she have read it but immediately forgot what you'd written.' He grew pale and added, 'Or she might be caught in some kind of loop.'

'What do you mean by some kind of loop?' she asked with alarm.

Furrowing his brow, Bill explained, 'Suppose McGonagall read the letter in her office. She would have finished reading and likely been very disturbed by the contents. But before she'd even set the parchment down, the ward would have interfered and caused her to forget what she'd just read.'

'How would that create a loop?'

'The ward would make her forget the details, but her high degree of alarm might be unaffected. And she'd know the letter had been the source, so she'd instantly read it again. And so on, ad infinitum.'

'I sent it three days ago!' she gasped. 'Do you think she's stuck like that?'

'I don't know,' said Bill. 'The castle is fairly deserted during the summer, and I don't know whether anyone would worry if she didn't turn up for meals in the Great Hall. Hopefully the house-elves or even the portraits would have interrupted her.'

'Should one of us go there and check?' asked Hermione urgently.

'No!' cried Bill, reaching out as if to stop her. 'Because then you'd forget too. We need to come up with a strategy first.'

'Merlin, you're right.' She took a deep breath. 'Do you think there's a portrait at the Ministry who could check on her?'

'There's bound to be,' replied Bill. 'But doesn't Harry have that portrait of Sirius's ancestor who was headmaster?'

'Phineas Nigellus Black? Of course, good idea. I can ask him tonight when I'm at Grimmauld Place for dinner.'

'That sounds good, but we should explore other avenues as well. I wonder if I can lure McGonagall to Shell Cottage. I'd gladly meet her in Hogsmeade, but we can't be certain how far the wards extend.'

'Do you think we should get the goblins involved? They're the real wards experts.'

'That will probably be necessary at some point, but for now we should hold off. It's not prudent to let the goblins to see too much of our own dirty linen. Wizards, that is.'

'You're probably right,' she said. 'And I certainly wouldn't blame them for thinking ill of us when this comes out.'

'They already think ill of us, so it wouldn't make much difference.'

'I should probably ask for your advice going into my big meeting on Friday.'

'With the goblins you mean?' he asked, and she nodded. 'Well, as you know, they particularly hate wizards for being arrogant. Acting like we're doing them a favour just by deigning to talk to them. It's ironic, really, considering how dependent we are on Gringotts and goblin wards.'

'I've been studying the goblin language, and I've learnt a lot of their idioms—in English anyway.'

Bill shook his head. 'That won't matter to them.'

Hermione was disappointed. 'Really? I thought it would show respect.'

'No. They'd see it as pandering.'

Hermione disagreed with his assessment but didn't say anything. When she and Harry had reopened their Gringotts accounts, she'd used goblin idioms to smooth over several of Harry's gaffes.

She and Bill outlined their next steps: he would invite Professor McGonagall to Shell Cottage, and Hermione would attempt to investigate using the portrait of Phineas Nigellus. Mr Weasley had also agreed to help by speaking to some of his Ministry colleagues.

Their business concluded, they returned to more personal topics while they ate. 'I'm really sorry again about you and Ron. The whole family is disappointed, Mum included. First we lost Harry, and now you.'

Hermione looked down. 'I'm sorry too.'

'You were good for Ron—we all thought so. To be honest, Dad and I used to worry over him a bit. He was awfully slow to grow up, you know. But now he's turned out better than we could have hoped. I still can't believe he has an Order of Merlin, First Class!'

She smiled sadly. 'I always knew he had it in him.'

Neither of them spoke for a while, but then Bill looked at her with a slightly cheeky expression. 'I'll have you know that Fleur is convinced you and Harry will get together.'

Hermione shook her head. 'Not likely. He's like a brother to me, and I know he feels the same way.'

'That's a shame. You and Harry have always seemed like a better match than you and Ron were.'

'I'm afraid not. It appears I'll have to wait for a player who is yet unnamed.'

'You've plenty of time, surely. We can introduce you to some of Fleur's cousins in France if you like,' he smiled. 'And besides, I've lately heard rumours of several dozen previously unknown wizarding schools in Britain. Perhaps you'll find your true love there.'

'Thanks, that's a good point. There are a lot more eligible young wizards than I'd imagined.'

After lunch Hermione still had a quarter hour before she needed to return to the Ministry, so she strolled Diagon Alley. When she passed the newsagent's her attention was caught by a new photo of Harry, on the cover of _Witch Weekly_.

The photo was less provocative than the one the _Prophet_ had run, but it was still very flattering. It must have been taken at the press conference, since he wasn't wearing eyeglasses. He was smiling warmly, and there was a hint of mischief in his eyes.

She groaned when she read the headline: _'Desirable Number One.'_

Hermione looked again at the photograph. It winked at her.

She shook her head in disbelief. Hermione had previously thought she'd witnessed every possible permutation of Harry Potter press coverage, but clearly they'd entered a new era.

_And just wait until word of his nocturnal habits gets out. _She was glad he was apparently getting over Ginny, but she'd been shocked to discover he'd picked up some stranger at a bar, and that he seemed inclined to make a hobby of it.

_Boys_, she thought disapprovingly, before a horrible thought crossed her mind. Was Ron going to accompany him on these ... pulling expeditions? She felt sick at the idea.

Since the end of the war, Hermione had noticed other witches looking at Ron with interest. He was confident for the first time, and of course he'd received mountains of praise as a war hero. She'd never minded—she was proud to see him finally getting attention—but now it had an unsettling new dimension.

A fleeting image of Ryan Bellamy popped into her mind, accompanied by conflicting emotions. In spite of what she'd told her mother, she did find him attractive, if in a rather obvious way. But she also felt a wave of distrust, and she recalled another unpleasant incident from her final year of primary school.

It was Valentine's Day, and she'd been surprised to receive multiple anonymous cards. She suspected they were just a cruel joke, but her romantic heart nurtured the idea that she actually had a secret admirer. She'd read a lot of novels, after all.

She heard whispers that Errol Reddington had sent one of them, and that it had been sincere. Recalling her father's long-ago remark that boys only teased girls they liked, she allowed herself to believe that his card had been genuine.

One of the other girls told Hermione that Errol wanted to meet her near the big clock after school, and so she went and found him there alone. He affected shyness when she arrived, and she thanked him for the card, which caused him to smile briefly. But then he burst into cruel laughter, and his friends—including several of the girls—emerged from around the corner and laughed loudly as Hermione ran away in tears.

More than eight years later, her cheeks still burned at the memory. She'd been foolish to believe that her bully had harboured a secret crush on her. Furthermore, it hurt her pride to know that her former classmates probably still remembered her as a buck-toothed, bushy-haired swot, and that they'd never hear of her accomplishments. Indeed, they'd see the truth as further evidence she was a freak.

Her relationship with Ron had plastered over some of those painful memories. When she'd looked back at those times, she could feel Ron there with her, ready to hex anyone who wanted to make her cry. But now he was gone, and she had to face those memories alone again.

_You're not that same little girl_, she told herself. _You could hex them yourself if you wanted. _And even without Ron, she knew she had friends she could literally trust with her life. Tonight she was having dinner at Grimmauld Place with Harry, Neville, and Luna. When Harry invited her, she'd seen through his motives at once, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

She walked into the newsagent's and bought a copy of _Witch Weekly_. They could have a good laugh about it over dinner—Luna's perspective was always entertaining, and it would be fun to watch Neville stammer.

Hermione was relieved Harry hadn't invited Hannah Abbott, even though she and Neville were dating. Hermione had nothing against Hannah, and under normal circumstances would have enjoyed seeing her. But for now she only wanted to be around close friends and family.

Ryan Bellamy would have to wait.

-––—––-

Neville was dumbstruck when Hermione arrived.

'Oh blast,' exclaimed Harry. 'I forgot to warn you. Hermione found this hair charm and now she looks like Bellatrix Lestrange. Sorry about that, Nev.'

'I think you look very nice,' commented Luna. 'I used to worry that your hair would make an enticing nest for Wrackspurts, but now your curls are too glossy for that to happen.'

'Thanks,' replied Hermione, who had long since learned to find the compliment within Luna's ravings and discard the rest.

Neville was still looking at her in terror.

'I'm sorry, Neville,' she said. 'I can't see any resemblance myself, but Harry and Ron were similarly horrified. Would it help if I talked reassuringly?'

Neville nodded slowly. She was pretty sure he hadn't blinked.

'Let's see ... I spent hours today doing research at the Ministry, in preparation for our big meeting with the goblins on Friday. We're hoping to lay the groundwork for proper diplomacy as opposed to "creature regulation," which is an absolute scandal of course.'

Seeing Neville start to relax, she continued. 'Naturally my long-term goal is improve working conditions for house-elves. And I'd love to see laws providing equal job opportunities for half-bloods and Muggle-borns. For example, as much as I love Arthur Weasley, it's really a bit absurd that he's so high up in the Muggle-relations department.'

Neville had regained his normal colour and seemed fully recovered. 'Thanks for that, Hermione. Just hearing you speak favourably about house-elf rights and Muggle-borns was enough to readjust my brain. I should be all right now.'

They sat down around the kitchen table, which is where Harry usually entertained his old friends. 'Can I offer you anything?' he asked. 'I have pumpkin juice and Butterbeer, as well as tea and water of course.'

Before anyone could reply, Kreacher arrived with a loud _crack_, and his expression was stern.

_Did he just Apparate from the other end of the kitchen?_ thought Hermione.

'Kreacher would be honoured to serve Master's friends. Master was only playing a cruel joke when Master threatened to usurp Kreacher's role. Isn't that right, Master?'

Harry looked a little alarmed. This was a new degree of territoriality on Kreacher's part. 'I wouldn't dream of usurping your role, Kreacher. I was only speaking figuratively when I offered them something to drink. Naturally we'd allow you to serve us.'

Mollified, Kreacher took their orders. Hermione wasn't actually thirsty, but she asked for a glass of Butterbeer to avoid upsetting him.

Hermione turned to Neville. 'How is your research going? I'm still envious you were able to get a head start on your Mastery.'

Neville had attended Hogwarts with Hermione the previous year, but he'd been able to start his Mastery in Herbology, since he'd already completed most of his coursework for Charms the year before.

'It's going well. Currently Professor Sprout has me studying the mating rituals of Bolivian Spiderweed, but I haven't yet decided what I want to focus my research on. I'm just thrilled to be spending all day in the greenhouses. But how are you doing, Hermione?' he asked sympathetically.

'I'm all right,' she said. 'It helps to stay busy—I saw Ginny last night, and at work I've been eyeball-deep in research. And then I had lunch with Bill Weasley today. Which reminds me,' she said, digging into her handbag. 'I found this at the newsagent's.'

She pulled out the newest copy of _Witch Weekly_ and set it on the table. Instead of looking at the cover again, she watched Harry and was rewarded by seeing him turn scarlet.

'Oh for Merlin's sake, when Janet sees this ...' he muttered.

'You really have to be impressed with their headline writers,' observed Hermione.

'You could be next, you know,' replied Harry. 'Weren't you Undesirable Number Three?'

'No, I was Number Two. Ron was Number Three,' she corrected. 'Mudblood outranks pure-blood.'

'That's a useful mnemonic, thanks,' he said. 'But seriously, I expect you'll turn up on a wizarding lad mag sometime soon.'

'What a horrible thought, and for multiple reasons,' she commented. 'Are there any wizarding lad mags?'

'What's a lad mag?' asked Neville.

'Sorry, it's a Muggle phenomenon,' explained Hermione. 'It's a magazine aimed primarily at young men. They usually feature saucy interviews with scantily-clad actresses, occasionally straddling cars.'

'How would you straddle a car?' asked Luna.

'I think she's exaggerating,' said Harry. 'Or at least I hope she is.'

Neville nodded. 'I think I know what you mean. But I'm not sure if there's a wizarding equivalent.'

'Nor am I,' said Harry. 'It would have to be a cross between _Which Broomstick?_ and _Busty and Bewitched.'_

'Do you suppose there's a publishing niche for my father?' asked Luna. 'The _Quibbler_ has been more popular recently, and he's looking to diversify.'

Harry and Hermione burst into laughter. Harry said, 'I would love more than anything to see the _Quibbler_ branch out into the lad mag arena, but I don't think it's the right match for your father's ... editorial priorities.'

'I suppose not,' replied Luna. 'He doesn't know the first thing about cars.'

Neville looked again at the issue of _Witch Weekly_ on the table. 'Did you really wink at the camera, Harry? That's not like you.'

Harry, who apparently hadn't noticed it earlier, took a closer look at the photograph. 'Bugger, you're right! How on earth did that happen?' His eyes shot open, and he turned to Luna. 'This is all your father's fault!'

'Really? Did he infect you with Winkles?'

'No, he asked me a conspiracy theory question, which I refused to confirm or deny, and afterwards I winked.'

'So you're saying it's true, then?' asked Luna hopefully.

'I honestly can't remember the question,' he confessed. 'I was just having fun.'

'This is why Gran warns me never to have fun in public,' said Neville. 'It always gets misinterpreted.'

'I'm not sure that's good advice,' said Hermione.

Kreacher reappeared with his customary _crack_. 'Would Master like to eat dinner in the kitchen or in the dining room?'

'Here would be perfect, thank you,' said Harry, and an assortment of pizzas appeared on the table.

The conversation stopped for a while as everybody ate, the silence interrupted only by utterances of enjoyment.

'How in Godric's name,' asked Neville, 'did wizards go this long without discovering pizza? If you hadn't already been awarded the Order of Merlin, they should give you one for introducing pizza to wizardkind.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'I suspect Italian wizards had the idea some time ago.'

'British wizardkind, I mean,' said Neville. 'But seriously, imagine bringing a bunch of pizzas to the Gryffindor common room after winning a Quidditch match. I'm tempted to return to Hogwarts another year just to establish that tradition.'

'I thought you were returning to Hogwarts for another year,' said Harry.

'No, I'll be commuting by Floo from now on. But I'll see if I can convince the house-elves to add it to their repertoire.'

Hermione turned to Luna. 'Have you decided what you're doing now that we've finished at Hogwarts?'

'Not quite yet,' replied Luna, 'but I'm getting nearer to it. I've been corresponding with Renata Spoor, the editor of _Magizoology Gazette, _and she's making enquiries on my behalf for a field internship.'

'That's fantastic,' exclaimed Neville. 'I hope she comes through for you—that sounds like a great opportunity.'

'That reminds me,' said Harry. 'I got fitted this morning for my Cannons robes. I should have them tomorrow.'

'What was the tailor's name?' smirked Hermione. 'Hieronymus Stitch?'

'Oh, have you met him?' asked Neville. 'That's who my Gran uses. I didn't know he made the Cannons' robes.'

Hermione snorted, and Harry replied, 'No, his name was Benedict Thimble. I was very impressed with his work—I expect they'll be the nicest robes I've ever worn.'

'Except for the colour,' commented Hermione. 'Now there's a silver lining ... I'll never again have to sleep in a room festooned with blinding orange posters.'

Feigning a wounded expression, Harry said, 'You're not planning to outfit your room with Cannons regalia? Some friend you are.'

'I will, Harry,' volunteered Luna. 'In fact, on Saturday I looked for some bright orange paint for my room, but I couldn't find anything that matched. I'm hoping I can brew some, but it'll take a while to harvest enough stamens from our patch of Castilian Glowpansies.'

Hermione looked at Neville, who slowly shook his head.

'The exact colour is a trade secret, apparently,' said Harry. 'I'm sure I could find an approximation for you, but there's really no need to paint your room orange. It's very sweet of you to offer, though.'

'It's my pleasure, Harry,' replied Luna. 'I'm just happy your life has become so much brighter. I was worried about you this time last month.'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'It's still a bit rough, to be honest. But things are improving.'

Hermione coughed but said nothing.

'I too had a sad love affair recently,' announced Luna.

'Oh no,' said Hermione. 'I'm so sorry. Was it anyone we know?'

'No, he was a Centaur from the Forbidden Forest.'

Everyone looked up in shock, and Neville briefly choked on his Butterbeer.

'We began as friends,' explained Luna. 'I first met Lythian at the edge of the forest, where I was collecting Gurples for a wreath. We got to talking and discovered we shared many of the same interests.

'Over time we became close, reciting poems while cantering under the moonlight, or simply gazing together at the stars.

'But eventually the attraction grew too strong, and we realised friendship would never be enough. I spent weeks researching potions that might make us more ... compatible, and I asked Professor McGonagall whether some kind of transfiguration might work.

'I even undertook the steps to determine my Animagus form, in the hopes it would be a match. But unfortunately my form is that of a Fluttering Bimwiffle, which wouldn't have worked. And so we parted. Mere friendship would have been too hard to bear.'

Hermione, Neville, and Harry were stunned into silence, and they stared at Luna with over-large eyes, similar to her own. 'You're so sweet to offer your compassion like this. And I know what you're thinking—that love must find a way. But in the end, we all just have to face facts.'

This time it was Hermione who choked on her Butterbeer.

After a silence, Neville asked, 'So, are you going to pursue the Animagus training and become a, er, Flittering Bumwiffle?'

'Bimwaffle,' corrected Harry.

Hermione murmured _'Fluttering bimwiffle,'_ to no one in particular.

'No,' replied Luna. 'It's not a very practical form.'

'I'm so sorry that didn't work out for you, Luna,' said Harry. 'I guess we're all in the dumps right now, except for Neville. How are things with Hannah anyway?'

'We're doing well,' replied Neville. 'Thanks for asking—she sends everyone her best wishes.'

Their conversation continued through dessert, covering Harry's experiences with the Cannons, Neville's upcoming holiday in the Hebrides, and a herd of Miniature Wumperbeasts that Luna was tracking.

Hermione eventually excused herself to find the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, which had been returned to the guest bedroom Harry and Ron had once shared. The portrait was sleeping, but he awoke after Hermione tapped him with her wand.

'It's you,' he said simply. 'I notice you haven't been round to visit now that the war is over.'

'I'm sorry, Headmaster,' she said. 'I've no excuse.'

His expression softened. 'It's refreshing not to be lied to for once. I certainly heard enough excuses during my years at Hogwarts.' Rolling his eyes, he began reciting in a sing-song voice, _'"I couldn't do my Runes assignment, Professor, because anti-Muggle-born wards make my skin burn,"_ or _"I can't fulfil my Prefect duties this week because my family's all died of the Spanish Flu."'_

Hermione wasn't sure how to respond, so she decided to skip ahead to her question. 'Have you been to Hogwarts recently, and did you notice whether Professor McGonagall looked all right?'

He looked at her suspiciously but replied. 'I was there this morning, and she seemed her usual self.'

_Well that's a relief_, thought Hermione. Feeling bold, she continued. 'What do you know about the other wizarding schools in Britain? The ones that aren't Hogwarts.'

Scowling, he said, 'More than I'd like to, frankly. Second-raters all around.'

'But you've heard of them?' she asked.

'Yes, of course. I gather they haven't been stamped out yet?'

'No. In fact, it sounds like they're thriving.'

He harrumphed. 'Why are you asking me about them anyway? It hardly seems a question worth asking.'

'That's the thing,' she said. 'I've only just learnt about them, and I'm beginning to suspect that someone tampered with the Hogwarts wards to prevent us all from knowing about them, or to make us forget.'

'Nonsense. That's not possible with wards. You'd need a potion in the food, and that would surely wear off in short order.'

'Well, we're investigating anyway. Could you please keep an eye on Professor McGonagall and send for help if she looks ... catatonic or anything?'

'That's one of our duties as retired headmasters, to look after the current Head of School.'

'I'm glad to hear that,' said Hermione. 'Thanks for answering my questions, and I'm sorry again not to have visited more recently.'

He nodded curtly at her and then disappeared from the frame.

She returned to the kitchen and found her friends standing near the fireplace.

'Oh good, there you are,' said Luna to her. 'I was hoping you'd join me for dinner this Friday night.'

'Just me?' asked Hermione, puzzled. She and Luna seldom spent time alone together.

'Yes. There's something I feel motivated to talk to you about in private.'

'All right then, of course,' said Hermione. 'I can meet you after I get off work. I have a meeting at Gringotts until six o'clock.'

'Perfect. I have a restaurant in mind—I'll meet you at Gringotts and we can go there together.'

They all thanked Harry for having them over, and Kreacher was summoned and duly thanked as well.

Kneeling down, Neville asked, 'Kreacher, would you be willing to teach the Hogwarts elves how to make pizza? I'm sure the students and and staff would love it.'

'With Master's permission, of course,' said the elf, gazing meaningfully towards Harry.

'I'd want to check first with McGonagall, but I don't see why not.'

'Brilliant, thanks,' said Neville, and he and Luna said their goodbyes and left through the fireplace.

Only Hermione remained, and Harry suddenly asked her, 'Do you want your copy of _Witch Weekly_ back? I suspect I'll get pelted with it tomorrow at practice.'

'Certainly—why not? I'm sure Mum and Dad will have a good laugh over it.'

He retrieved it for her and gently asked, 'How are you doing?'

She nodded and said, 'I'm all right, really. Thanks again for arranging this, it was nice.'

'I had a good time too,' he said. 'I'm glad if we could cheer you up a bit.'

'That reminds me,' she said. 'Did you give my phone number to your teammate Ryan? He rang me last night.'

'That was fast!' he remarked. 'Yes, I hope that was all right.'

'Of course, I trust your judgment. But does he know Ron and I have split?'

Harry looked a bit sheepish. 'Yeah, I didn't see any point in hiding it when he asked how to contact you and Ron about dinner plans.'

Sighing, Hermione said, 'I suppose that's fine. I hope he wasn't disappointed—I know he enjoyed talking Quidditch with Ron.'

'I'm certain he wasn't disappointed,' smirked Harry. Hermione looked at him sharply, but he seemed disinclined to say more.

'I should go,' she said. 'When will I see you next?'

'I'm busy tomorrow night, and possibly Thursday as well. So maybe not until my match on Saturday. Will you be able to attend? It's at one o'clock—I'm sure I can provide tickets.'

'Will I be permitted to bring a book?' she asked. 'I don't like the idea of professional Beaters taking aim at you.'

'Nor do I,' he agreed. 'But yes, bring whatever you like. I'll just be glad to have you there, if only to help drown out the opposing fans.'

'I'll have to unearth the Cannons jersey Ron gave me for my last birthday.'

'For your birthday, really? I thought you said he'd grown up.'

'It wasn't my only present—it was more of a decoy,' she explained sadly.

'Ah, that makes more sense. Anyway, I'll be in touch, and see you Saturday at the latest.'

She returned to her parents' house and found them both in the lounge. Still holding the copy of _Witch Weekly,_ Hermione sat down on the sofa.

'Oh good, you're home. Did you have a nice time?' asked Daniel.

'I did, thanks. I really have wonderful friends. I suppose that's one small advantage of going through a war—you really know who your friends are.'

Judging from her parents' expressions, Hermione realised she probably shouldn't have said that. She quickly changed the subject and unrolled the magazine.

'They put Harry on the cover of _Witch Weekly._ I think you'll find it amusing.'

'I hope it's not like that photo from the _Prophet,'_ scowled Daniel. 'That one should have come in a brown wrapper.'

'I thought it was lovely,' said Emily. 'And Daniel, I know you weren't complaining that evening.'

'Mum!' cried Hermione.

'I'm just teasing you, dear. You're such an easy target.'

Emily looked at the cover and raised her eyebrows. 'And I thought our Muggle press was salacious! I can see your papers have carved out a new identity for him. I hope he wants it.'

'He's eighteen,' observed Daniel. 'I'd be disappointed if he weren't behaving like a sailor on shore leave right now.'

'Daddy!'

'Never mind him,' said Emily. 'Just take it as proof that boys eventually settle down. Do you know how old Ryan is?'

'I'm going to my room now. Hopefully by tomorrow morning you two will have learnt how to behave,' said Hermione with mock sternness.

She hugged her parents and went to bed, feeling glad to be close with them again. She had missed this.


	11. Chapter 11

_Trigger warning: Jokes about child sexual abuse._

-––—––—––-

'Don't say a word,' ordered Harry as soon as he saw Janet the next morning. 'I'm serious, not a peep out of you. I'll jinx you if I have to.' He raised his wand in warning.

Her expression solemn, she pantomimed zipping her mouth closed. And then she winked.

Before he could respond, Lara entered the room and said, 'Well, if it isn't Desirable Number One! How's your bum feeling? Are you all set for pain draughts?'

'My bum is fine, thank you.'

'It most certain–,' began Janet, before she was struck by Harry's Silencing Charm.

Ignoring her wild gesticulations, Harry just shook his wand at her. 'I did warn you,' he admonished.

Next he turned to Lara and said, 'I've been meaning to ask you about getting tickets to Saturday's match. I'd like to invite some friends.'

Janet scowled and marched loudly into the locker room.

'Team policy is that starters receive ten tickets to home games and four tickets to away games,' replied Lara. 'Normally there's an option to purchase more, but I got word yesterday from the Falcons ticket office that Saturday's match is completely sold out. It seems your debut is attracting a crowd.'

'Really, only four? That's disappointing,' said Harry. He had a long list of people he wanted to invite, and it would be hard to narrow it down to four. And there was the added necessity of seating Ron and Hermione apart from each other. _At least I haven't any family,_ he thought grimly.

'You might see if any of the other players can spare a few. Check with Ryan—I think his parents are away on holiday, so he might not need his.'

'Thanks, I will.'

They continued chatting, interrupted periodically by passing teammates. 'Morning, Snitchbottom!' greeted Renée. Suresh winked at him.

Finally Ryan entered, and Harry asked him. 'Have you any spare tickets for Saturday's match?'

'Yes, I have four, and I've been meaning to offer them to you,' said Ryan. 'My parents are currently in France, and I've put off my friends who were hinting after them. I had a feeling you'd need extras.'

'That was really thoughtful,' said Harry. 'Thanks—I owe you.'

'Think nothing of it, Snitchbottom,' replied Ryan, winking.

Soon they were all outside running laps, and Harry found himself once again contemplating his teammates. He made a show of being annoyed at all their ribbing, but inwardly he was enjoying it. He'd never had this kind of camaraderie with his Auror colleagues, and only a handful of his Hogwarts friends treated him like this. He felt like he was finally having some of the fun he'd missed out on in the past.

He certainly hadn't laughed much during the final year of the war. It was unpleasant even to think about that period, when they were burdened with the locket Horcrux and had no idea how to destroy it, much less find the others. Dumbledore had left them almost completely in the dark, and survival seemed impossible.

And then there were Harry's blinding headaches, accompanied by visions from Voldemort. He still had nightmares from the sickening acts of cruelty he'd witnessed through their soul link, and he'd never admitted even to Hermione how much he had empathised with the Dark wizard. Through the Horcrux, Harry had experienced Voldemort's thoughts as if they were his own, and even with Voldemort dead and gone, Harry would never forget the fundamental connection they had shared.

Perhaps this was why Harry so enjoyed flying drills with his teammates, or why he was able to lose himself so completely with a sexual partner. He felt a similar sense of connection, but without any of the horrifying aspects of his Voldemort link. Instead he simply felt their shared pleasure.

Harry decided to experiment with this during the team flying drills later that morning. Remembering Owen's instructions, he set his intention to let his body and broomstick handle the flying, and to surrender as much as possible to the shared bliss of the experience.

Unfortunately it didn't work as smoothly as he'd hoped. The drills required more conscious attention than his Seeker practice, and so he flubbed a few manoeuvres. Harry supposed he'd have to find the right balance between surrendering fully into awareness and firmly gripping his mental Omnioculars.

He eventually found his old rhythm, and the flying drills went smoothly after that. Tuttle blew the whistle a little before noon, and after showering the starters made their usual journey to the village pub. The Silencing Charm Harry had placed on Janet had long since worn off, and she was roundly abusing him for it.

'You had no basis at all to assume I'd start taking the piss about the _Witch Weekly_ cover,' she said. 'For all you knew, I was about to reveal my most tender hopes and dreams—things I've never shared with a living soul. But now I've lost my nerve. I hope you can live with yourself, Potter.'

Suresh rolled his eyes at her and said, 'You're just upset you lost the betting pool. Though you weren't actually eligible to participate, considering you were part of the wager.' At Harry's puzzled expression, he added, 'We had a bet over how long you'd last before jinxing her.'

'You're kidding,' said Harry. 'When did this happen?'

Renée explained, 'We placed our bets last Monday, after you'd signed but before you started training. No gold, just an honour bet as usual.'

'I'm glad we did it before we met you, which in retrospect made things more interesting,' said Suresh. 'None of us knew whether you'd be impossibly stoic or some twitchy war veteran. I'm sorry to admit that I had you down for your very first day.'

'And who won?' asked Harry.

'I did,' said Darren proudly. 'But there was an extra bonus for predicting which spell you'd use, and I guessed wrong with _Expelliarmus_.'

'You thought I'd need to disarm her? What exactly were you expecting her to do?'

'Nothing in particular—I just figured it was your standby. It worked on You-Know-Who, after all.'

'Ryan and I both picked the Silencing Charm,' said Gary. 'Renée was hoping you'd give her antlers. And Suresh was down for _Incendio_.'

'_Incendio? _On my first day?' exclaimed Harry, turning towards Suresh. 'I hope your opinion of me has improved since then.'

'Oh, that wasn't a judgment against you,' said Suresh. 'It was more a reflection on Janet.'

Upon arriving at the pub, they took their usual table and placed their orders with Candice. The conversation turned towards the upcoming match—particularly how optimistic everyone was about their chances.

Harry finally posed a question he'd had since his first day on the team. 'Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm curious about something: Why do the Cannons have such poor standings? You're all terrific flyers, and the Beaters and Chasers are remarkably well coordinated. And yet we're last in the league.'

Gary spoke first. 'It's a fair question, Harry. You've probably noticed by now we don't let it dampen our spirits, but it's no secret the team has an abysmal record, and has done for more than a century. I mean, we've had the odd winning season, but no League Cup since 1892.

'This year we can safely put the blame on Spencer, but it's always been one thing or another. While Owen was starting Seeker the problem was our Beaters, and their inability to protect him. And before that we had a lousy Keeper and weak Chasers,' continued Gary.

'But more often than not it's been the Seeker,' he said, and the others nodded. 'As I'm sure you're aware, the game is over-dependent on whoever catches the Snitch.'

'No pressure, by the way,' interjected Janet, and the others laughed.

Harry couldn't argue with Gary's analysis. 'I've often wondered about that, but whenever I question the logic of Quidditch scoring, people look at me as if I'd urinated on a statue of Merlin. My friend Ron just shakes his head and says, "That's how it is," as if I'd asked why the sun rises in the east.'

'He's a pure-blood, right?' asked Darren, and Harry nodded. 'Good luck getting a logical answer there. Haven't you learned by now that wizards and logic don't mix?'

Renée added, 'And surely you've considered the absurdity of pure-blood Death Eaters prostrating themselves before You-Know-Who and allowing him to torture them.'

'Often,' said Harry, not mentioning he'd personally witnessed it more times than he could count. 'But it doesn't take a master logician to realise the game would work a lot better if the Snitch were worth, say, fifty points. That would make the Chasers' contribution more significant, for one thing.'

'Don't get me started,' growled Darren. 'You can just imagine how frustrating it is to outscore the opposing team but then have it rendered irrelevant because we couldn't get the Snitch.'

Harry had never heard the Gryffindor Chasers complaining like this, but he'd nearly always caught the Snitch for them. Listening to Darren made it clear to him how seriously Quidditch scoring needed fixing.

Suresh looked at Harry and said, 'I can see what you're thinking. "Why hasn't anyone tried changing the rules?" And the answer is, they have—and it never goes anywhere. Because ... tradition!' He pounded his fist on the table before rolling his eyes.

'But let's face it, what alternative do we have?' he added. 'And don't say "Quodpot." Talk about a sad excuse for a sport—I'll take the Snitch any day.'

A devious smile crept across Janet's face. 'But if anyone can get the rules changed ...' she began, looking at Harry.

'Oh, no,' he said, rapidly shaking his head. 'I've endured enough loathing from wizarding extremists, thank you very much. If it turns out I can't catch the Snitch for the Cannons, I'll just retire gracefully at the advanced age of nineteen and try for my N.E.W.T.s.'

Ryan smiled and said, 'I don't know, I think Janet has a point. The move to reform Quidditch scoring really needs to come from successful Seekers, and not just frustrated Chasers. You're acquainted with Viktor Krum, right? Do you think you could get him on board?'

Harry was starting to feel a bit hunted. 'If your goal was to take my mind off Saturday's game, you've succeeded. Now I'm feeling the weight of destiny, and I can't say I like it.'

'Wait a minute, I'm sensing another prophecy coming on,' said Janet.

'Oh no you don't!' objected Harry. 'Don't make me Silence you again!'

She looked around their table before taunting him, 'Not here you can't. International Statute of Secrecy, you know.'

Just then, Candice emerged from the kitchen carrying their orders, and the conversation stopped for a long while as they ate. But eventually Ryan looked up and said, 'Harry, getting back to your original question, about why the Cannons record is so poor. You probably remember what I said after your first day of practice last week. The fact is, we're flying better since you arrived.'

Harry looked around the table and was surprised to see even his more cynical teammates agreeing. Suresh was nodding, and Janet said, 'I hate to admit it, but there's something about having the Boy Who Lived flying with us that ticks things up a notch.'

'Don't you mean the Man Who Lived?' corrected Darren, before adding a wink for good measure. 'But yeah, she's right. And to be honest, I'd probably become a little too comfortable just having fun up there and not worrying about winning, particularly since it was in Spencer's hands anyway. The fans turn up regardless, and I suspect we've all learnt to ignore Tuttle's rants on the topic.'

Candice eventually returned to start clearing their empty plates, and as usual they chatted with her a bit. No longer piling dishes, she turned to Harry and asked, 'So how do you like working with this lot?'

'It's been great so far,' he replied, choosing not to elaborate further.

Looking at the others, she lowered her voice and said, 'I'd have thought Henry was a bit young for ... your line of work, but I suppose you all are.'

Ryan cleared his throat and looked meaningfully at Candice, who straightened and began gathering dishes again. She gave Ryan a curt nod before returning to the kitchen.

They paid their bill soon after and started walking back to the training grounds. Before Harry could ask what had just happened, Gary spoke up. 'You're probably wondering about the exchange with Candice just now.'

'I am,' replied Harry. 'What exactly does she think we do for a living? I'd have assumed something sport-related, but apparently not.'

'No, we couldn't say that because the locals would certainly ask more questions, or even want to see us play. And we can't go about Confunding or Obliviating people all the time,' explained Gary. 'So instead there's a longstanding rumour that we're involved in a top-secret government project. Apparently it started during the war ... World War Two, that is.'

'So she thinks we're spies or something?' asked Harry incredulously.

Suresh said, 'I prefer to think of us as an elite task force, specially trained for covert combat and espionage. But loosely speaking, yes—spies.'

'It's not far from the truth in your case, Henry,' observed Renée, and Harry couldn't argue. It was sobering to consider that Muggles would see him as a former child soldier, and how horrified they would be to know he'd killed and tortured people. He found it rather horrifying himself.

Nobody else commented, for which Harry was grateful. They returned to their lockers to change back into robes and retrieve their brooms.

Back at the pitch, Harry found Owen holding not only the headset but also a large pair of goggles. 'You enjoyed the headset so much that I brought out its companion.'

'Don't tell me what it does—let me guess,' groaned Harry. 'Does it try to distract me with visions of taunting opponents, or my worst enemies perhaps?'

'Now there's an awful thought,' said Owen. 'But no, you don't need to worry about seeing Voldemort on a broomstick.'

'That's a relief,' replied Harry, without pointing out that Voldemort hadn't required one.

Owen explained, 'You're not far off though—it simulates a stadium full of fans, with all the associated visual distractions. And like the headset, it has an option to personalise it, so you'll see banners with your name on it. Both friendly and hostile.'

'Makes sense,' said Harry. 'I may as well get used to it now.' He donned both the headset and the goggles, which combined to produce a very plausible packed stadium. At first, all Harry could say was, 'Whoa.'

Owen laughed and said, 'That's an appropriate response. Are you ready to practise with the Launcher?' Harry nodded and kicked off on his broom.

The visuals were not nearly as distracting as the audio had been. Harry was used to seeing banners during his Hogwarts matches, and even the enchanted banners didn't change very much over the course of the game. After Harry looked around the 'stadium' and read the banners with his name on it, he was able to ignore them.

He managed to retrieve most of the Snitches that appeared, and so Owen joined him in the air and they spent a while chasing after the practice Snitch. Owen managed to catch it more often than Harry did, but he was wearing neither headset nor goggles.

'Excellent,' he told Harry after they'd landed. 'You should wear them for our remaining practice matches this week, but after that we can return them to the storeroom.'

For the practice match, Harry was once again targeted by Gary and Suresh, who were playing opposite him. But fortunately Lyle and Titus did a better job than on Tuesday, and Harry wasn't nearly as distracted by Bludgers. The Snitch took its time to appear, so both Owen and Harry feinted more than once. Harry wasn't as aggressive as he might have been, not wanting to aggravate Owen's injuries.

'You're pulling your curses, I can tell,' said Owen during a fly-by.

'So what if I am? It's bad manners to deliberately injure the infirm,' replied Harry.

'I don't care. Hitting the ground is nothing compared to being hit by a Bludger. I want you to feint with everything you've got.'

'Fine. But don't expect me to send you flowers at St Mungo's,' taunted Harry before flying off.

Truth be told, he was rather enjoying wearing the headset and goggles. It was fun to imagine he was playing a real match—he was even wearing orange robes. _Only three more days_, he thought with anticipation.

After a while the Snitch still hadn't appeared, so Harry decided to try a more aggressive feint. He launched himself sharply towards the opposing Chasers, but then radically shifted direction as if the Snitch had done the same.

Surprisingly, Owen fell for it and came close to colliding with Darren. Harry celebrated his meaningless victory by swooping around the pitch just for fun, and when Owen flew past him he snapped, 'I bet you think you're special, you fucking wanker.'

Harry was stunned. Had he really upset Owen?

The other Seeker continued to insult him. 'I've had enough of your Hogwarts act, Potter. You think you're better than the rest of us.'

By then Harry realised Owen was deliberately provoking him, as part of his training. He tried to fire back. 'You bet your arse I do,' he snapped.

Owen swooped wide before approaching Harry again. 'Everyone knows you're just here for attention, Potter. Didn't you get enough from Mummy and Daddy?'

Harry felt his temper rising, even though he knew Owen didn't mean it. He flew upwards and away from Owen, and he took a moment to reset his intention for the Snitch to appear to him without effort. He circled the pitch a few more times before Owen's next attack.

'If you'd done a better job fighting You-Know-Who, a lot fewer people would have died,' he scolded. 'I hope you can live with yourself.'

_That was a low blow._ 'And what did you do to fight Voldemort?' retorted Harry. 'You can't even say his name without wetting yourself.'

'Only an idiot would say his name,' drawled Owen. 'Or an arrogant prat.'

'At least I've something to be arrogant about, you bloody ingrate,' was Harry's reply. _Merlin, where was this even coming from? _

Suddenly Owen shot off to the left, and Harry reflexively followed him and immediately spotted the Snitch. Unfortunately it was a straight path, and Owen grabbed it.

Tuttle blew the whistle and Harry, rattled, flew to the ground without a word. Owen immediately landed beside him.

'I'm sorry, Harry. I hope you know I didn't mean any of it.'

'I know,' he replied. 'I just wasn't prepared. I suppose I should have been.'

'Go easy on yourself—you've had to learn a lot in a short time, and you've done an amazing job. It was my responsibility to warn you about this, and that's what I just did. And really, I'm sorry. I know I said some awful things.'

'Yeah, but so did I.' Harry didn't know what he felt worse about: what he'd heard or what he'd said.

'I'd have just pushed you harder if you hadn't,' admitted Owen. 'What you said was absolutely true.'

'It feels wrong to say it,' said Harry as they sat down on one of the benches.

'You're not a saint,' was all Owen had time to say before Tuttle began her notes.

When she got to the Seekers, she asked, 'I saw a lot of chit-chat up there today. Was that what I think it was, Barrowmaker?'

'Yes, and I gave him my worst.'

For once Tuttle didn't reply immediately, and Harry spoke up. 'It was useful,' he said. 'I need to be prepared when the other Seekers taunt me.'

'Good thinking, Barrowmaker. Do you want some help? I reckon between us we can come up with just about everything they'll throw at him.'

Harry paled. Was she actually proposing a no-holds-barred group attack?

Owen turned to him and quietly said, 'It's a good idea if you can handle it. What do you think?'

He took a deep breath and nodded. 'Yeah. Let's do it, right now. Probably more effective if you kick me while I'm down.'

Before anyone could start, Owen gave him a piece of advice. 'Set an intention, same as you did when we set the headset to advanced mode. Expand into your larger awareness.'

Harry nodded and got up from the bench. He stood in front of the group and tried not to look at the ground.

There was an uncomfortable silence—clearly nobody wanted to start. But Owen broke the ice. 'I saw pictures of your mother, Potter. I can see why Snape wanted to fuck her. I'd want to fuck her too.'

Most of the players looked shocked, and several flinched. They clearly hadn't heard what Owen had said during the match.

'Did you have that _Prophet_ photo framed so you can wank to it?' called Darren.

'I heard your girlfriend dumped you,' taunted Lyle. 'I could fancy a bit of ginger ... does the carpet match the drapes?'

'Is it true you were possessed by You-Know-Who?' asked Renée.

'I reckon you were the Heir of Slytherin after all, you Parselmouth freak,' sneered Gary, who had attended Hogwarts during Harry's second year.

When Harry looked up at him, he continued. 'You probably killed Diggory too. He was worth ten of you, Potter.'

_That was rough_, thought Harry. But he felt his expanded sense of awareness, which provided some necessary breathing space around all the insults.

'I heard you got your godfather killed,' said Ryan, looking a bit sick.

Owen immediately added, 'Wasn't it enough to get your parents killed?'

'Why was You-Know-Who after you in the first place? What kind of monster are you?' asked Suresh.

'Nobody cares about you really,' said Owen. 'They only care about the Boy Who Lived.'

'Your mother was quite a dish—pity she was a filthy Mudblood,' called Renée. _That's nothing,_ thought Harry. _I hear worse from Walburga every day._

'Why don't we ever hear about your Muggle relations? What did they do to you anyway?' jeered Gary.

Harry inhaled sharply. That must have been another rumour from Hogwarts. He reset his intention simply to allow the insults to pass within his field of awareness.

'Can you introduce me to Hermione Granger? I'd enter her Chamber of Secrets any time,' continued Gary. Harry had to grudgingly admire the Hufflepuff's unexpected dark streak.

'So did Ron Weasley train you up for his sister? I hear you shared a dormitory,' called Renée, and Harry actually smirked.

Owen jumped in quickly and said, 'Not before Dumbledore broke him in. I reckon he was looking for the next Grindelwald.'

'Or maybe Hagrid loosened him up first,' added Gary.

'Wow, you're the worst Hufflepuff ever,' blurted Harry, who had been silent until then, and Gary burst out laughing.

Some of the tension seemed to drain. Harry noticed most of his teammates hadn't said a word—not even Janet.

Tuttle finally intervened, 'How are you doing, Potter?'

'Better than I expected, actually. Today's match wasn't fun, but Owen was right to do it. If this happened during a match and I weren't prepared, I don't know how I'd handle it. Owen can tell you, I fought back.'

'Actually that was good,' argued Owen. 'You need to hit back hard if someone tries that. And then catch the Snitch just to spite them.'

'Merlin, you're brutal!' said Janet. 'And here we thought you were so enlightened.'

'All right, that's enough,' barked Tuttle. 'Good work today, see you tomorrow.'

Harry, who was still standing in front, was immediately approached by everyone who'd insulted him. All of them apologised, and Harry smiled reassuringly and thanked them.

'But Gary, wow!' he said. 'You've got a dark streak.'

'Nobody suspects the Badger,' he said slyly.

Ryan, who still looked a bit sick, walked with Harry to the building. 'I'm so sorry you had to endure that. I wish I'd thought to warn you. I mean, we've all been taunted hard, but you're a much bigger target.'

'It's probably just as well Owen sprang it on me without warning,' acknowledged Harry.

Janet said, 'I'm actually relieved to find out there's a limit to my smart mouth. I couldn't even think of anything to say.'

'Well, let me know if you come up with something,' replied Harry. 'I'd rather hear it from you than from an opposing player.'

For once, Harry wasn't waylaid before taking his shower, but he was approached by Lara when he emerged in his clean clothing.

'Are you all right?' she said. 'Ryan told me about practice.'

'Yeah, I'm fine. I'm glad Owen did it.'

She put her hand on his arm and said, 'I'm glad.' Next she handed him an envelope and said, 'Here are your tickets. It's two sets of four, in different sections.'

'Perfect,' he replied. 'I'm heading over to Hogwarts to visit my old professor, and I want to give her one.'

'That's sweet of you,' she said, smiling. 'And by the way, your robes are ready.' She indicated a large box in front of the window. 'You'll wear them tomorrow when we take photos, right after lunch.'

'Brilliant, I can't wait.' He was tempted to try them on, but he was already running late for his visit with Professor McGonagall, so he travelled by Floo directly to her office.

'Harry, welcome!' she said. 'Let me just finish this bit of paperwork and I'll greet you properly.'

'Take your time, Professor. I'm happy just to stand in one place for a few minutes.'

'How many times have I told you to call me Minerva?' she chided, without looking up from her parchment.

'Sorry, Hermione keeps breaking me of the habit. _"Just because you've dropped out of school, it doesn't give you the right to call professors by their given names,"'_ he imitated. 'But I think she's mostly just envious—of the given name thing, not dropping out of school.'

Minerva laughed, as she wordlessly used her wand to dry the parchment she'd just signed. 'I'm still amazed we got her out of here,' she said. 'I was afraid we'd have to alter the castle wards to tear her away from the library.'

Hearing Minerva mention the Hogwarts wards tickled something in Harry's brain but he couldn't put his finger on it.

She stood up from behind the desk and walked around to give Harry a proper hug. 'It's lovely to see you, Harry. Thanks for thinking of me.'

'You've been on my mind a lot lately, now that I'm on a broomstick all day. I feel like I owe my entire Quidditch career to you.'

'Now that's the most ridiculous thing I've heard,' she said. 'All I did was recognise your talent and bend a few rules to get you onto the house team a year early. And truth be told, it was entirely out of Gryffindor self-interest—by then we'd lost the Cup several years running. Although now you've a much longer losing streak to break.'

'That seems like a tall order,' replied Harry. 'My goal this season is just to help win matches and improve the team's rankings.'

'Yes, I suppose you've already been asked to do the impossible more times than most. But please, let's sit by the fire. I want to hear more about your new career,' she said enthusiastically.

They sat down and she said, 'First off, congratulations on leaving the Ministry and joining the Cannons. I kept quiet at the time, but I didn't think it was a good idea to drop out of school and immediately start Auror training—and I'm not just saying that as your former professor. You needed some fun, for Merlin's sake!'

Harry relaxed a little and said, 'Thanks, it means a lot to hear you say that. When the _Prophet_ falsely reported that I'd quit the Ministry and joined the Cannons, I realised how much I missed playing Quidditch, and that I just wanted to have a good time for once.' He didn't use the word _pudding_ as he'd done with Kingsley, since it had taken on a secondary meaning.

'Of course now I'm torn—I've always been a Magpies backer,' she said. 'Although I sent Chiffle a stiff letter when he slandered you in the _Prophet_ last week.'

'Thanks for having my back,' smiled Harry. 'I admit that one cheesed me off as well.' Pulling a ticket from the envelope he was still holding, he added, 'Fortunately you won't have to root against the Magpies this weekend. Would you be available to watch me play against the Falcons on Saturday? I'd be honoured to have you there.'

Minerva's face softened, and she said, 'Why Harry, I'm touched. I actually owled for a ticket but they were sold out. I'd love to attend.'

'I'm so glad,' said Harry, handing it to her. 'I still need to distribute the others, but you'll probably be sitting with Ron, George, and Lee Jordan.'

'That sounds perfect. I'll enjoy listening to Jordan's commentary without having to make a show of scolding him,' she admitted. 'So tell me more about your training.'

Harry went into detail about his new life as a Cannon. He told her about his Silver Arrow, and about all the training methods Owen had used—she was fascinated by the headset and goggles. He even told her about the Snitchbottom incident, which caused her to laugh heartily.

'And you're no longer wearing spectacles,' she remarked. 'Forgive me for saying it, but it puts me in mind of your mother more than ever, to see your eyes without glasses in front of them.'

'About that ...' started Harry. 'Why did nobody at Hogwarts tell me I could have my eyesight corrected magically?'

Minerva looked a little ashamed. 'I'm sorry, Harry. I wanted to say something, and so did Poppy, but Albus instructed us not to. He was too afraid of your blood falling into the wrong hands.'

Harry shook his head, disappointed. 'I suppose I'm not surprised, but I wish I'd had some say in the matter. The Optimancer who treated me was very clearly above board, and my blood only came in contact with vessels I'd conjured myself. Surely Dumbledore could have accompanied me and overseen the procedure.'

Minerva nodded. 'You're right, of course. I'll always regret putting too much faith in his decisions regarding you.' She glanced at the sleeping portrait above her desk.

They both knew what she was referring to: allowing Harry to be raised by the Dursleys. Minerva had confessed after the war that she'd allowed Albus to leave him on their doorstep in spite of her strong misgivings, and that she'd been beside herself when Harry turned up at Hogwarts showing all the signs of neglect.

Harry had forgiven her. It was impossible to imagine how his life might have been different if he'd been raised in a loving household, and he didn't see much point in holding a grudge. He too had once considered Dumbledore infallible.

'What's done is done,' he said. 'Fortunately Voldemort never thought to Summon my glasses away from me.'

'Great Godric!' cried Minerva. 'How did we never think of that? Thank goodness Voldemort never did either.'

'Small mercies,' he said, and there was briefly an awkward silence. But fortunately his stomach growled loudly, and they both laughed.

'You must be ravenous,' she said. 'Shall I have the house-elves bring dinner?'

To his own surprise, Harry said, 'Actually, I'd enjoy dining in the Great Hall,' and Minerva raised an eyebrow as well. Even though Harry had spent a lot of time at Hogwarts the previous year, he had never dined in the Great Hall. There were too many memories from the final battle.

'All right then,' she said without comment, and they both rose and exited the office. 'It'll just be a handful of professors, of course. Things are pretty quiet here during the summers.'

'That sounds nice,' he replied, and they walked together from the office down to the Great Hall.

He'd spent little time in the public areas during his visits to see Ginny and his other friends still at Hogwarts. His routine had been to enter through the Hog's Head and come out into the Room of Requirement, which Ginny had largely commandeered. And as Quidditch captain she had access to the prefects' bathroom, which she and Harry had made enthusiastic use of—fortunately without interruption from Moaning Myrtle, as far as they knew.

But now, as he descended the main staircase into the Entrance Hall, he was viscerally reminded of the chaos and destruction of the Battle of Hogwarts. His heart began to race, remembering the mayhem of the battle, and also his lonely walk down those same stairs when he believed he was about to die.

A riot of painful memories threatened to overwhelm him, but Harry found himself expanding automatically into his sense of awareness, and a calm overtook him as he crossed the threshold into the Great Hall.

The last time he'd seen this room it had been in ruins. He'd been beyond exhaustion after a day that had started more than twenty-four hours earlier, when they'd left Shell Cottage to break into Gringotts. He'd literally come back from the dead, and after defeating Voldemort he'd spent what seemed like hours comforting mourners, against the backdrop of his own deep grief.

Harry felt the seemingly contradictory sensations of trauma and uplift, as his ragged memories made contact with his larger sense of awareness. A part of him wanted to cry, and he couldn't have said whether it was from grief or elation.

The long house tables were absent during the summer, as was the high table where the professors normally sat. In their place was a round table, which Harry remembered from the quiet Christmas holidays he'd spent at the castle. Minerva conjured a chair for Harry next to hers, and the seated professors automatically slid along with the table as it grew to accommodate the extra place setting.

Professor Flitwick looked up at Harry from the chair that had previously been next to Minerva's. 'Harry! It's splendid to see you!'

Before Harry could respond, the other professors clamoured to welcome him, and he was quickly overwhelmed trying to greet everyone. But Minerva shushed them and said, 'The boy has been on a broomstick all day and needs to eat.'

Grateful for her intervention, Harry filled his plate and began eating heartily. A wave of nostalgia overtook him as he ate all his favourites. It seemed almost sacrilege to have Kreacher teach the Hogwarts elves to make pizza, but he'd promised Neville, and of course he knew the students would enjoy it.

After he'd finished his first helping, he turned to Minerva and said, 'I have a request for you from Neville.' She looked surprised, and he continued. 'He wants my house-elf Kreacher to teach the Hogwarts elves how to make pizza. Perhaps not as a regular meal, if you want to preserve the current culinary tradition, but at least as something students can smuggle into the common rooms after a Quidditch match.'

'That's a great idea,' said Minerva. 'Personally I'm in favour of serving it at mealtimes, but some of the pure-blood parents would throw a tantrum and I don't fancy receiving a flock of Howlers. But if we make it available through back channels, the students will eventually demand it.'

'How Slytherin you've become!' he smirked.

'Yes, I suppose I learnt a thing or two from Severus in the end,' she admitted.

Harry enjoyed a friendly conversation with the other professors. For a while he was monopolised by Madam Hooch, who wanted to hear all about his Quidditch training. With pleasure he told her about his Silver Arrow broomstick, and her normally hawklike eyes grew large as saucers. He inwardly resolved to invite her to a home game and allow her to try it out.

Eventually the main course was cleared, and an assortment of tarts appeared on the table. Harry was tempted, but Elizabeth would be arriving at Grimmauld Place later for pudding—both literally and figuratively—and he wanted to save room.

After dinner, Harry and Minerva walked outside to enjoy the cool evening. He looked over at Dumbledore's white marble tomb and thought about the Elder Wand, which he'd snapped a year earlier after repairing his holly wand. He'd been widely criticised for destroying it, and he'd discarded the Resurrection Stone as well, but he had no desire to be Master of Death again. He felt more attachment to his Silver Arrow than to the Elder Wand, and he would rather embrace a living witch than see the shades of those he'd lost.

'How is it to be back at Hogwarts?' asked Minerva. 'For all you visited Miss Weasley last year, I know you avoided the grounds and the large halls.'

'It's all right,' he said. 'I imagine you're used to it?'

'Yes, of course,' she replied. 'Occasionally I experience a strong memory or a rush of adrenaline, but otherwise it's just my home, same as it's been for so many years. Last summer's task of rebuilding gave us all a chance to adjust.'

'I'm sorry I never helped with that,' admitted Harry. 'I just didn't want to come back yet.'

'That's fine,' said Minerva indulgently. 'Besides, you were never quite up to your father's level in Transfiguration.'

'I suppose not,' he laughed. 'Looking back, I'm sorry I didn't work harder at my classes. I suppose I could cite Ron as a bad influence, but I also had Hermione as a good influence, and I was still wasn't much of a student.'

'Nonsense, Harry. You were excellent in Defence Against the Dark Arts, in spite of Voldemort's curse on the position, and you even trained others at it. Filius and Pomona always had good things to say about you, and you certainly can't be faulted for not learning much from Severus. Besides, you had considerably more distractions than the typical Hogwarts student. I think you did remarkably well, all things considered.'

Harry smiled, a bit relieved. 'Thanks, I appreciate hearing it. That'll give me confidence if things with the Cannons go pear-shaped and I end up having to sit my N.E.W.T.s.'

She chuckled and said, 'As long as I'm headmistress you have a standing offer to come back and teach Defence. You've more than proven you're a good instructor.'

'I don't know—have you managed to retain a Defence professor two years running?' he asked lightheartedly.

'So far so good,' she said. 'I suppose we won't know for certain until classes begin in September, but Professor Duella made it through the school year and has signed a contract to return.'

'She has the right name for it,' he observed. 'I could always teach pottery if you don't want to displace her. Mind you, I'd have to learn it first.'

They walked a little longer until he checked his battered pocket watch and said, 'I should really be going. I have another engagement tonight.'

Minerva raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. 'Thanks so much for the visit,' she said, 'and for the ticket as well. It's always a treat to see a former Gryffindor flying professionally, but this will be something special.'

He thanked her again for dinner, and then she led him to the main gate so he could Apparate home. He had only a quarter hour before Elizabeth was due to arrive, so he washed up and changed into something a little smarter, even though he had no intention of leaving the house. He'd arranged for Kreacher to prepare them a snack—something sweet and not too heavy. Harry's plans for the evening did not include leaning back in separate armchairs while they digested large helpings of sticky toffee pudding.

Elizabeth arrived at the appointed hour through the reception hall fireplace, and they greeted each other with a long kiss before he could even have a proper look at her.

He was not disappointed by what he saw. She was wearing a long but revealing summer dress, which was surely of Muggle design. It was cut low and the fabric was delightfully clingy, and also a bit too sheer for decency. He suspected Elizabeth shared his intention to stay indoors.

'You look beautiful,' he murmured, and her cheeks darkened becomingly.

'You're looking rather fit yourself,' she replied, before leaning in for another passionate embrace.

Harry was tempted to skip the pudding and drag her straight to the bedroom, but he feared the wrath of Kreacher. 'My house-elf has prepared something to eat, but I'll let you decide where he serves it. Shall I show you around?'

'Yes, please,' she said, taking his forearm. 'I must say, this house isn't what I'd expected.'

'I get that a lot,' he replied, before realising it sounded like he'd only heard it from witches he'd seduced. 'From my friends, I mean,' he added, and she laughed.

'I'm under no illusion that I'm the first witch you've entertained. This isn't the first wizard's flat I've visited, although it's probably the gloomiest,' she said, smiling.

Harry couldn't resist those lips, and he leaned in again briefly. 'I probably shouldn't tell you this, but you are in fact only the second witch I've "entertained," and the first was my former girlfriend.' His heart only caught a little at the mention of Ginny.

Elizabeth looked taken aback. 'Oh, I say,' she stammered. 'You could have fooled me. You seemed rather ... familiar with the process.'

'I wouldn't be surprised if there were charms laid on Penumbra to help things along,' he said. 'I'll have to ask Alistair next time.'

If she was disappointed by the implication he would be returning to Penumbra, presumably without her, she hid it well. 'I suspect you're right. Either way, I commend your execution. A long and fruitful pulling career awaits you, should you choose one.'

'Now you're making me blush,' he confessed, and he guided her into the dining room. 'I should preface the tour by explaining that I inherited the house from my godfather, Sirius, who came from an old and not very nice pure-blood family. With a lot of help I've cleared the place of Dark magic, but the ambiance remains.'

'I can see that,' she said, looking at the creepy shadows thrown off by the flickering chandelier. 'I can't say it's where I'd choose to live, but it's perfect for ... entertaining.'

He smiled and said, 'Our first dining option is here, obviously. Though I'd prefer not to sit at opposite ends,' he added, indicating the absurdly long table.

'Agreed,' she said. 'But eating in a dining room seems rather unoriginal. What are my other choices?'

He frowned a moment, realising he hadn't entirely thought things through. If he wanted to take her upstairs, they'd have to pass right in front of Walburga. 'I seem to have made a tactical error,' he said. 'We're going to have to pass by a portrait of Sirius's mother, whom I've been unable so far to remove from the wall. To say she's unhappy I live here is an understatement.'

'All right,' said Elizabeth slowly, seemingly unsure what he was implying.

'Her sole pastime is insulting me and my guests, with a particular emphasis on Blood Status. I can Side-Along us past her if you'd prefer. I wouldn't blame you—she's really quite horrid.'

Elizabeth smiled. 'How could I turn down the chance to be told off by Sirius Black's mother? I'd have to be pretty thin-skinned to let a portrait get to me.'

'Your skin looks perfect to me,' he murmured, running his hand down her exposed back. 'But all right, you've been warned.'

'You'll just have to make it up to me if she leaves me in bits,' she said.

His hand still on her back, he led her into the entrance hall, where Walburga was already awake.

'_Who is this?'_ she growled. _'Great Salazar, it's another filthy half-blood, smeared with the stinking effluvia of a Muggle mother! I command you to leave at once!'_

In spite of her earlier bluster, Elizabeth was dumbstruck with horror. 'Oh shut it,' snapped Harry. 'You're just jealous because there's nothing up your hole besides spiders.'

'_Your vulgar speech betrays your odious ancestry! Begone, usurper!'_

'Whatever,' said Harry, and he silenced her with a tap of his wand. Turning to Elizabeth, he said, 'Are you all right?'

'What in Merlin's name ...' she started, before falling silent again.

'Oh dear,' he said. 'Are you in bits after all? Do I need to make it up to you?'

She smiled. 'Yes, that's exactly what's required,' she said, leaning in for another kiss, after which he led her upstairs into the drawing room.

The wall sconces flared when he opened the door, casting warm light onto the tapestry. 'This is the drawing room, which houses the family tree of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.'

She looked curiously at the enormous tapestry. 'Were there really no other family members to inherit besides you? Are you even on here?'

'I recently learnt that I am in fact related to the Blacks, but I definitely don't have the strongest blood claim. Sirius named me in his will, though, and that seems to supersede lineage.'

She ran her fingers over one of the embroidered names and said, 'So far this is my first choice. There's something enticing about ... cavorting in front of hundreds of sneering pure-bloods.'

'I agree,' he said. 'Should we give it a test run?'

Her answer was non-verbal, and although they remained standing and clothed it was far from decent.

'Yes,' she said with a heavy exhale. 'This is definitely a contender. Where next?'

He led her to the library, and the lights flared on again. Elizabeth's eyes sparkled as she gazed first at the bookcases and then throughout the room. 'That table holds promise, perhaps with a Cushioning Charm' she said, indicating where the Grimoire still sat.

Harry felt his head clear somewhat unpleasantly, and their easy foreplay seemed to derail. 'No,' he said. 'This room doesn't work for me.'

Attempting to rekindle the mood, he ran his hand along her back and led her up another flight of stairs. 'There's a sitting room downstairs near the kitchen, but that won't do. And then the master bedroom, which you've seen already,' he said, indicating the door leading into his room. 'And there are more bedrooms as well.'

'I think I've got the gist of it,' she said, walking languidly towards his bedroom and looking inside. With a deep breath she said, 'Oh, it has to be here. I already have delicious memories of this room, and I could fancy building on them.'

'Done,' he said. His mind and body seemed to have recovered from his momentary lapse in the library. 'I'll call Kreacher now,' he warned, and she nodded solemnly.

'Kreacher!'

_Crack!_ 'Yes Master!'

'Would you be so kind as to serve our pudding up here?' he asked, indicating a small table with two chairs near the window.

'Yes, Master, with pleasure,' he croaked before Disapparating.

Moments later, a cloth covered the small table, and on top appeared a dish containing a truly exquisite Eton mess, layered with flowers as well as the usual meringue, whipped cream, and strawberries. Harry was once again suspicious of the flowers' origin, but at least this time Kreacher had covered his tracks. He would need to set up an account with a wizarding florist if this were to become a habit.

There were also plates, cutlery, and a pair of crisp cloth napkins, as well as a large bottle of elderflower pressé to replenish the two filled glasses. Harry had considered wine or champagne but decided against having alcohol on a weeknight. He knew that entertaining mid-week was a bit questionable as far as the team went, and he didn't want to aggravate matters.

'Oh, Harry,' she exclaimed, approaching the table. 'That looks lovely.'

He nodded in agreement—he was truly impressed both by Kreacher's execution and his respect for their privacy. Harry supposed this must be how normal house-elves behaved, serving invisibly without any demented antics or drama.

They enjoyed the pudding immensely, discovering novel uses for the cream, and a good while later they found themselves relaxing in bed, still entwined.

Harry remained fairly inarticulate, but Elizabeth seemed inclined towards conversation. 'How long have you lived here,' she asked.

'Er, a few years now,' he said vaguely. 'I guess three years, off and on.'

'Oh right,' she said. 'You were camping for a long time.' He nodded uncomfortably. Those were not his favourite memories.

'That sounded really awful,' she said, running her hand soothingly over his bare skin, lingering occasionally on his various scars.

'It was,' he said simply.

'As dreadful as the war was for my family,' she continued, 'we at least had a place to live, and food. When I think of what you went through ... and not just to protect yourself ...' She trailed off.

He just lay there, listening to the sound of his pulse in his ears. He pulled her hand over his heart and covered it with his own. His own heartbeat was very soothing somehow.

He remembered how his heart had raced after learning he needed to sacrifice his own life. Each beat had been precious, and achingly finite. Lying next to Elizabeth, his body still humming with spent pleasure, he wondered fleetingly if he had in fact died and were now in heaven.

'And then you broke into Gringotts,' she said. 'They never explained why, but I assume it had something important to do with defeating You-Know-Who. I can't imagine how brave you had to be to do that. I'm nervous just going in there to make a withdrawal.'

Harry really wasn't interested in talking about Gringotts or Voldemort. He pulled her into an embrace, which quieted her for a bit, but when they separated she resumed her train of thought.

'And of course I read about that final day at Hogwarts. Did you really have to escape Fiendfyre on a broomstick?'

He didn't know how to respond. These weren't unreasonable questions, he realised, but he had no desire to relive some of his worst memories. Was she going to ask him next how Sirius had died?

'I'm sorry, Elizabeth. You're asking me about one of the worst days of my life. I really don't want to talk about it.'

She stiffened. 'You're right, I'm so sorry,' she said. 'I can't believe how stupid and insensitive that was.' She curled away from him into a ball.

He felt an immediate need to soothe her. 'Don't feel bad,' he said, wrapping his arm around her.

'It's a little hard to remember you're a real person,' she said. 'Which is ironic, considering I have all the proof I could require right next to me. I've heard stories about you since I was a little girl—first the fairy tales about how you were being trained on a mountaintop by immortal warlocks, and then the bits and pieces that appeared in the _Prophet_ over the years. I remember that one about how you still cried over your parents at night.'

Harry sighed in irritation. 'That was completely made up,' he grumbled. 'I never said anything of the kind.'

'Oh no, really? My sister and I cried buckets when we read that,' she said.

He was beginning to feel exasperated, and he remembered one of Owen's taunts in practice that afternoon: _'Nobody cares about you really. They only care about the Boy Who Lived.'_

Harry knew it was unjust to apply that to Elizabeth, but he felt an uncomfortable gulf between himself and her perception of him. And he knew he was partly to blame—how could she expect to know the real Harry when he avoided all her questions?

'I should probably get to sleep soon,' he said. 'I have practice in the morning and my first match on Saturday. I hope you'll stay the night, though—I still owe you breakfast.'

She relaxed and said, 'Yes, I'd like that. I just want to wash up first and put on my nightclothes.'

'Are nightclothes really necessary?' he asked. 'I quite like what you're wearing now.'

She rolled over and kissed him. 'I think you'll like it,' she said mysteriously before getting out of bed.

When she returned, she was wearing a mere wisp of a nightie, which he acknowledged was rather nice as well. 'My sister insisted I bring it,' she confessed.

'You'll have to thank her for me.'

They fell asleep curled together, but when Harry awoke he was along the edge of the bed, turned away from her. She was still sleeping, but a glance at the clock on the nightstand indicated he needed to wake her up.

'Elizabeth,' he murmured, stroking her softly. 'We need to get up if you want that breakfast.' She made a face and pulled the covers up.

He persisted, his voice a bit louder. 'It's half past seven. Do you want me to make you breakfast?'

Her eyes slowly opened and she said, 'Er, yeah. Thanks.'

He waited a moment, giving her the first opportunity to use the loo, but she didn't take it. So he finally got out of bed and took care of matters as quickly as possible.

She was standing when he emerged, and the nightie was somewhat twisted around her torso. 'Here,' he said, straightening it out, and then kissing her for good measure.

'Thanks,' she murmured before entering the bathroom.

He'd dressed by the time she emerged, and she found her small handbag and pulled robes from it, presumably for her job in the Floo department. 'Do you need to put those on so soon?' he asked. 'I'm not quite ready to see you hidden under wizarding robes. We can use a warming charm if the kitchen is too cold, but it shouldn't be.'

'All right,' she said, smiling. 'Shall we head down then?' He nodded and they walked downstairs together.

'So what would you like to eat? I can do your classic English fry-up, a French-style omelet, or pancakes if you prefer.'

'Pancakes sound lovely. Do you have fresh fruit as well?'

'Yes, I made sure of it,' he said, and they walked into the kitchen.

The table was laid with six different platters containing traditional English breakfast foods, and also Continental items including croissants and sliced cheese. Kreacher was standing next to it with a pleased expression.

'Kreacher,' said Harry sternly. 'What's all this?'

'Breakfast, Master!'

'Didn't we have a discussion about this? I seem to recall agreeing that I would cook breakfast myself this morning.'

'Yes, Master. But of course Master was speaking figuratively.'

Harry looked over at Elizabeth, who seemed embarrassed to be standing in front of Kreacher wearing only a skimpy nightdress. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'We seem to have had a miscommunication.'

'That's all right,' she said. 'But perhaps you could lend me an apron or something?'

'Of course,' he replied. 'But I think Kreacher could retire to his room now, and give us privacy,' he added meaningfully.

'Yes, Master!' he said, before Disapparating with a loud _crack_.

Elizabeth giggled. 'I'm beginning to suspect you don't actually know how to cook.'

'That's not true,' he protested. 'If it weren't criminal to waste all this food, and frankly if I weren't afraid of reprisals, I'd make you something right now.'

'I'll just have to console myself with homemade croissants and blackcurrant preserves,' she said, taking a seat.

They ate together, and of course the food was delicious, but their conversation was limited. She asked about his Quidditch training, and he shared the broad outlines, but he found himself reluctant to talk about his training with Owen, or even the details of his rapport with his teammates. She was amused to learn the local Muggles believed they were elite undercover warriors, and although she didn't point out that this was true in his case, they both felt uncomfortable about what was unsaid.

Soon afterwards she got fully dressed and ready for work, and he walked her to the fireplace. 'Thank you for coming over and staying the night,' he said. 'It was lovely. You're lovely.'

Sensing the hint of finality, she said, 'I've enjoyed getting to know you. And it's been ... most enjoyable. I should owl my thanks to your old girlfriend.'

He couldn't help chuckling at the mental image of Ginny reading Elizabeth's letter. 'You're not so bad yourself,' he said, and they kissed once more.

'You know how to find me, once you actually learn how to cook breakfast.'

'That sounds good,' he said noncommittally, and she smiled at him once more before taking a pinch of Floo powder and stepping through the flames.

Harry still had time before he needed to arrive at practice, so he returned to the kitchen for a second croissant. It wasn't out of the question he'd contact Elizabeth again, but he knew it wouldn't be anytime soon. He wondered idly if it would be easier dating Muggles, but then he'd have to conceal even more than he had with Elizabeth.

He decided to invite Hermione to dinner that night, suspecting she still needed a supportive listener. He'd kept his evening unscheduled in case he wanted another round with Elizabeth, but clearly that was no longer in the cards. There was no point in being upset about it, though. He'd had a lovely couple of nights with a beautiful witch, and he knew there were plenty more out there. For now he could throw himself into practice, and see where the road led next.


	12. Chapter 12

By the time Harry had owled Hermione proposing dinner, he was running late for work and didn't have time for the usual pre-training chit-chat. Which was fine with him—he didn't want to inadvertently reveal what he'd been up to the night before.

All morning he was impatient for the end of lunch, when he would finally wear his official Cannons robes and have his team photograph taken. He couldn't remember ever wanting to be photographed, particularly for the public, but he was proud to be a Cannon, and he already thought the world of his teammates. He remembered all of Ron's posters, and he relished the idea of seeing himself zooming in and out of view.

At the same time, he was a little embarrassed about his excitement. After so many years of avoiding attention, it felt wrong to enjoy it now. From his first days at Hogwarts he'd been scorned as an attention-seeker—by Malfoy and Snape in particular. Harry could easily imagine the Potions master sneering at him for joining the Cannons: _'Delighted to find himself famous, arrogant as his father.'_

He remembered how he'd snapped at Owen the day before: _'At least I've something to be arrogant about, you bloody ingrate.' _Even though Owen had commended him for saying it, Harry still felt uncomfortable. He didn't like to think he was better than others, or that he was special in some way, but sometimes it was hard to ignore. He'd been Master of Death, after all, and Dumbledore had told him only one man in a million could unite the Hallows.

Harry couldn't help smiling at the thought of taunting some rival Seeker that way. _'Shut it, tosspot—I'm the true Master of the Elder Wand!' _Or maybe, _'I survived the Killing Curse twice, you bloody berk!'_ Or _'I slew a fifty-foot Basilisk when I was twelve—what were you doing then, arseface?' _He was tempted to try it on Owen, just for laughs.

At the same time, there was a fine line between being special and being a freak, an insult he'd heard his entire life. Furthermore, Voldemort had valued being special above all, and he'd certainly succeeded at it, but Harry remembered the shrivelled husk of a soul he'd seen in King's Cross.

_Why can't everyone be extraordinary?_ he wondered. Owen, for example, was probably the best teacher he'd ever had, with the possible exception of Remus. Sirius had been a dazzling shooting star across Harry's life, and Dumbledore, for all his shortcomings, was one of a kind. Tonks was unique as well, irrespective of her Metamorphmagus ability, and even Fred, who had left a duplicate behind, remained irreplaceable.

_We're all brilliant,_ decided Harry. _So what's the harm in acting like an arrogant prat above the pitch? _It was what the game demanded, according to Owen, and surely Hermione would tell him if he became insufferable. _No question about it,_ he thought with amusement, imagining her righteous fury.

The morning's flying drills were tremendous as usual. The trainers had them practise stunt flying, including one-armed broomstick holds and other extreme manoeuvres. Ideally they wouldn't be necessary during a match, but they were important skills to master just in case.

Harry noticed that Owen had to skip some of the exercises, presumably because of his injuries. When the whistle blew, marking the end of the morning drills, he flew over to check on him.

'No one-legged Sloth Grip Roll for you, old man?' asked Harry.

Owen sighed. 'I'm afraid not. The Great Bludgering of '96 put an end to that.'

They flew to the ground and began walking towards the building. 'I'm sorry you've had all those injuries. I tend to assume Healers can fix anything short of curse wounds, so it's sobering to know how fragile we still are.'

'Yeah,' agreed Owen. 'It almost makes you question the wisdom of playing a sport that involves iron balls hurtling at top speed. But what can I say? I'm mad for Quidditch.'

'Aren't we all,' chuckled Harry. 'I forget, which house did you play for at Hogwarts?'

Owen stopped and looked at him, frowning with concern. 'Are you all right?'

'Yeah, I'm fine. What's wrong?'

'You just asked me which house I played for.'

'I'm sorry,' replied Harry. 'I suppose you told me last week. Normally I don't forget that kind of thing.'

'No, it's worse than that,' said Owen. 'I distinctly recall telling you I didn't attend Hogwarts at all. I think we should talk to the Healer straight away.'

'You didn't attend Hogwarts?' asked Harry. 'Did you go to Beauxbatons then? Or somewhere in North America?'

Owen steered Harry directly to Lara's desk. 'Is Healer MacAlister here? I think Harry's experiencing memory loss, possibly from his Bludger hit on Tuesday.'

Lara's eyes widened, and she said, 'Yes, he's in his office.'

Harry was puzzled by Owen's reaction, and also still curious about which school he'd attended. They soon reached the Healer's office and Owen described what had happened.

The Healer directed Harry to the examining table and began performing diagnostic charms. He also ran verbal cognitive tests and asked Harry some memory questions, which he had no trouble answering.

'I don't think there's a medical problem,' said MacAlister. 'And it seems like that's his only memory lapse since Tuesday.' He turned to Harry and asked, 'Have you been in contact with anyone who might have Obliviated you? I realise it's an absurd question, but perhaps there's been a change in your routine that might point us in the right direction.'

Harry thought momentarily of Elizabeth but dismissed the idea. She hadn't even used her wand as far as he knew, and it seemed out of character. 'No, I can't think of anyone. I suppose my only diversion from routine was taking dinner at Hogwarts last night, with Minerva McGonagall. But there's no way she would have Obliviated me.'

'Hogwarts!' cried Owen. 'I knew it!'

'I'm sorry?' said Harry, and MacAlister looked equally lost.

'There has to be a ward on Hogwarts, or maybe something in the food that makes people forget about the other wizarding schools,' he declared.

MacAlister and Harry replied almost simultaneously. 'Other wizarding schools? In Britain?'

'Yes,' said Owen emphatically. 'I think there are about thirty schools in total. For example, I attended one called Blockhurst.'

'How have I never heard of them before?' asked Harry, alarmed.

'You have heard of them before,' insisted Owen. 'Last week. I think Gary is the only one of the starters who attended Hogwarts.'

Harry's head was swimming, and dim memories started to form. 'I think Janet's always on about North Squiffing ... is that one of the schools?'

'I've heard of North Squiffing!' said MacAlister. 'I can't recall why, though.'

'Hermione!' exclaimed Harry. 'She wrote to Bill about this! And to our professors.'

'Hermione Granger?' replied Owen. 'Did she go to Hogwarts with you last night?'

'No, I went alone.'

'That's fortunate,' said Owen, 'At least we know what happened now. I'm glad it wasn't a Bludger, but great Merlin, I can't believe someone at Hogwarts—past or present—is actively tampering with people's memories.'

MacAlister and Harry both laughed. 'No, that's pretty typical for Hogwarts,' said the Healer.

'So which house were you in?' asked Harry.

'Ravenclaw, well before your time.'

'Brilliant. Can I go shower and get lunch now?'

'Yes, off with you,' said MacAlister. 'And thanks, Owen, for pulling off my blinders. This certainly answers a lot of questions I've had about wizarding society.'

Harry and Owen walked towards the lockers and saw that everyone had gone. 'We seem to be on our own for lunch,' said Owen. 'Do you mind joining me at a wizarding restaurant. That's probably our fastest option.'

'All right,' said Harry, before heading off to the shower.

Ten minutes later they reunited, and Owen asked, 'Is there anywhere particular you'd like to go?'

'I guess somewhere quiet, or where I can use a Notice-Me-Not Charm and still get served.'

'There's a good delicatessen a ways down Diagon Alley—the Dragondale. They have counter service, so after ordering you can skulk in a corner while I retrieve our sandwiches.'

'I prefer to think of it as lurking,' said Harry. 'Sounds more dignified than skulking.'

'Indeed,' said Owen. 'We'll get there fastest if I bring you by Side-Along, since I know a good spot nearby to land.'

They arrived at the delicatessen and quickly placed their orders. Harry was only approached twice before they found a table and raised the Notice-Me-Not Charm.

'It's a bit comical,' observed Owen, 'that becoming the Cannons starting Seeker is actually a step down for you as far as notoriety is concerned. I used to consider it a shocking amount of fame for an ordinary bloke like me.'

'By now I'm used to it, but it certainly came as a shock when I first entered the wizarding world. I was less than nothing in my previous life—at most there were a few whispers about me due to accidental magic. Turning the teacher's hair blue ... that sort of thing.'

Owen smiled. 'Yeah, I had a few of those.'

'Were you also raised by Muggles?'

'No, my parents are both half-bloods, but they sent my brother and me to Muggle primary school for a few years, once we were old enough to understand the Statute of Secrecy. They didn't want us growing up ignorant.'

'I didn't know you had a brother,' said Harry. 'As an only child I tend to forget about the concept of siblings, even though my best mate and former girlfriend come from a litter of seven.'

'That must have seemed downright exotic to you.'

'It was brilliant. The Weasleys' house is completely opposite to where I grew up. Held up entirely by magic, bursting with strange spells ... the garden riddled with gnomes, and a ghoul in the attic. Whereas I come from the most sterile suburb you can imagine … But tell me more about your family.'

'I've two, actually,' replied Owen. 'My parents and brother, and also my wife and daughters.'

'Really, you're a dad? I feel silly for not knowing this already. How old are they?'

'They're twins, age four.' He pulled a metal case from his pocket and revealed a photograph of two laughing girls, along with a woman Harry assumed was Owen's wife.

'Oh, they're lovely,' said Harry. 'Did you meet your wife in school?'

'I did, but we were only friends back then. We didn't start dating until a few years later.'

'That's a bit hard to imagine,' said Harry, thinking of witches he'd known at Hogwarts, like Susan Bones or Padma Patil.

'Yes, it came as a surprise to us as well.' He looked up suddenly and said, 'They've called our number ... I'll go collect our sandwiches.'

They ate quietly for a while before Owen spoke again. 'I don't think I've told you how pleased I am you joined the team. And not just because the Beaters are leaving me alone now,' he added. 'I'm really enjoying our afternoon training sessions.'

'So am I,' said Harry. 'You're a great teacher.'

'Thanks, but that's the thing. I've never taught before.'

Harry was astonished. 'Really? I was just thinking this morning that you might be the best teacher I've ever had.'

'I'm not sure that's high praise, considering what you've said about your Occlumency teacher and, if I remember correctly, you had a rather unfortunate series of Defence professors.'

'Actually a couple of my Defence professors were good, including one of the Death Eaters. Other than the part where he delivered me to Voldemort, that is.'

'Again, I'm overwhelmed by your praise,' said Owen, smiling. 'But seriously, cheers. And thanks for the opportunity to teach. I've actually learnt quite a lot in the process. It's rather remarkable to hear myself spontaneously giving good advice.'

'I know what you mean,' said Harry. 'That's what happened when I organised a secret Defence club during my fifth year. I'd never considered teaching, but suddenly lesson plans were popping into my head. And my own Defence skills improved immeasurably.'

'Yes, my daughters are fond of their glow-in-the-dark pyjamas. They don't know about Patronuses, of course—they just think they're pretty. But anyway, I'm rather enjoying contributing to the team this way. It was frustrating to give up the starting position, and I didn't have the same rapport with Spencer.'

'You didn't train him then?' asked Harry.

'No. Remember, his main problem was flying, although he performed much better during practice. He was pretty good as long as we weren't playing an actual match.'

'You're making me nervous about Saturday. Am I likely to choke that badly?'

Owen laughed and said, 'You've amply demonstrated you don't choke under pressure. If you can duel Voldemort, you can probably handle league Quidditch.'

'That's a good point,' acknowledged Harry.

'Come to think of it, why am I even teaching you how to taunt, when you're the one who called Voldemort "Riddle" to his face?'

'I was hardly myself when that happened,' confessed Harry. 'I hadn't slept in more than twenty-four hours. We'd broken out of Gringotts that morning on a dragon, I'd escaped Fiendfyre on an old broomstick, and I'd come back from the dead.' Harry was surprised to hear himself talking about it, considering he'd avoided the exact same subjects with Elizabeth the night before. 'That was when ... the thing happened. The profound experience you were asking about.'

'So you really were dead?' asked Owen.

'Not exactly. It's complicated, and I'm not supposed to tell you this, but I was tethered to life by my link to Voldemort. Through my scar, and also through the blood he'd taken from me.'

Owen took a deep breath. 'Thanks for trusting me, Harry. I won't tell anyone.'

'I know. So when you asked me if I'd had a profound experience, I think that must have been it. I felt ... different afterwards. Completely fearless, at least for a while. But I think all the grief knocked it out of me.'

'That makes sense,' said Owen. 'An experience like that can get pushed into the background when life gets hard. But it sounds like it's coming back?'

'In bits and pieces, yeah. The stuff you've taught me about expanding into awareness has been a big help. And I think just being on a broomstick all day is making a difference.'

'That's grand, Harry. I'm really happy for you.'

'So you've experienced something similar?'

'Not quite like yours,' replied Owen. 'I didn't survive a Killing Curse, for one thing. But yes, I experienced something I can't entirely put into words. It was while flying, during my first year on the team. I suddenly had this sense that I wasn't there—never had been there, actually. The thing I'd called "I" was just an empty space that the world was passing through.

'It sounds feeble or even trite when I describe it, but it was like nothing I'd ever experienced. I felt a rush through my entire body, and my mind was more profoundly quiet than I'd imagined possible. The experience only lasted a few minutes, but during the next few weeks I felt my old mental habits falling away. Things that used to upset me just seemed irrelevant.'

Harry was riveted. It was remarkable to hear someone else talking about this.

'It wasn't all easy,' said Owen. 'My girlfriend and I broke up soon after. We just didn't connect the same way anymore. She thought being on the team had changed me, but I suspect it was my experience that caused it.'

Harry's eyes widened. 'Yes, exactly. It took a bit longer for me and Ginny, but I think it must have been similar. She said I'd changed too much. I thought it was from the war, and maybe it was in part. But it was probably also what happened to me that day.' He closed his eyes for a moment. 'Thank you … this explains a lot. I mean, it's still hard—I'd do anything to have her back, but she was probably right.'

Owen nodded sympathetically before looking at his wristwatch. 'We should get going. Team photos in a quarter hour.'

Harry grinned and said, 'Finally! Ever since I signed my contract I've been eager to try on my new robes.'

'Yes, there's nothing like them. I always enjoy seeing new players suit up for the first time. The practice robes aren't the same.'

Harry agreed, and they returned to the training grounds. When they arrived, some of the other players were already milling about in their team robes, and Harry's heart swelled.

He found Lara, and before he could say anything she said, 'There you are! I'm glad you're all right—what a relief that you weren't actually hurt. Owen gave us a real fright when he rushed you into the Healer's office. But never mind ... let's get you into your new robes.'

She led him to the large box near the window and removed the lid. Harry almost had to shield his eyes when the sun hit the bright fabric, but a huge smile lit his face. He pulled the topmost set of robes from the box and lifted them up.

They were nothing like the team uniform he'd worn at Hogwarts. Those robes had been provided by the school, and although he'd loved wearing them, they couldn't compare with bespoke robes for a professional team. The fabric on his new uniform was simultaneously soft and strong, and he could feel the tingle of magic on them.

'Go on, then,' prompted Lara. 'Take them into the locker room and put them on.'

Almost in a trance, he carried them to his locker and suited up. The trousers fit perfectly—everything fit perfectly—and as he drew the leather laces at his navel the robes closed snugly around him. He fastened the tall boots and attached the safety gear, which completed the look. In the mirror he saw his surname on the back, above a large numeral three, and he wasn't sure he'd ever been so happy in his life. _I could cast a Patronus from this feeling_, he thought, and he half-expected Prongs to leap spontaneously from his wand, which he wasn't even holding.

Fully dressed, he took his broomstick and walked back into the main entrance area. Lara surprised him by letting out a _whoop_. 'Now it's official!' she cried, and everyone else cheered.

'There's just something so adorable about Seeker's robes,' cooed Janet. 'It's like seeing a cat dressed up as people.'

'Oi!' protested Harry. 'I'm not that short!'

'Of course you aren't,' she said reassuringly. 'Particularly not after we hoist you onto Ryan's shoulders.'

He glared at her as they marched outdoors, where the photographer and her assistant were erecting the backdrop for his portrait. Darius was there as well, and he lit up when he saw Harry emerge. 'Splendid!' he boomed, clapping Harry on the shoulder and shaking his hand. 'I'm proud as punch to see you in Cannons robes.'

'That's how I feel as well,' gushed Harry. He looked around and saw that most, if not all, of his teammates were present. 'I hope I'm not late.'

'No, we're right on schedule. She'll start with the group photographs,' he said, indicating the photographer, 'and then the rest of the team will change back into practice robes and she'll photograph you individually.'

A couple more players arrived and Tuttle, who was also wearing team robes, blew her whistle. 'Team portrait, now!' she ordered and then cocked her chin at the photographer.

'Right, I want you all to gather over here,' said the photographer, indicating an area in front of the pitch. 'We'll do the full team first, and then just the starters.'

Harry was surprised by how many seemingly identical pictures she took—unlike with Muggle photographs, there was no problem with blinking—but clearly she was a perfectionist. For the full team photo she put Harry and Owen together in front, since that was the traditional spot for the Seeker, and Harry knew he'd want a copy of that one.

Next she photographed the starters—with and without Darius and Tuttle—and again Harry was front and centre. There was a lot of joking amongst his teammates, and at one point Darren said, 'On three, everybody wink!' Harry made a rude gesture at him.

'That's probably not a keeper,' observed Renée. 'But at least it won't wind up in the _Prophet_.'

'I should say not,' said the photographer. 'I'm a hired professional and not some seedy freelancer.'

'Does that mean I can't have a copy?' asked Janet. 'What a letdown.'

'I'll be happy to make a rude gesture for you anytime, Janet,' offered Harry. 'With or without a camera.'

'I can see why you're so popular with the witches,' she said, and he resisted the urge to whack her with his broom.

Next came the flying shots, which were more complicated. The photographer stood on a floating platform, with her large camera on a tripod, and her assistant directed the players to fly in and out of view.

'We needn't bring out a Quaffle and Bludgers,' she said. 'The old photos are still good. But as long as you're in the air, Mr Potter, we'll get some Snitch shots.'

'There's no need for formality,' said Darren. 'You can call him Snitchbottom.'

Hoping the photographer hadn't heard, Harry called out, 'Just Potter is fine.'

'All right,' she said. 'The rest of you can go—all I need now are photos of Potter.' She called to her assistant, 'Throw him the Snitch,' and then turned back to Harry to explain. 'It's not regulation. Just keep catching and releasing it so we can get a good shot.'

He felt a bit silly flying around repeatedly catching a lazy Snitch, but he remembered how impressive Ron's posters always looked, so he assumed the end result would be good.

Eventually she ordered him to the ground and led him to the backdrop they'd set up earlier. 'Let's give you a moment to cool down,' she said, offering him a glass of water. 'We should tidy up your hair as well.'

Her assistant appeared with a comb but Harry waved it away. 'It's a lost cause—my hair just grows like this.'

'That seems hard to believe,' said the assistant, who started combing his hair anyway. Harry didn't bother stopping him—he'd see for himself soon enough.

After some combing, the assistant looked at Harry appraisingly. 'How do you feel about your scar? Do you want it visible or not?'

Harry wasn't sure how to answer. He'd actually liked his scar as a child, before he knew its real meaning. But as soon as he entered the wizarding world, his scar was the first thing everyone stared at, and so he made a habit of hiding it beneath his fringe. It had occasionally hurt, like when Professor Quirrell looked at him, but it was only after Voldemort regained a body that the visions began.

Sirius had died because of Harry's scar, indirectly at least. But Arthur Weasley had lived because of it. And in the end, it was Harry's scar that provided his greatest advantage in the fight against Voldemort: his inside access to the Dark wizard's movements and motivations. It was a part of Harry, for better or for worse, and there was no point in hiding it.

'I guess visible is fine,' he said, and he noticed the eager gleam in the photographer's eyes. _Might as well give the people what they want,_ he thought.

There was more combing, and the assistant finally said, 'I should have trusted you. Your hair clearly has a mind of its own. Perhaps Ollivander should make wands from it.'

Harry laughed and said, 'Now that would be a temperamental wand! I doubt it would behave for anyone, least of all me.' He shook his head to redistribute his hair and ran his fingers through his fringe to get it at least partly out of the way.

The photographer directed him to pose with and without his broomstick. 'I've got more sense than to ask you to smile,' she said. 'Or any of my subjects, frankly. Maybe it works in Muggle photographs, but in wizarding photos there's nothing more smarmy than a posed smile.'

Harry thought immediately of Gilderoy Lockhart, which ironically caused him to smile, and he heard the shutter snap. 'Was that a trick?' he asked.

'I'm not saying,' she said, and he smiled again in spite of himself.

He noticed his teammates were back in their practice robes and flying above the pitch. 'Are we nearly done?' he asked impatiently.

'Yes, just a couple more. And thanks—you've been a good sport. I know you don't like having your photograph taken.'

'Is it that obvious?'

'Not so much this afternoon, but based on other photos I've seen of you it's plain as day. I hear the _Prophet_ art department has an entire bulletin board covered with photos of you disappearing from the frame.' She stepped out from behind the camera. 'You're all set now, Potter. Well done.'

'Cheers,' he said. 'That was relatively painless.' She waved him off and he returned to the locker room, where he resignedly changed into his ordinary practice robes.

He found Owen on the pitch, and they had a little time to train before before Tuttle blew the whistle. During the break before the practice match, Owen gave Harry more instructions. 'I'm going to taunt you again, and I expect you to absolutely crush me in return. I know you have it in you, so no holding back.'

'Are you sure that's a good idea?' asked Harry. 'I have a temper, and I'm reluctant to uncork it.'

'I've read the _Prophet_, Harry, so I know all about your temper,' said Owen. 'But if I cross the line, I expect you to tell me exactly where to go.'

'You and the thestral you rode in on?' smirked Harry.

'Exactly! And have fun with it. I've exchanged vicious barbs with rival Seekers and then had a pint with them afterwards. It's a league tradition, really.'

'All right then,' said Harry. 'My apologies in advance for blasting you to bits with my verbal _Confringo_.'

'Likewise,' said Owen, and before long they were in the air circling the pitch. The match was starters versus reserves, and Harry was still wearing the headset and goggles. He was fully used to them, though, and they were no longer a distraction.

Owen started. 'Why'd you join the Cannons anyway, Potter? Wouldn't any decent team have you?'

'I felt sorry for them—it's been ages since they had a competent Seeker.'

Owen laughed and said, 'I suppose you're used to shitty circumstances. Playing for the Cannons should fit right in.'

'Well, not all of us hid under blankets during the war,' retorted Harry, before flying off to reset his intentions. He wasn't at all rattled, but he didn't want to fall into old bad habits of searching for the Snitch.

After a while Owen approached him and said, 'You claim you've never shagged Hermione Granger. Is that because she's a Mudblood? If so, I get it—I only shag half-bloods and up.'

'Witches or house-elves?'

'Nice one,' laughed Owen. 'Actually, it's okay to fuck a Mudblood, but only up the arse.'

'Wow, you're filthier than I realised,' observed Harry. 'Don't let your daughters hear you talking like that.'

Owen suddenly launched to the right and downwards, and Harry shot after him. It was a feint, though, and they soon resumed their regular Seeker patterns.

'Well done!' said Harry. 'You've already gone ten minutes without getting hit by a Bludger.'

'And you've gone twenty minutes since your last Killing Curse.'

Harry laughed. 'What, are you afraid of them? I'm sorry for you.'

'Get over yourself, Potter. The real reason you got sent back from the dead is because your parents still don't want you around.'

It was Harry who feinted this time, partly to clear his head from Owen's last jibe, but mostly for fun. He flew low and skimmed the ground before starting to circle again.

Owen found him straight away and said, 'Were you down there looking for snakes, you Parselmouth freak?'

'Actually I can't speak Parseltongue anymore,' answered Harry. 'I lost the ability when Voldemort died.'

Owen snorted derisively. 'Stupid git can't even speak to snakes. And you call yourself a wizard?'

'It got tiresome talking to snakes. They were always asking after your mum.'

'Wow,' said Owen with a slow nod. 'I thought I had the monopoly on mum jokes.'

'Not with a mum like yours.'

They kept at it for a while, with the occasional feint just to liven things up. Owen managed to strike a nerve a few times, and he genuinely rattled Harry by taunting him in a singsong voice, but Harry was able to keep his head clear and overcome it.

Finally it was Harry who spotted the Snitch, and he caught it without difficulty. Owen immediately congratulated him, and they had a few more laughs as they recalled some of the nastier insults they'd exchanged.

'But that singsong voice,' said Harry. 'I need to work on that one. Bellatrix Lestrange used to talk that way in battle, and it still sets me off.'

'Ouch, I'm sorry. You'll have to come round the house and meet my daughters—they talk like that all the time.'

They joined the rest of the team on the benches to hear Tuttle's notes. Everyone had played well—particularly the starters—and Tuttle seemed to be scraping the bottom of the barrel with her critiques. 'Decent work, Potter, but don't get complacent. There'll be a lot more pressure on Saturday than I reckon you're used to.'

Several team members burst out laughing, and Janet said, 'Harry, if you get nervous playing the Falcons on Saturday, just pretend you're duelling You-Know-Who.'

Even Tuttle laughed, and said, 'Good idea. All right, everyone—see you tomorrow.'

Harry showered and returned to Grimmauld Place, where he promptly lay down on the sitting room sofa. He no longer required a daily pain draught, but he was still getting used to a full day of physical activity. Tuttle was right—wizards really were too sedentary as a rule.

He may or may not have dozed off, and when he opened his eyes he found Hermione in the room with him. 'Hello,' he said. 'Have you been waiting long?'

'No, I just got here,' she replied. 'You just looked so peaceful, I didn't want to bother you.'

He sat up and asked, 'How are you doing?'

'I'm all right, I suppose. There's been some crying, mostly at night, but I think I'm primarily a bit numb. I'm not sure the shock has worn off yet.'

'Yeah, I know what you mean,' he said. 'Is your internship at least a good distraction?'

'Definitely,' she said. 'You know how I love research, and I feel we're doing something genuinely important here. Not just for wizardkind, but for magical beings as a whole.'

'That's great,' replied Harry. 'Although it's no surprise you're already making strides in your career so soon after finishing at Hogwarts.'

'I could say the same for you, except for the finishing Hogwarts part,' she said, a trifle archly. 'It's really quite impressive you're already the starting Seeker for a professional Quidditch team.'

'Thanks, I still can't believe it myself. I got my team robes today!'

'Oh dear,' she said. 'Do we need to bring you back to the Optimancer?'

'Very funny,' he replied. 'No, they're absolutely brilliant. You'll be impressed when you see them—they're much smarter than anything I've ever worn.'

'More than those dress robes Mrs Weasley bought for you?'

'Seems hard to imagine, but yes. I've half a mind to go back to the tailor and get some clothes made up. There's a discount for team members.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'And here come the perks. They should offer discounts to people who really need them and not just overpaid athletes.'

'Yes, it's tragic how the common wizard can't afford bespoke robes,' drawled Harry. 'You'll have to take that up after liberating the house-elves.'

'My goodness, Harry. You've become rather sarcastic all of a sudden.'

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Owen's been training me in proper Quidditch taunting, and I suppose it's flipped a switch. I'll try to tone it down.'

'Taunting? You mean with the rival players?'

'Yeah, it can get pretty rough apparently, and I'm an easy target.'

She looked concerned. 'How is that going? Will you be all right?'

'Yes, I'll be fine. Mind you, it came as a shock the first time Owen did it. He apologised later, but he said some fairly horrid things. So did I, for that matter.'

'Do I even want to know what kind of things?'

'Anything you can imagine, and worse. Stuff about my parents, and the war. About you, even.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'I definitely don't want to know about that.'

'Let's just say you have a lot of admirers,' he said, and she reddened and lowered her eyes. 'Speaking of which, did you ever ring Ryan back?'

'Yes, I left him a message. Though I confess I called when I knew he'd be at practice.'

'Will you have dinner with him then?'

'Probably, but not right away. I still don't feel very fit for company.'

'I understand,' said Harry. 'He's a solid bloke, though—I'm certain you'll like him.' She smiled half-heartedly, and he added, 'Actually, you'll see him again on Saturday at the match. I have a ticket for you.' He fetched the envelope from the side table and handed her one of the tickets.

'Thanks.' She paused and asked, 'Will I be seated near Ron? It's all right, but I'd rather be prepared.'

'No, you'll be with Luna, Neville, and Hannah. Ron will be in a separate section with Minerva, and maybe George and Lee.'

'Minerva? Haven't we discussed this already?'

'I saw her yesterday, and she insisted again that I use her given name. I suspect she'd allow you the same if you asked nicely, or if you just called her "Professor" a lot.'

'You saw Professor McGonagall?' she asked, alarmed. 'At Hogwarts?'

'Yes, and I can confirm that there is indeed something causing people to forget about the other wizarding schools. Owen dragged me to the team Healer today because of my apparent memory loss.'

'But it's come back now?'

'More or less, though I'll need to ask my teammates which schools they went to again. I can only remember Janet went to North Squiffing.'

She shook her head disapprovingly. 'I can't believe nobody's ever discovered this before. I wonder how long it's been going on. I certainly hope Bill and I can get to the heart of the matter.'

'There's nobody I'd trust more than you,' he said. 'Oh, and I have a minor research request, if you have a spare moment.'

Hermione's eyes brightened, and she said, 'Of course, what is it?'

'I'd like to repair the tapestry in the drawing room—I'm hoping the ring will make it possible—but an ordinary _Reparo_ didn't have any effect.'

'No, I don't imagine it would. You'd need a spell with different Arithmantic underpinnings.'

'Right, my thought exactly,' agreed Harry, and she glared at him.

'But yes,' she said, 'I can look up spells for textiles or even tapestries in particular. There's not a bad library at the Ministry, and I've been introduced to some of the more scholarly wizards, outside the Department of Mysteries anyway.'

Harry shuddered. 'I can't say I'd ever want to go there again.'

'No,' she replied. 'Nor I.'

They were silent a moment before Harry asked, 'What would you like for dinner. Should we stay here or go out?'

'You'll laugh, but I have a mad urge to go somewhere noisy and full of Muggles.'

'You're joking, right? And this can't possibly be the Grimoire's effect, unless your plan is to torture them.'

'No, I just want to be around people my own age for once. Sometimes I feel like I'm fifty years old, and then I remember I'm nineteen and would normally have started university by now.'

'Particularly if you hadn't taken a year off fighting a war,' remarked Harry. 'Yeah, I know what you mean about feeling older than we really are. That's how I felt before joining the Cannons.'

Her expression softened. 'Is that changing then? I'm so glad. Maybe I should join a Quidditch team,' she added with a smirk.

'You'd have to get up on a broom first,' he said. 'But as for dinner, why don't we head out to Royal Holloway University and find a pub around there. It's not far from where I grew up, so I know a spot where we can Apparate.'

'Good idea,' she said, and within minutes they were wandering through a busy university district.

'I wouldn't have expected there to be so many students between terms,' she said as they navigated the crowded pavement.

'I think they have summer programmes, possibly for foreign students.'

'That makes sense,' she said. 'But as long as they're young and Muggle, they meet my requirement.'

Harry and Hermione poked into several pubs before finding one that had the right ambiance. They bought drinks and ordered food at the counter and then found a table.

'This feels good,' said Hermione. 'I forget how large the world is sometimes—magical Britain can be so confining.'

'Yes, but it helps to recall there are thirty schools besides Hogwarts,' noted Harry. 'I can't believe I never knew about them. Maybe wizarding society will feel bigger once they're more fully integrated.'

'I hope so,' she said.

They continued to talk as they waited for their food, but they were interrupted by a voice from behind. 'Harry, is that you?'

Harry, who didn't expect to be recognised in a Muggle pub, turned around and was surprised to see his cousin. 'Dudley! What are you doing here?'

'What am I doing here? I should be asking you the same, since I'm the one who lives here.'

Hermione's eyes were wide. She knew who Dudley was, even though she had never met him.

'Good point,' said Harry, who rose and extended his hand. 'How are you doing? This is a surprise.'

Dudley shook his hand and said, 'Yeah, we didn't even know whether you were alive. I mean, those people said you were when they brought us back to the house, but I didn't know if they were telling the truth.'

'Yes, I'm alive,' said Harry. 'And no small thanks to my friend here. Hermione, this is my cousin Dudley.'

She was looking carefully at him, as if she were trying to find a resemblance. 'Nice to meet you, Dudley,' she said. 'I'm a friend of Harry's from school.'

'Nice.' He turned back to Harry and said, 'So what brings you here? Surely not to visit Mum and Dad.'

'No, we just wanted a change of surroundings, and this was somewhere I knew how to get to.'

Dudley leaned forwards and said, 'And by "get to" you mean ... pop.' He made an accompanying gesture with his hand.

Harry noticed that Dudley was eyeing the empty chair at their table. 'Er, would you like to join us?'

'Yeah, that'd be grand. I'm here with mates but they won't miss me. They're all on the pull anyway.' He turned towards Hermione and said, 'So are you two ...'

'No,' they both said at once. 'We're just friends,' said Hermione, 'since our first year.'

Dudley's eyebrows rose briefly but he didn't say anything.

'How are your parents doing?' asked Harry. 'I apologise for not coming around.'

'They wouldn't want to see you anyway, so don't worry about it. I think they're scared you'll turn up seeking revenge, now that you've finished off the bloke who killed your parents. But I'm glad I ran into you. I've often wondered about you, and you're not exactly in the phone book.'

'What are you up to these days?' asked Harry.

'I've started uni. Not here—I'm just home for the summer. Dad wants me to go into business, but I'd rather study Sports Science. Luckily Mum is on my side so she's wearing him down for me. Meanwhile I'm in the boxing club, and I've also started playing hockey, which is fun—it involves fighting as well.'

Harry laughed. 'I'm glad you've found an outlet.'

'Yeah,' said Dudley. 'I suppose I needed one after you moved away. Sorry about that.'

Harry was taken aback—he had never expected anything resembling an apology from Dudley. Not for the first time, he wondered what Dudley saw when they encountered those Dementors in the alley near Magnolia Crescent.

'Er, yeah,' said Harry uncomfortably.

'So what are you doing? Do your kind have universities?'

'Not as such. It's more of an apprenticeship system.'

'Right,' said Dudley. 'So are you doing one of those?'

'I was until a couple of weeks ago, to become a sort of police detective, but I dropped out and signed with a professional sports team.'

'You?' exclaimed Dudley. 'On a sports team?'

Hermione was indignant on Harry's behalf. 'What's so strange about that?'

'You were never exactly athletic,' said Dudley.

'I beg your pardon,' replied Harry. 'I seem to recall outrunning you fairly regularly.'

Dudley laughed. 'I suppose you're right. You should probably thank me for training you up.'

'Not bloody likely,' said Harry.

Hermione looked like she couldn't believe the conversation she was witnessing. 'Harry was a star athlete all through school. He had quite a few admirers. He still does, in fact.'

Harry understood what Hermione was doing, but he didn't see much point. 'It's a wizarding sport, played in the air on broomsticks.'

'Wicked!' said Dudley. 'I never get to talk about this stuff, you know. Mum and Dad go mental if I ever bring it up, and the one time I told a friend about it—a girl, actually—these two blokes in robes showed up and pointed their thingies at her and erased her memory.'

Hermione excused herself, leaving Harry and Dudley alone at the table.

'So there's really nothing between you two?' he asked. 'Are you a poof or something?'

'No, I had a girlfriend all of last year, and I've been dating someone else recently. I just don't see Hermione that way.'

'I wouldn't mind seeing her that way,' said Dudley. 'But I suppose she's not interested in, er, normal people.'

'Probably not,' he said, suppressing his horror. 'And she has a boyfriend anyway.' _It's almost true,_ thought Harry. _Or it was a week ago._

'Well, give her my number just in case.'

'Oi, Duds!' shouted a young man. 'You were supposed to be looking for girls.'

'Nah, this is my cousin. I haven't seen him in a while.'

His friend shrugged and turned away. 'Are you going to join him then,' asked Harry hopefully.

'Yeah, I'd better do. Anyway, it was nice running into you. Do you have a phone number?'

'No, I'm afraid not.'

'Well, you know how to find me. Maybe I can watch one of your matches sometime.'

'Er, yeah, maybe,' said Harry, trying to prevent his brain from exploding. He stood up and held out his hand again. 'It's good to see you. I'd tell you to give your parents my best, but I doubt that would be pleasant for anyone.'

'Yeah, probably not,' replied Dudley. 'But take care of yourself, and ... I'm glad you're alive and all.' He gave Harry a hug, which was surprisingly not very awkward.

'You take care too.' Harry sat down again as his cousin rejoined his mates.

Hermione returned to the table soon after. 'So that's your fabled cousin Dudley! I was expecting someone fatter.'

'He used to be, but he got into boxing a few years ago.'

'It sounds like he started long before that,' she observed, frowning.

'Yeah,' said Harry absently.

'You really look nothing alike.'

'No, he looks like his dad. I don't look like my aunt either, except we're both skinny.'

'Are you all right?' she asked. 'I know you don't have the best history with your relations.'

'Yeah, I'm fine. It was mostly just unexpected. I could honestly use a pint right now, or a shot of Firewhisky,' he said, looking down at his soft drink.

'Not on a school night,' she admonished.

'Yes, Mum.'

She sighed. 'That's what Ron used to say. I should have realised it wasn't a compliment.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry. 'I didn't mean it like that.'

'I know. I guess it's just sad to discover how many warning signs I'd missed.'

'I'm sure I could say the same about me and Ginny, only I probably don't see them in hindsight either.'

Their food came out, and they were quiet for a while. 'By the way,' said Harry, 'if things don't work out with Ryan, you should know that Dudley was keen on you. He asked me to give you his number.'

She burst out laughing. 'I'm sure your aunt and uncle will be delighted when he brings home a witch.'

'So you'll do it?' he asked, grinning.

'Definitely,' she replied. 'In fact, I think I'll go find him right now.' She motioned to leave her chair.

He nearly choked from laughter. 'It's almost worth it, but then I'd have to console Ryan.'

She looked at him. 'You're serious then? Ryan is actually interested in me that way?'

'Oh dear, I wasn't supposed to tell you that. He didn't want to seem like a vulture.'

'Is he one?' she probed.

'Not as far as I can tell. No, he seems first rate—he even gave me his tickets for Saturday's match. We only get four tickets to the away games, and apparently it's sold out.'

'What a shock,' she said dryly. 'Really, they need more celebrities in the wizarding world. It's mostly just you and Celestina Warbeck.'

'With any luck Lockhart will recover soon and fill the void,' remarked Harry.

'Merlin, I hope not,' she said.

They spent another hour together enjoying the lively atmosphere before walking to the deserted wood where Harry had Apparated.

'Thanks for inviting me out,' she said. 'It's nice to get a change of scene. Even Grimmauld Place feels a little too familiar right now.'

'But my house is so cheerful!' he protested. 'Everyone says so.'

'That's because you get them drunk first.'

'I'm not sure I like what you're insinuating,' he said, and she laughed.

'I'm pleased you're moving on with your life. And I'm glad you joined the Cannons and turned everything upside down. Maybe that's the right direction anyway—we've probably been the wrong way up the entire time.'

He nodded in agreement. 'I reckon so.'

'Wish me luck tomorrow,' she said. 'I have my big meeting at Gringotts.'

'Good luck, but I'm sure you won't need it. What could possibly go wrong there?'

She glared at him but smiled, and they hugged goodnight and Apparated home.


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's note: The second half of this chapter—a conversation between Hermione and Luna—is unlike anything I've ever seen in HP fanfic. Please resist the temptation to skim it, but instead read it slowly for the full effect._

_I promise the next chapter will be full of action, including Harry's first professional Quidditch match._

-––—––—––-

Hermione had trouble falling asleep that night. Although she'd had a good time with Harry and had enjoyed the change of scenery, she felt let down afterwards. She had forgot that being around Muggles her age often left her feeling alienated. They should have been her peers, but she didn't actually feel comfortable around them. Even the music was unfamiliar to her, which made her feel left out somehow.

She belonged to the wizarding world, but without Ron it felt cold and empty. And returning to her old bedroom, where she had been so lonely as a child, Hermione felt the familiar isolation and despair.

Her only distraction was thinking about the strange reunion she'd witnessed between Harry and his cousin. Dudley Dursley had been something of a joke to Ron and his brothers, but Hermione had always noticed Harry's discomfort when he was mentioned. Dudley must have improved a lot, judging from how Harry had reacted to him, but she suspected there was still a lot of old pain.

She'd been tempted to ask Harry what Dudley had meant about his parents fearing revenge, but she kept quiet. He'd never revealed much about his life with the Dursleys, and she hadn't wanted to press him for details in public.

It was hard to believe they were related—they really looked nothing alike. Dudley was blond and large, where Harry was dark-haired and compact, and their features were different as well. Furthermore, Dudley had a spoilt look, which Harry lacked, although she may have been prejudiced by what she'd heard about him.

He was also nothing like another tall blond athlete she'd recently met. Dudley was built like a side of beef, while Ryan was more graceful, like a powerful male dancer. She knew she should be flattered by his interest in her, but she mostly felt sad. He just didn't seem like the kind of person who could understand what she'd been through, and she'd rather be alone than experience the disappointment of being misunderstood.

She got a few fitful hours of sleep near dawn, and when her alarm went off she groaned. It was the day of her big meeting at Gringotts, and she'd probably look like death warmed over.

Her fear was confirmed by a glance in the mirror. _Is this what I'll look like in twenty years?_ she thought grimly. Taking a shower did little to revive her, and her severe black robes added to the effect. Normally she'd have tried to cheer herself up by wearing something more flattering, but she'd been instructed to dress as formally as possible, in her most traditional robes.

The only positive aspect of her appearance was her hair, charmed into ringlets. Tying her bushy hair back, as she'd always done previously, would only have made her look worse. Even so, her parents were startled when she entered the kitchen for breakfast.

'Darling, are you all right?' asked her mother. 'You look like you didn't sleep at all.'

'I slept a bit towards the end, but it was a rough night.'

'I'm so sorry. Will you have a time to nap during your lunch break?'

'Not likely,' said Hermione. 'I'll be in planning sessions until the Gringotts meeting at four. But I can have coffee now, and I might take an Energy Draught this afternoon.'

Hermione finished her breakfast and arrived at the Ministry. The coffee accomplished what she'd hoped, and she was able to get through her morning meetings tolerably well. By lunchtime, however, she was flagging again, and so she popped into an apothecary and purchased a potion to give her a boost.

It worked. Within minutes of drinking it, she felt her eyes brighten and the corners of her mouth turn up, and she almost vibrated with energy. _This is brilliant_, she thought. Why hadn't she known about Energy Draughts back at Hogwarts?

She wasn't actually required to do anything at their Gringotts meeting. All of her work had been in the preparation, and she was mainly attending as a learning experience. The meeting would be run by her mentor, a highly accomplished witch named Octavia Wind. Octavia had worked for many years in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and like Hermione she dreamed of improving relations among magical races.

'I never thought this day would come,' confessed Octavia. 'For years I've been trying to bring it about, but the war completely scuttled things. But we've a real opportunity now to set things on the right foot with the goblins.'

'It's an honour just to witness it,' said Hermione as they reviewed their notes one last time.

'You'll be doing more than witnessing it,' said Octavia. 'Your research has been invaluable—I've been amazed by all the precedents you unearthed.'

Several of Hermione's other colleagues nodded, and Octavia continued. 'We took a real risk, you know, accepting you straight out of Hogwarts, and with a tarnished history as far as Gringotts is concerned. But you've more than demonstrated why Kingsley recommended you.'

Jeremy Bezel, the Ministry wizard who had negotiated Hermione's restitution, shook his head. 'There's no such thing as a tarnished history with the goblins,' he said. 'The Ministry made good, and Miss Granger is completely in the clear. And besides, no small number of goblins told me in private that they're grateful to her for helping eliminate You-Know-Who. They didn't like him any better than we did.'

The time for their meeting was near, and everyone gathered their notes and travelled by Floo, one after another. There were six of them in total, and they soon assembled in front of Gringotts.

Hermione was still feeling slightly manic from her potion, and she knew her eyes were open a bit too wide, but she was just so excited to witness such an historic event. Two liveried goblins bowed as they entered the great silver doors, and they passed into the vast marble hall. Before they had time to look around, they were greeted by a goblin who said, 'You are from the Ministry, I presume? Please come this way to meet Director Ragnok and his delegation.'

They followed the unnamed goblin into a large and impressive room Hermione had never seen before. The walls were lined with tall mirrors which reminded her of Versailles, and everything was illuminated by delicately crafted chandeliers, which were far more beautiful than anything she'd seen in the French palace.

Hermione was the last to enter, and before she had finished admiring the surroundings, a stern voice barked, 'What is the meaning of this?'

She turned and saw a severe-looking goblin at the head of the table, who scowled at her and said, 'Is this an attempt at a joke? If so, I hadn't thought my opinion of wizard humour could fall any lower.'

Her colleagues were looking at her as well, and Hermione stammered, 'I beg your pardon, sir. Have I offended?'

'Don't mock me with your feigned ignorance, when you clearly took pains to recreate your unforgivable crime!'

She was horrified and completely baffled until she caught her reflection in a mirror. Her manic eyes—still circled underneath from fatigue—quickly took in her appearance, from her cascading ringlets to her traditional black robes. _Great Merlin, I look like Bellatrix Lestrange!_

Dimly remembering what she'd read about goblin etiquette, she fell to her knees in supplication. 'Please forgive this most grievous affront! I am not worthy even to clean your soiled weapons, still coated with the blood of your enemies.'

'Insult upon insult!' he raged. 'Goblin words in the mouth of a wizard become the language of scoundrels!' He turned to the pair of uniformed goblins standing by the door and cried, 'Guards, subdue her! I would do it myself, but to unsheathe my dagger would be an insult to those I've already disemboweled with it.'

At the words 'subdue' and 'disemboweled,' two of the wizards in Hermione's party pulled out their wands and pointed them at the two guards, who were holding their long swords towards Hermione's neck.

Jeremy Bezel spoke. 'My apologies, Director, but there's clearly been a grave misunderstanding. I'm certain Miss Granger meant no offence. Would you please allow me to ask her what happened?' Ragnok growled but nodded, and Bezel turned to Hermione. 'Please, just speak plainly.'

With two swords at her throat, Hermione could barely find her voice, but she managed a hoarse reply. 'I'm so sorry. I never saw it until today, but ever since I started wearing my hair differently, I've been told I look like ...' she choked, 'Bellatrix Lestrange.'

Several of her colleagues nodded, and one exclaimed, 'That's who you remind me of! It's been driving me crazy all week,' before Octavia scowled him into silence.

With tears falling, Hermione continued. 'I'm terribly sorry. I definitely didn't mean to insult anyone. I have nothing but respect for the Goblin Nation, and my highest hope is to establish proper diplomacy between goblins and wizards.'

Ragnok laughed derisively. 'Your friend Harry Potter is better at diplomacy than you'll ever be. Potter returned stolen treasure to us,' he said, indicating a carved horn in the display case behind him, 'which is infinitely more valuable than empty words from arrogant wand holders.'

'Please, Director,' said Jeremy, 'I beg your leniency and ask you to call off your guards and allow Miss Granger to leave unharmed.' He glared at the two wizards who were still pointing their wands, and they lowered them.

'Miss Granger may leave,' said Ragnok. 'And so shall you all. Gringotts has no wish to negotiate with treacherous fools. If you want to try again, send Potter and a mountain of stolen goblin treasure.'

The guards withdrew their swords, and one of the wizards who had raised his wand helped a tearful Hermione to her feet. She continued to bow as she walked backwards from the room.

Her colleagues followed her, and they were coldly ushered from Gringotts into the street. As soon as they were a safe distance from the bank, Hermione looked pleadingly at Octavia and said, 'I'm so sorry! I've ruined your dream.'

Instead of scolding Hermione, a fierce-looking Octavia turned towards Bezel. 'You said they'd forgiven her and that her past wouldn't matter!'

'I didn't expect she'd turn up looking like Bellatrix Lestrange! I really didn't see it myself until just now, but he's right—it's about the worst insult we could have imagined.'

Hermione wanted to vanish, but she stood there with her arms wrapped around her own torso. 'I should have realised this would happen. I never saw the resemblance until today, but my friends all noticed it. I'm so sorry,' she said, her voice quavering.

Octavia softened a little. 'There, there. This is hardly the worst moment in wizard-goblin relations. We'll give Ragnok time to cool down and see if we can dredge up some treasure confiscated from Death Eaters.'

'But you've waited so long for this,' moaned Hermione.

'Then I'll wait a little longer. Come on, let's go back to the office.'

Not feeling up to Apparating, Hermione followed Octavia to the Leaky Cauldron and Flooed to the Ministry. Before rejoining the others, Octavia said, 'Maybe you should just go home for the day.'

'Are you ... sacking me?' asked Hermione.

'No, dear, of course not. You clearly have a lot to contribute, and you strike me as someone who can learn from her mistakes. But I think the best thing you can do right now is get some rest, and we'll see you on Monday.'

'All right, thank you. And again, I'm so sorry.'

Hermione returned to the fireplace she'd come through and took another pinch of Floo powder. 'Granger House,' she said, and she emerged into the mercifully empty lounge. Her parents were still at work, and she had no desire to interact with them.

As she climbed the stairs to her room, she remembered her dinner plans with Luna. _That's the last thing I want to do_, she thought, and she was tempted to owl her friend and cancel. But she remembered that Luna had wanted to speak to her about something important in private, so she decided just to lie down for a bit and hope for the best.

She managed to fall asleep for a short while, but her despair returned when she awoke and remembered the day's fiasco. How could she have been so careless? And to make matters worse, she'd completely disregarded Bill's advice not to use goblin idioms. _'They'd see it as pandering,'_ he had warned her, and she'd arrogantly ignored him.

_I should probably burn these robes_, she thought miserably, looking down at the formal robes that had enhanced her resemblance to the haughty Death Eater. She took them off and threw them on the floor, and pulled on a pair of blue jeans and a nondescript Muggle shirt. And for added measure she cast a _Finite Incantatem_ on her ringlets and tied her bushy hair back into a braid.

She still had no desire to talk to her parents, so she Apparated directly from her bedroom to Diagon Alley. She had arranged to meet Luna in front of Gringotts, which of course was the last place she wanted to be seen. So she Disillusioned herself and waited for her friend to arrive.

Luna turned up not long after, wearing a very flowy-looking Muggle sundress. Hermione made herself visible again and said, 'Hello Luna.'

'What's wrong?' asked Luna. 'All your Wrackspurts are back. Has something happened?'

'I just had a disastrous day at work and probably set back wizard-goblin relations by several hundred years.'

'Oh dear,' replied Luna. 'How many years precisely? I seem to recall the seventeenth century was slightly better than the eighteenth century in that regard.'

'I couldn't even guess,' said Hermione dourly.

'Are you hungry at least? I've a lovely restaurant in mind.'

'I can't say I'm particularly hungry, but I could do with some tea.'

'Perfect,' said Luna. 'I'll lead the way. Do you mind walking? It's about half an hour from here.'

'That sounds good, actually,' said Hermione, and she followed her friend through the Leaky Cauldron into the Muggle neighbourhood beyond. They were quiet as they walked, and Luna led her around an improbable number of corners. Hermione was certain they would wind up where they'd started, but they always seemed to arrive somewhere new.

Eventually they reached a very narrow road, and Luna stopped in front of what looked like a small café, which was softly illuminated from within. The sun was still out, but very little light reached the alley, and none at all landed on the café window. The painted letters said, 'The Unanswered Question.'

'What an odd name for a restaurant,' remarked Hermione.

'Is it? I suppose you're right. I think you'll like it though.'

They entered, and Hermione paused to inhale the tea-scented air. 'Jasmine,' she said, and the tension in her forehead relaxed just a little.

A server wearing an apron greeted them. 'Please, take any table you'd like.'

Luna chose a very private table in an alcove, though nearly every table in the restaurant could be described that way. Hermione was a bit puzzled by the topography, but she was too fatigued to make a study of it. The menu was on a little stand on the table, and she saw that there were at least as many teas as there were food options.

'Thanks, Luna,' said Hermione warmly. 'I admit there's something soothing about this place, and I think the walk did me some good. Although I'm sure I'll never find it again.'

'Perhaps, or perhaps not,' replied Luna.

They looked at the menu and made their selections. Hermione's appetite had recovered somewhat during their walk, but she was mostly looking forward to a pot of jasmine tea, which she'd already decided on before reading the menu.

The server came and took their orders, leaving the two young women facing each other with no further distractions. Luna was quiet for a while and just looked at Hermione, prompting her to wonder if she was supposed to say something.

'Is there something I can help you with, Luna?' she asked. 'Are you all right?'

'I'm fine, thank you. I just felt we needed to spend some time together.'

Hermione was disappointed—she'd assumed Luna had a specific purpose for inviting her out, and this felt a little unformed. Although she had to admit the ambiance was pleasant. It was completely opposite to the lively Muggle pub she and Harry had visited the night before at her request. But perhaps this quiet and slightly lonely café was a better match to her mental state. _We certainly won't run into Dudley Dursley here_.

'I'm sorry things went so poorly today at Gringotts,' said Luna. 'Would you like to talk about it?'

Hermione sighed. 'I'm just so mortified—I don't even know where to begin.'

Luna nodded in agreement. 'Yes, finding the beginning is hard. I often prefer to start with the end and go backwards from there.' Hermione looked at her sceptically but Luna persisted. 'What was the last thing that happened?'

'My mentor, Octavia, sent me home early to get some rest.'

'What happened before that?'

'I asked her if I'd been sacked.'

'And were you?'

'No. She said I still had a lot to offer, and that I seemed like I could learn from my mistakes.'

'That sounds pretty nice already,' said Luna. 'You weren't sacked, you got to relax a bit, and your mentor spoke highly of you.'

Hermione just looked at her, dumbfounded. She couldn't argue with Luna's brief analysis, but this wasn't exactly a sensible conversation either. She realised she could have responded in a dozen different ways but decided for some reason to surrender. Perhaps a bit of Luna logic was what the doctor ordered. Hermione logic certainly hadn't worked out very well lately.

'So what happened before that?' asked Luna.

'We Flooed to the Ministry from the Leaky Cauldron. Normally I would Apparate, but I was overwrought and feared I might Splinch myself.'

'I'm glad that didn't happen. I'd much rather have tea tonight with all of you than with not all of you.'

Just then, the server arrived with their tea and instructed them not to drink it right away. 'It's much nicer if you steep it,' she said.

'So you didn't Splinch yourself. What happened before that?'

'We stood in front of Gringotts, and Octavia told me the Ministry could probably smooth things over by giving them goblin-made artefacts they'd confiscated from Death Eaters.'

'I'm told that's an excellent way to endear yourself to goblins. Similarly, my father has offered Snorkack-made items to the Snorkacks, but so far they haven't come to recover any of them.'

Hermione knew better than to interfere with Luna's belief in the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. If destroying their house with an Erumpent Horn hadn't been enough to disabuse the Lovegoods of their existence, then nothing Hermione could say would work.

Anticipating Luna's next question, Hermione continued. 'Before that, Bezel said he hadn't previously noticed I now resemble Bellatrix Lestrange, but that showing up at Gringotts looking like her was a grave insult. And before that, Octavia scolded him for believing they'd forgiven me for the break-in.'

She continued working her way backwards through the awful meeting. Luna was delighted to learn that Hermione had not, in fact, been disemboweled. Hermione punctuated her narrative with long sips of her jasmine tea.

She was surprised to discover how enjoyable and thought-provoking it was to recount events backwards. She found she couldn't actually find a beginning point. She hadn't awakened that morning and said, 'Right, I'm going to do my best impression of old Bellatrix today.' Instead, the causes kept extending farther and farther back, to her poor night of sleep, to the evening she'd spent with Harry, to her low spirits from the breakup with Ron, and to the discovery of the hair charm in the Grimoire. There never was a single beginning point.

'Before that,' she continued, 'I asked Kingsley if there might be a position available for me at the Ministry. But that was only after Professor McGonagall had encouraged me. Which I suppose was preceded by that panic attack I had several weeks before our N.E.W.T.s, when a Gryffindor second year accidentally set fire to my revising schedule in the common room. Which happened because I'd left it on the table while I spoke to a different second year about which electives she should take.'

'There seems to be a common thread,' observed Luna, who was delicately eating the pasta primavera she had ordered, lovingly inspecting each vegetable before she ate it.

'I don't know what you mean,' said Hermione, between bites of her panini sandwich.

'Every single event you've recounted has a common element. I'm surprised you can't see it.'

Hermione felt a little annoyed. She thought she'd been getting into the spirit of the conversation, but now Luna was chiding her for missing the point. 'Is the common element magic?'

'That's not a bad guess,' said Luna. 'But no. Try again.'

Hermione thought some more and said, 'I'm the common thread. All these things happened to me.'

'Well spotted,' replied Luna. 'If you were a Ravenclaw you'd be admitted to the common room now.'

Hermione deliberately ignored Luna's patronising comment. 'Why does that matter?' she asked. 'Of course I'm the common thread. That's the nature of a personal narrative. You can't have a personal narrative without the subject.'

'Can't you?' asked Luna. 'That seems like a bold assumption.'

'I can't very well describe what happened to me in a sequence without arranging it around myself as the subject.'

'Who said you were the subject?'

'How wouldn't I be the subject?'

'That's a great question. How wouldn't you be the subject?'

'Luna, you're not making sense.'

'If I had a Sickle for every time someone said that to me,' mused Luna. 'But you're assuming that all these things happened to you.'

'Of course they did. Who else would they have happened to?'

'You're changing the subject,' observed Luna. 'Interesting.'

Hermione just glared at her.

Luna continued. 'Your entire narrative depends on a concept we haven't adequately defined. I think now would be a good time to do so.'

'You mean I should define myself?'

'No, I mean you should define "I."'

'Aren't they the same thing?' asked Hermione.

'Well we won't know until you define it.'

'Fine. What am I?'

'How should I know?' replied Luna. 'You need to ask yourself.'

'I'm me.'

'All right. And what is that?'

'I'm ... my thoughts.'

'And who is thinking them?' asked Luna.

'I am.'

'That seems awfully circular. How do you know you're thinking them?'

'I know I'm thinking them because it's a valid perception. I'm experiencing it, and that makes it real.'

'Oh, so your thoughts are real?'

'Well, as real as thoughts are. I mean, they aren't necessarily substantial, but they're real in their own way.'

'Are your thoughts more real than my thoughts are?' asked Luna.

'I suppose I'm not qualified to say,' replied Hermione. 'But if my thoughts have reality, I'd have to assume yours do as well.'

'Then what differentiates them? Your thoughts and my thoughts, that is.'

'The person who's thinking them.'

'And who is that?'

'In my case, it's me.'

'And who is that?' persisted Luna.

'The one thinking my thoughts.'

'So when you're not thinking, what happens to that "me?"'

'It still exists,' said Hermione.

'Really? A thinker without thoughts still exists?'

'Well, it's more than just the thinker in the moment. It's the entire collection of thoughts, past and present.'

'Memories, you mean?' asked Luna.

'Yes, why not. And emotions. And other mental faculties too.'

'All of that's you?'

'Yes.'

'And who is that?'

'It's me. Hermione.'

'And what's Hermione?'

'Me,' said Hermione a bit feebly. Why was this so difficult?

'Could you exist without Hermione?'

'I suppose the name Hermione is arbitrary. It's not technically me. But the idea of Hermione—irrespective of the name. I don't know that I'd exist without that.'

'Why not try?'

Hermione felt a small catch in her mind. _What would it mean to exist without the concept of Hermione? What would remain?_

'There's raw perception,' she answered.

'Yes, and who is that?'

A undefinable emotion washed over her. Who was that?

'It's just a point of contact. Between subject and object.'

'So what does that make Hermione?' asked Luna.

'An elaboration.'

There was silence—an inner silence Hermione had never experienced before.

Luna said nothing, waiting for Hermione to speak again. It was a while before she did.

'Is the elaboration necessary?' asked Hermione.

'Was it just now?'

'No,' she answered simply.

Hermione remained in silence for a while. An indescribably pleasant rushing sensation filled her shoulders, neck, and head. It somehow felt larger than the boundary of her body, and she felt a wave of love. Not love for Luna or anyone she could name. Just love.

'I love you,' she said, not understanding why.

Luna smiled. 'Yes.' She resumed eating her pasta.

Hermione returned to her sandwich, which had grown cold. She didn't mind. Each point of contact she made with it was perfect. The rushing sensation had spread to her heart and mid-torso. She looked around at the café, which seemed enchanted to her somehow, and not in a wizarding way. This was far more magic than magic was.

'Is this what things are like for you?' asked Hermione.

'I don't know. I can't read minds. But if you mean what I think you mean, I suppose the answer is "sometimes." It varies.'

Hermione nodded and was quiet some more. She refilled her teacup. The tea was warm but not hot, and she was able to drink it quickly. _Jasmine._

Her thoughts drifted towards Ron, and she felt love. She thought of Octavia and felt love. She remembered Ragnok and smiled, feeling more love. She thought of Bellatrix Lestrange in the mirror and felt love.

She thought of Harry and her heart swelled even more. He was her brother, her very self.

She thought of Ryan Bellamy, and a lovely sensation flowed all the way through her. His image in her mind was momentarily replaced by Errol Reddington, but the familiar pain was absent.

Her parents. Oh, her parents whom she'd almost lost! She wanted to go home and hug them.

'I love you,' she said again to Luna. 'I should go home. I want to see my parents.'

'All right,' said Luna. 'We need to pay, though.'

Hermione giggled. When had Luna become the practical one?

They got the server's attention and paid their bill. When they walked out, Luna asked, 'Can you get home all right? Do you need help?'

'I'm fine,' said Hermione. 'I could probably ride a Patronus home right now.'

'But then you'd have to Obliviate everyone,' noted Luna. 'Also, your otter Patronus is rather small.'

'I suppose you're right. I should Apparate then.' She stepped a little farther down the alley, out of view from the café window. 'I'm glad I came out with you tonight,' she said. 'I didn't want to.'

'I know,' replied Luna. 'That's all right. Will I see you tomorrow at Harry's match?'

'Yes,' said Hermione, and her heart soared. A Quidditch match! She could hardly wait.

She hugged Luna and said, 'Thanks for everything. And see you tomorrow.'

Hermione turned on her heel and Apparated straight into her bedroom, not wanting to startle her parents. She went downstairs to find them.

They were at the kitchen table, reviewing paperwork together. 'Mum, Dad. How are you?' she asked.

'All right, just sorting out our homeowners insurance.' replied Daniel. 'How are you? How did your big meeting go?'

'It was a disaster. Couldn't have gone worse. Truly dreadful.'

'Oh no!' said Emily. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes,' she said. 'I love you.'

Her parents exchanged glances but smiled. 'I love you too,' said Emily, rising from her seat. Hermione pulled her into a hug.

'And you, Dad,' she said, attempting to hug him in his chair from behind.

'That's no good,' he said, standing. 'Let's try again.'

She hugged him properly and said, 'I'm so glad you're home. I missed you.'

Her mother hugged her again, and then smirked. 'Don't take this the wrong way, but have you been drinking?'

'Yes, jasmine tea. It was lovely. We should buy some.'

'I'm glad to see you in such a good mood,' said Emily.

'Thanks. I should go to sleep now. Harry's match is tomorrow and I didn't get much sleep last night.'

'All right, dear,' said Daniel. 'Thanks for coming down.'

Hermione returned to her room and smiled when she saw her bushy hair tied up in a braid. She'd wear it in curls again tomorrow. So what if she looked like Bellatrix Lestrange?

Before long she was in bed and fast asleep. Her dreams were bright and vivid, and mostly about flying.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry wasn't expected at the training grounds until eleven o'clock on Saturday, but he stayed home on Friday night and went to sleep early. He wanted to be in top form for his first match.

He awoke at seven, full of restless energy. The previous night, Kreacher had begged permission to serve him breakfast in bed, but Harry had refused. Walking into the kitchen that morning, Harry resolved to prepare his own breakfast, if only to have something to do besides climbing up and down the stairs or picking a fight with Walburga.

'But Kreacher always cooks for Master,' argued the despondent elf.

'Kreacher, you know how much I appreciate your cooking, but I occasionally prefer to cook for myself, and for guests as well. Like you, I take pride in taking care of myself and serving others.'

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, because Kreacher broke into piteous moans. 'Master has spurned Kreacher. Next, Master will give Kreacher clothes.'

'I have no intention of giving you clothes, unless you want them.'

'Master thinks Kreacher would be so base as to want clothing!' he wailed, before dropping to the floor and curling into a tiny ball. 'Please, Master, just put Kreacher out of his misery. Kreacher only asks that Master mount his head upon the wall.'

'I will do no such thing,' declared Harry. 'I am very happy to have you as my house-elf, and I'm grateful for your service. What do I have to do to convince you of this?'

'Master will allow Kreacher to cook breakfast.'

Harry clutched his head in frustration. He sincerely doubted his counterpart on the Falcons was spending his morning arguing with a house-elf.

'I have no desire to punish you, Kreacher, but if you can't respect my wishes I may have no choice.' _Merlin, did I just threaten a house-elf?_

Kreacher uncurled slightly and peered up at Harry. 'Master would punish Kreacher?'

'If you refuse to allow me to cook in my own house, yes,' said Harry, hoping desperately that Hermione would never find out about this.

Kreacher's ears pricked upwards. 'What kind of punishment?'

Harry drew a blank. How on earth would he punish the mad elf?

'I would confine you to your attic,' said Harry sternly.

Kreacher drooped again. 'That is no punishment. Kreacher is not even worthy of proper punishment.'

'Er, I could confine you to a smaller space. A cupboard, perhaps?'

Kreacher looked up at him hopefully. 'How small a cupboard?'

'The one near the back door?'

The elf shook his head stubbornly. 'No, that is far too large.'

Harry knew what he had to say, but he almost couldn't bring himself to do it. He closed his eyes and took a resigned breath. 'What about the cupboard ... beneath those stairs?' he said wearily, indicating four steps leading to a small alcove off the kitchen.

'Yes, Master! That would be a perfect punishment. When may Kreacher start?'

'Er, now?'

Unable to contain his excitement, Kreacher Disapparated on the spot, and moments later a small voice came from the cramped cupboard. 'Kreacher is very naughty. Bad bad Kreacher. Master has punished him, most deservedly.'

Harry felt slightly ill but he knew this was his best alternative, given the sort of punishments house-elves came up with on their own. 'How long do you require confinement?' asked Harry.

'Until Monday?' said a hopeful voice.

'Out of the question. I need your services before then,' he said, a bit dishonestly. 'You are to confine yourself until eleven o'clock.'

'This evening?'

'No, this morning. I'll fetch you from the cupboard before I leave.'

'Yes, Master,' came the voice, followed by what sounded like very pleased and tuneless humming.

Harry sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to shove Kreacher into a cupboard every time he wanted to cook, particularly if a witch were present. It would surely give the wrong impression.

He took his time preparing breakfast Muggle-style, and he was pleased to find he still knew how. He read the _Prophet_ as he ate, paying particular attention to the Quidditch coverage.

Unsurprisingly, his debut was the top story in the sport section. It was mostly just speculation, drawn from first-hand accounts provided by his former classmates at Hogwarts. Most of them were people he'd barely known, but he was happy to see Oliver Wood quoted:

_Puddlemere Keeper Oliver Wood, who was captain of Potter's house team from 1991 to 1994, had nothing but praise for the young Seeker. 'He's a natural, no question about it, and a real team player. The Cannons are lucky to have him.'_

Harry felt a wave of fondness for his former captain. Strange to think they'd be playing against each other sometime soon.

The article went on to discuss the betting odds for the match. Normally the Falcons would have been the favourite, given the Cannons' dismal record, but the bookmakers were unwilling to offer long odds in either direction. Instead there were numerous secondary bets, some of which the _Prophet_ described:

_Speculation is rampant over which number Potter has selected for his uniform. The _Prophet_ spoke to bookmaker Felix Galton, who provided a summary. 'The odds-on favourite is number one, since Potter was the Chosen One. But some are leaning towards number three, in honour of the Golden Trio, or number two, in reference to the two Killing Curses he survived.'_

Harry was offended that so many people seemed to think he was a big enough arse to refer to himself as the Chosen One, but he was glad the public would know why he'd gone with number three. As for selecting a number in honour of Voldemort's Killing Curse ... that was just plain daft.

After breakfast he began the washing up, but he heard elvish squawks of woe from inside the cupboard and decided to leave it for Kreacher instead. When he turned from the sink, he was greeted by a bright silver dog Patronus. 'Harry,' said Ron's voice. 'Is it all right if I come over?'

Harry smiled—Ron's company was just what he needed. He used the memory of his new team robes to cast a Patronus and dispatched Prongs with his reply. Ron stepped through the fireplace soon after.

'Big day!' he said. 'How are you feeling?'

'I'm fine,' said Harry. 'I'm mainly impatient, so it's good you've come to distract me.'

Ron looked hopefully at the kitchen counter. 'Is there anything to eat? Where's Kreacher?'

Ignoring the thumping sounds from the cupboard, Harry said, 'Er, he's not here, but I can summon him if you're hungry.'

'No, I already ate. I just thought I'd stuff a scone or two in my pocket for later, but I can buy snacks at the stadium.'

'Sorry,' said Harry, and the thumping stopped. 'Did you give the tickets to George and Lee?'

'Yes, but it turns out one of them has to man the shop. They flipped a coin and Lee won, and he offered the extra ticket to Katie. I hope that's all right.'

'That's great—she was on my list as well. Did you warn them you'll be sitting with McGonagall?'

'Yeah, but we're not bothered. McGonagall knows her Quidditch, and she can't deduct house points,' replied Ron.

'I dare you to deduct points from her if she misbehaves,' suggested Harry.

'Great idea! Can you foul someone, just to make her yell at the referee?'

'Don't even joke about that—Tuttle would have my hide!'

They spent the next couple of hours talking Quidditch, which was ideal as far as Harry was concerned. 'Thanks so much for coming over—I think we need to make a tradition of this.'

'Gladly! I still can't believe you'll be wearing Cannons robes next time I see you. What number did you select anyway?'

'What do you think?'

'You'd have to be a right tosser to go with number one, so we can rule that out. I'm guessing three.'

'No, I've gone with number two, in remembrance of Voldemort's Killing Curses. I wanted to go with seven for the Horcruxes, but that was Spencer's number.'

'Are you shitting me?'

'Good lord yes,' said Harry. 'Of course I went with three.'

'Blimey, you had me going for a moment there!'

Harry looked at the clock and said, 'All right, I should get a move on. I guess I'll see you after the match?'

'If they let me onto the pitch, definitely.'

'Good point. I should probably notify someone you're allowed to come down. That wasn't really a problem during Hogwarts matches.'

'No, you're in the big time now. Good luck today! I'd tell you to look for me in the stands, but look for the Snitch instead.'

'Trust me, that's the plan.'

After Ron left, Harry went up to his room to get ready. There wasn't much to do, since his robes were at the training grounds, but he brushed his teeth and put on workout clothes, and he also packed clean clothes for later.

He took a deep breath before Apparating. _This is it_, he thought.

When he arrived outside the building, several of his teammates were already waiting. 'Today's the day, Potter,' said Gary. 'Are you ready?'

'I've been ready for hours,' he confessed, and the others laughed.

'Yeah, I remember my first match,' replied Gary. 'Andrew was my fellow Beater back then—that was before Suresh's time—and he showed up at my house early that morning with fireworks.'

'That doesn't seem like the best way to wake up before a match.'

'It wasn't,' agreed Gary, 'but apparently it was a Cannons Beater tradition.'

'That explains a lot,' observed Harry, thinking of Owen's injuries.

'Yeah, I'm proud to say the tradition ended with me.'

'Glad to hear it,' said Harry. 'So what's going to happen this morning before the match?'

'We'll spend the better part of an hour warming up and attending to any last-minute strategy changes, which I don't anticipate today. After that we'll eat lunch here, and then Floo to Falcons Stadium.'

'Will we change into our robes first?'

'No, they're already at the stadium. All you need to bring is your broomstick.'

More players had arrived and entered the building. 'I suppose we should go in,' said Harry. 'Practice robes then?' Gary nodded and they walked to the lockers together.

Soon everyone was assembled near the benches in their practice robes, and the trainers led them through warm-up exercises, which were far less rigorous than their weekday calisthenics. Next came the flying drills, which were more fun than anything. Clearly this was meant just to loosen them up for the match.

Harry was the recipient of numerous cheers and jibes, or a combination of both. 'We're counting on you, Snitchbottom,' called Lyle, and Suresh said, 'Don't blow it, Chosen One.'

'Nothing pulls the birds like catching the Snitch,' advised Janet. But then she added, 'Oh, who am I kidding ... even if you don't catch it, you'll be three deep in witches trying to console you.'

'You and Darren are really hell-bent on corrupting Harry, aren't you?' observed Ryan.

'We've already succeeded, thank you very much,' replied Janet. 'I didn't hear him moaning even once about his ex-girlfriend this week.'

'I reckon he was too busy moaning with someone else,' said Darren.

They were interrupted by the whistle, and everyone flew back to the ground. 'I trust you're in high spirits,' said Tuttle. 'That's good, because we're about to sweep the floor with the Falcons.'

The players cheered, and she continued.

'I'll save most of my pep talk for later, but I want you to know how proud I am of all your work. I've seen a huge improvement over the past fortnight, and I suspect you've noticed it as well. This is the team I've always known you could be, and I can't wait to show it to the public.'

Harry was moved—he was so accustomed to Tuttle's harshness that he wasn't prepared for her kind words. His teammates were beaming as well.

'Lunch then, and then we'll head to the stadium at quarter-past.'

Everyone started walking to the building, and Ryan explained, 'They'll serve us box lunches, to make sure we're properly fed but also to ensure nobody's tampered with it.'

'Yes, Owen told me, so I had my last two meals at home. I even prepared my own breakfast.'

'Wow, you really were raised by Muggles,' said Ryan as they took their lunches. 'I doubt there's another wizard out there who'd cook for themselves if they had a house-elf to do it for them.'

'Wizards really are lazy, aren't they?' commented Harry 'I'm not sure I'd entirely realised it until recently.'

'That's always been my impression, but I suppose I'm prejudiced because my mum has such strong feelings about it. I think that's a lot to do with why she married my father. She also insisted I play Muggle sports outside of school, and not just Quidditch.'

'I can't say I played any Muggle sports growing up, unless you count running away from bigger kids,' confessed Harry. 'We had a lot of stairs at Hogwarts, though.'

Everyone ate outside at the benches, and before long it was time to leave. 'Personally I'm glad we travel there by Floo rather than Apparating,' said Suresh. 'Call me over-cautious, but I've no desire to Splinch myself before a match.'

They emerged into a large windowless room, which Harry assumed was deep within Falcons Stadium. There were doors leading in opposite directions, and a long open corridor. 'The men's changing room is that way,' said Suresh, pointing to one of the doors, 'and the witches change over there.'

When they entered their changing room, Harry saw a large rack with their robes, and underneath was a pile of labeled boxes containing their boots and safety gear. He took his and started to change. _This is really happening_, he thought.

Everyone gathered in the large room with the fireplace, and two wizards in referee's robes began inspecting each of the players with their wands. A couple of people Harry took to be Falcons staff members were also present.

'The referees are checking for illegal performance enhancements,' explained Owen. 'The charms they're doing are quite thorough—they'll check for potions, illegally charmed objects, and so forth. If you were still wearing eyeglasses, they'd probably spend several minutes examining them.'

A referee eventually got to Harry and began casting his charms. He slowly ran his wand along the surface of Harry's body before a loud screech sounded, and Harry felt warm metal around his middle finger.

'He's got a hidden ring,' said the referee, and one of the staff members stepped forward and pointed his wand.

Horrified, Harry looked at his hand and saw the Black family ring, which he'd nearly forgot about. 'I'm sorry, it's a family ring and I'm unable to remove it. I keep it hidden for privacy but it shouldn't have any illegal enhancements on it,' he said, not at all certain whether the last bit was true.

'What in Merlin's arse is that?' exclaimed Janet.

'That has to be the ugliest ring I've ever seen,' commented Suresh.

Before Harry could reply, the referee took his hand and ran a series of charms on the ring. 'He's telling the truth. It's unremovable, and other than identification charms and family magic it's clean.'

Harry exhaled in relief, but when he looked up he saw all his teammates staring at his hand. 'It's the Black family ring,' he explained. 'They had me try it on at Gringotts a fortnight ago, to confirm I was the legitimate heir, but they never warned me I couldn't take it off again. Fortunately I learned how to make it all but disappear.'

'The Black family ring ...' started Titus. 'Does that make you Lord Black?'

Harry turned red, which seemed to answer Titus's question. 'Bugger me, you're Lord Black!' cried Janet.

'Lord Snitchbottom, more like,' said Suresh, and everyone laughed.

'It's meaningless,' protested Harry, who had never been so embarrassed. 'Apparently wizarding lordships were sold to the highest bidders in the early 1700s, when the Ministry was built, and the Blacks were one of them. It's not like the Queen granted it.'

'It's still bloody hilarious,' said Gary. 'Lord Snitchbottom. I love it.'

'Give him a break,' said Ryan, who was clearly trying not to laugh. 'We're about to start the match, and we don't want him all rattled.

'It certainly goes with the house-elf,' smirked Darren.

_The house-elf! _'Fuck! I've left Kreacher in the cupboard!' blurted Harry. 'Kreacher!'

_Crack!_ 'Yes, Master!'

'I'm so sorry, I forgot to free you from the cupboard this morning before I left.'

'Kreacher was delighted to stay in the cupboard longer! Master is most kind!'

Harry hadn't realised it was possible to feel this mortified. 'Please go home now,' he said, a bit desperately, and Kreacher disappeared.

Even Ryan couldn't hide his laughter. 'You locked your house-elf in a cupboard?'

'It's not what you're thinking, I swear!'

'I'm thinking a lot of things right now,' said Owen, who was also laughing, 'and I hope it was none of them.'

'He's a bit mad,' began Harry but he was interrupted, this time by Renée.

'Oh, you locked your _mad_ house-elf in the cupboard. That makes it all right.'

Harry sighed. 'No, it was the only way he'd allow me to prepare my own breakfast this morning. He's become rather territorial lately and won't let me do anything for myself. It seems he was craving punishment this whole time.'

His teammates were weeping from laughter by this point. 'Your house-elf is simultaneously masochistic and domineering?' said Lyle.

'Apparently,' replied Harry, shaking his head.

The group started to settle a bit, and Suresh said, 'By the way, you might want to hide that ring again.'

'Ugh, yes,' said Harry, performing the concealment charm.

The team dispersed, and Owen approached Harry. 'Are you all right? I hope you know we weren't laughing at you. Well maybe a little, but only out of friendship.'

'Yeah, I know. I'm sure I'll be laughing myself later on. It was just a bit much, especially with the referee ready to eject me.' More quietly, he added, 'Honestly, I'm relieved to find out there aren't any weird enhancements on the ring. The Blacks were seriously Dark wizards, and I wouldn't put anything past them. You should see some of the recipes in their Grimoire.'

'I shudder to imagine,' replied Owen. 'I'm sorry, though—I ought to have warned you about the pre-game check. You seem to be a magnet for strange occurrences.'

'I'm not sure what I could have done about it. It's not like I can remove the bloody thing.'

'Actually, I suspect the goblins could take care of it for you, but as long as you're acting as Head of House you're better off just concealing it and enduring our mockery before every match.'

'I'm glad to introduce a thrilling pre-game tradition,' said Harry, beginning to smile.

'This is a good time to expand out into awareness, before we fly out into the stadium,' advised Owen. 'You'll be announced last, and I expect you'll get a deafening roar. You and the other starters will circle the arena for a bit, and then they'll announce the Falcons. That'll be a good chance to survey the stands and get used to anything that might catch your eye later. Read the banners and then forget about them.'

'Sounds good,' said Harry, who was already feeling calmer talking to Owen, and he was starting to see the humour in the ring debacle.

Tuttle entered the room, and everyone gathered around her. 'I don't have much to add from earlier, except to say that we're going to show everyone who the Cannons are. This is a winning team, no doubt about it. And I'm talking about all of you—Potter can't do it alone. He's got a pair of first-rate Beaters,' she paused, indicating Gary and Suresh, 'and a top-notch Keeper.' Everyone looked at Janet, who was trying not to smile. 'And a trio of Chasers who fly faster than greased batshit.'

This prompted several loud laughs from the team, and one snort. But she continued, 'This is the Cannons' turning point, and you should be proud to be a part of it. This is larger than all of us. So let's go out there and make it happen!'

Everyone cheered loudly, and Harry felt himself glowing with excitement. The Snitch was his—he just knew it.

A staff member entered the room from the wide corridor and said, 'It's time.' The starting players followed him towards daylight, where a large pair of doors opened to the stadium. There was a long ramp leading down to the pitch, but they wouldn't be walking down—they would fly out.

In a magically amplified voice, the announcer said, 'And now, the Chudley Cannons!' Harry couldn't see out, since he was behind the others, but he heard a loud roar from the fans.

'The Chasers ... wearing number thirty-two, Ryan Bellamy! ... Number forty-four, Renée Vickers! ... And number forty-nine, Darren Rogers!' Each player flew out when their name was called, to loud fanfare.

'The Beaters ... wearing number ten, Suresh Dhawan! ... And number eighteen, Gary Wisenborn!' The two beaters flew out.

Janet turned to Harry and smiled. 'You've got this,' she said.

'And at the rings, number fifty, Janet Lindhurst!' She launched into the air, and Harry saw her join the rest as they circled.

'And playing Seeker, wearing number three, in his league debut ... Harry Potter!'

Harry kicked off on his Silver Arrow and was nearly deafened by the crowd. He circled with his teammates above the packed stands, his heart pounding with joy and excitement.

When the cheers finally subsided, the teammates hovered near the rings opposite the Falcons' entrance. The home team was announced to loud applause, but it seemed no louder to Harry than what he'd heard for the Cannons. And when he surveyed the stands, he saw considerably more orange than Falcons grey.

The stands had numerous tiers, which provided railings where fans could hang banners and signs. Roughly two-thirds of the signs were orange, at least in part, and Harry saw his name on many of them. _'Bring us the Snitch, Potter!'_ said one in dancing letters. More than one said, _'We love you, Harry!'_ and he even saw a sign that said, _'Harry Potter, will you marry me?'_

There were hostile signs as well, but only a few. _'The Boy Who Couldn't Catch the Snitch,'_ said one sign festooned with flapping falcons, and another said, _'Go back to the Ministry, Potter,'_ with an unflattering drawing of Harry wearing glasses and maroon Auror robes.

Harry wasn't perturbed. The banners were only marginally more specific than the ones the goggles had shown him, and the sea of orange made him feel more than welcome. He could scarcely imagine a friendlier crowd, even at a home game.

The balls were released, and Harry flew high and set a strong intention to allow the Snitch to appear to him, and to avoid Bludgers as well. It was easy to remain in wide open awareness, and he let the crowd's energy fill him. The headset and goggles hadn't been able to simulate the thrill of being among thousands of people whose minds were all tuned to the same object: the match.

He didn't listen carefully to the announcer, but he occasionally checked the scoreboard and saw that the Cannons got off to an early lead. He hadn't yet encountered the rival Seeker, Trevor Underhill. Harry didn't plan to engage him unless approached, so he continued to follow his Seeking pattern and steadily renew his intention to remain in open awareness.

Trevor seemed inclined to give him a wide berth, so Harry decided to liven things up with a feint. He shot across the pitch beneath the Falcons Chasers but then angled sharply upwards into their midst. This disrupted their passing pattern, forcing a turnover, and the crowd roared in approval. But Harry didn't let it distract him—he immediately flew clear of the other players and resumed his pattern.

Underhill approached him. 'Welcome to the league, Potter. We've got a bet about how many games you last before running back to the Ministry.'

'I'm impressed you can count that high,' retorted Harry.

'Clever, are we? I guess they at least teach snobbery at Hogwarts.'

'I wouldn't know—I dropped out a year early.'

'So I hear. Apparently you wanted to spend months in a tent shagging that Mudblood.'

'Are you jealous?' said Harry, before flying off to reset his intention. He couldn't believe he was joking about Hermione, but Owen's training had been effective. He really wasn't bothered at all, and he suspected that Underhill would never normally have used a slur like that.

He glanced again at the scoreboard and saw that the game was close but the Cannons still held the lead, with a relatively low overall score. The Falcons Beaters were targeting him, but Gary and Suresh were on fire and kept the Bludgers safely out of range.

Underhill accelerated downwards, and Harry, who was higher up, had to fly at an extremely steep angle to head in the same direction. He saw no Snitch, however, and turned out of the way before risking a collision with the ground. Realising he enjoyed exchanging taunts, he approached Underhill and said, 'Were you assuming I couldn't fly or that I couldn't see?'

'A bit of both,' replied Underhill. 'I also figured you'd have trouble carrying that huge head of yours around.'

'I've had years of practice,' replied Harry, who was truly having fun. He reset his intention to remain in open awareness and allow the Snitch to draw his attention, but he also invited an easy flow of repartee. 'It must be discouraging, to see so much more orange than grey in the stands,' he said.

'Apparently the same wizard who cursed the Cannons also Confunded their fans.'

'Don't the Falcons have a winning record? That almost makes the poor turnout worse. Even when you're good, the fans can't be arsed to show up.'

The match continued this way, with Harry and Underhill mostly circling independently, but occasionally trading jibes. 'So why did you decide to play league Quidditch? Weren't you getting enough attention at the Ministry?' asked Underhill.

'I was, but your mum's not my type,' retorted Harry.

'Do you really want to trade mum jokes? I'm not afraid to go there.'

'No, you're just afraid of flying more than twenty miles an hour.'

Before Harry finished speaking, Underhill's eyes locked onto a distant object and he zoomed towards it. Harry began to follow, but then he spotted the Snitch in another direction entirely. By the time Underhill realised what had happened, Harry had the Snitch in hand and the announcer cried, 'Potter's got the Snitch! Cannons win, 220-40!'

The crowd roared, and Harry was immediately surrounded by his teammates. 'Brilliant!' cried Darren. 'You did it!'

'Fantastic, Harry,' said Ryan, clapping him on the back, and Gary did the same from the other side.

'Time for a victory lap,' said Renée, and they all circled the field to huge fanfare while Harry held up the struggling Snitch. He was almost inarticulate with joy and allowed himself to drink in the thunderous cheers.

They landed and his teammates crushed him in a huge hug, and Tuttle shook his hand fervently and exclaimed, 'Well done, Potter.'

He saw Janet and said, 'Great work! I didn't follow the scoring much, but I can see you kept them at bay.'

'She had a couple of brilliant saves,' said Ryan, and Janet beamed.

Owen threw his arm around Harry's shoulders and said, 'Well done! Really, that was first rate!'

'I couldn't have done it without you,' replied Harry. 'No chance at all. I would have been fooled by his feint if I hadn't been following your instructions, or I would have been rattled out of reason by his taunts.'

'Teamwork!' shouted Gary, and everyone cheered.

The Falcons walked up to them to shake hands, and everyone congratulated Harry. 'Great to have you in the league, Potter,' one of them said.

Underhill approached him and said, 'No hard feelings, right? I'm Muggle-born, you know.'

'None at all,' was his sincere reply. 'I had a feeling you were bluffing.'

'Not entirely, Hogwarts,' he smirked, and Harry laughed.

Darius was next to shake his hand. 'Absolutely brilliant! That'll show the naysayers—I look forward to the next team managers' gathering.'

'Can you tell off Sylvester Chiffle for me?' asked Harry, and Darius guffawed.

'Tell him off yourself in a few weeks, and shove the Snitch in his face while you're at it!'

Reporters were soon allowed onto the pitch, and naturally Harry was the centre of attention. When asked how he spotted the Snitch during his opponent's feint, Harry credited Owen's training. 'I'm incredibly lucky to have him on the team with me, and without his advice I'm certain I wouldn't have made the catch at that precise moment.'

After fielding numerous questions, Harry scanned the edge of the pitch and saw Ron. He was clothed in orange from top to bottom, including his hair which he'd apparently charmed to match, although it hardly made a difference.

'Brilliant!' shouted Ron. 'You did it, mate!'

'Thanks Ron,' replied Harry. 'I had the time of my life up there!'

'Are you Ron Weasley then?' said Darius. 'I've been meaning to thank you for pointing Harry our direction.'

'Pleasure to meet you,' said Ron, shaking hands with him. 'I've been a Cannons fan my whole life!'

'I've set aside a pair of season tickets for you,' said Darius. 'You'll have to come see us next week in Chudley.'

'I wouldn't miss it for the world!' exclaimed Ron, looking like he was ready to burst with joy. Ron drifted over to the other players, greeting the ones he'd met the previous Saturday at Grimmauld Place.

Harry's other friends found him. 'Harry,' cried Minerva, 'I've never been prouder! Well done!' She wore a huge smile and looked like she'd been crying.

'That was brilliant,' Lee told him, and Katie gave him a big hug.

'Thanks, I feel great. I feel as if I could fly without a broom right now.'

'Like Voldemort?' said Lee. 'I wouldn't recommend it. At least not in public.'

Hermione was next to approach him, with Luna, Neville, and Hannah. She was positively glowing and threw her arms around Harry. 'You were fantastic! The whole team was! Thanks so much for having me here—it was absolutely brilliant.'

'Wow, Hermione,' said Harry. 'You really enjoyed it? I'd have thought you'd have your head in a book.'

'That's what I expected,' said Neville, 'but she was paying attention the entire time.'

Hermione looked longingly at Harry's broomstick. 'I've half a mind to go up there myself,' she said.

'Did she get hit by a Bludger?' asked Harry.

'No,' said Luna. 'I think she was just inspired.' Luna was wearing a shirt, presumably of her own creation, that featured a bright orange lightning bolt against a black background. When she noticed Harry looking at it, she asked, 'What do you think? I put it on a banner as well.' She indicated a bundle rolled under her arm.

'That design is brilliant,' said Darius. 'Would you mind if we used it on our merchandise? I'd pay you for it.' He looked first at Luna but then at Harry for confirmation.

'Go ahead,' said Harry, who would have agreed to anything just then. Luna cheerfully gave her permission and handed Darius the banner.

Hermione was still looking reverently up in the air. 'I wonder if I can borrow Ginny's broom this weekend.'

'You're serious? You really want to go flying?' asked Harry.

'Yes, I really do,' she said, her eyes wide.

'I could take you this afternoon if you like,' said Ryan, who'd joined them. 'I'm free the rest of the day—I never make plans after a Quidditch match, since there's no knowing how long it'll go.'

'That sounds wonderful,' she said. 'Do you have a broom I could borrow?'

'I can fetch my broom from home. It's not as fast as this one,' he said, indicating his Cleansweep X-20, 'But otherwise it's first rate. I just need to shower and change, and I can meet you down here.'

'Perfect, see you soon,' she said, with a radiant smile.

Harry was still in a bit of a daze, but he was pleased by the exchange between Hermione and Ryan. Maybe she was warming up to him after all.

'So what's the rest of your day like?' asked Janet. 'You'd better come celebrate with the rest of us!'

'You couldn't keep me away,' said Harry.

'Hey Weasley, want to come along?' she asked. 'Fair warning, you'll see just how rowdy we can get.'

'I'm in, definitely.'

Harry noticed Lee and Katie were still hanging nearby and called, 'Do you want to join us?' He turned to Janet and asked, 'Is that all right?'

'You caught the Snitch, Potter. You can invite anyone you bloody well want.'

Lee and Katie happily accepted, and plans were made to invite George as soon as the shop closed.

The stands were still crowded, and the fans were loudly singing the Cannons fight song. Harry and the other players waved from the pitch to huge applause.

He turned to Gary and Suresh and said, 'Thanks for keeping me in one piece! I barely had to worry about Bludgers at all.'

'Don't mention it,' said Gary. 'Got to keep Lord Snitchbottom safe. For the good of the Empire, you know.'

Harry was too elated to scowl. 'Is it normal for there to be so many Cannons fans at an away game?' he asked.

'Usually it's a bit less than half, but either your debut attracted more fans than normal, or people who would otherwise be neutral are rooting for the Cannons now.'

'Brilliant,' said Harry. 'It gave me a real boost.'

'Us too,' said Suresh.

'So what happens next?' he asked.

'We'll assemble near the locker room for Tuttle's notes and then, after everyone has showered and changed, we normally go out together,' said Gary. 'I reckon we'll make an appearance at the Cracked Spyglass, a wizarding pub in Chudley. The diehards will be celebrating, and it's better if we turn up while they're still on their first pitcher.'

'Sounds great,' said Harry, and within a few minutes they were gathered around Tuttle in the large room with the fireplace. She gave her notes, which were nit-picky in places but largely positive.

'Potter, great job spotting the Snitch instead of following Underhill's feint, and also forcing that turnover. Next week we'll work on feinting strategies—you're a more aggressive flyer than most Seekers, so let's put it to use.'

Afterwards everyone showered and changed into clean clothes, and Lara was on hand to collect their robes and broomsticks. She found Harry and congratulated him. 'Brilliant job!' she said. 'I'm glad to see you're worth all the drama.'

'Thanks, I think,' he replied. 'Will you be joining us to celebrate?'

'Not at first—I have a lot to do back at the training grounds—but maybe I'll find you later.'

'Marvellous,' he said, still overbrimming with happiness.

'Go find your friends on the pitch,' said Gary. 'We can Floo straight from here to the Spyglass.'

Harry walked down the long ramp to the pitch, glad to stretch his legs a bit. There he found Ron, Lee, and Katie, and off to the side he spotted Hermione. He walked up to her and she smiled.

'That was incredible, Harry. I've never seen flying like that,' she said.

'What are you on about? You were at the World Cup with us—you saw Viktor Krum, for heaven's sake.'

'I don't think I appreciated it at the time,' she said. 'But this was brilliant.'

'I'm glad you enjoyed it. Will you come celebrate with us?'

'I don't know—I've made plans to go flying with Ryan. I suppose I'll leave it up to him.'

'All right, maybe I'll see you later. Have a nice time flying!' he said, still astonished she wanted to do it. He thought he knew Hermione as well as anyone, but apparently she still had a few surprises up her sleeve.


	15. Chapter 15

Hermione waited patiently for Ryan to return to the pitch. As much as she was looking forward to flying, she was content to be outside and bask in the joyful surroundings.

She'd never enjoyed a Quidditch match this much before. It was hard to recall what had previously bothered her—the heights and the Bludgers, she supposed. But this time she'd simply felt exhilarated, and her sole frustration was that she wasn't up there with them.

Ron was only a short distance away, but she didn't mind. They'd acknowledged each other in passing but had otherwise stayed apart. He was clearly thrilled about the Cannons' win, and she was happy for him.

She hadn't expected to make plans with Ryan, but it felt perfectly natural somehow. She'd rather enjoyed watching him during the game, confidently passing the Quaffle to his teammates, and he'd scored four goals. There was a harmony to the Chasers' manoeuvres that she'd never noticed before, and she found it mesmerising.

Ryan appeared before her with his broomstick, his hair still damp from the shower. 'Don't you want a Drying Charm?' she asked automatically.

'Not today—I'm enjoying the cool feeling of it.'

His hair looked darker this way, and she found she liked it. His resemblance to her former tormentor was less obvious, and he seemed more approachable somehow.

'That was amazing flying,' she said. 'I don't think I've ever enjoyed watching Quidditch so much.'

'Thanks. Harry gets a lot of the credit—we've improved considerably since he joined the team. He's very inspiring somehow, without even trying.'

'Yes, that's his special gift, He's always been that way.'

He looked down at her bright orange jersey. 'I must say, you're the first person I've seen who can successfully wear that colour.'

'You must have sunstroke,' she said, laughing. 'I'm sure I look frightful in it, but everyone else was wearing it so I had no reason to be embarrassed.'

'I can't imagine you ever need to be embarrassed,' he said.

Ironically she blushed. 'Apparently I do,' she replied, and they both smiled.

'Are you hungry?' he asked. 'Or do you want to go flying straight away?'

'Don't you want to go celebrate first? I don't mind waiting.'

He glanced at his teammates and shook his head. 'No. I suspect we'll have a lot of post-game celebrations from now on. I can miss this one. I'll need to fetch my other broom though. It's at my flat; do you want to come along, or would you rather wait here?'

'I'm happy to accompany you, if it's no bother.'

'None at all. Side-along?' he asked, extending his hand.

She accepted it. 'Yes, please.'

He turned on his heel, and soon she found herself in a modern and sunny flat, not too big. She noticed a Muggle stereo system in the sitting room, along with a vast collection of compact discs.

'No wizarding record player?' she asked.

'You mean an ancient gramophone with a great horn for the speaker? No thanks. Muggle technology far surpasses magic in this respect, not to mention the quality of the music.'

'You don't like the Weird Sisters?'

'Not really. Do you?'

'They played at our Yule Ball in '94 and I thought they were good, but otherwise I'm not very familiar with them. They were rather popular at Hogwarts, though.'

He sniffed and said, 'I'm not surprised—electricity doesn't work there, right?'

'No, of course not.'

'That's the thing—nobody at Hogwarts is exposed to real music, except maybe during the holidays. As far as I'm concerned, the Weird Sisters are a poor knockoff of British Muggle bands. But don't let me bore you with my music obsession ... let's get you onto a broom.'

'All right,' she said, smiling. 'But I want to hear more about music some time—I often feel I've missed a major part of contemporary culture, so I'd love a guided tour.'

'I'd be glad to get you orientated, as long as you promise to tell me when I've bored you to tears.'

She looked through the titles in his music collection while he went into the bedroom for his broom. Some of the band names were familiar, but as far as she knew she hadn't heard any of them.

He returned a minute later carrying a broomstick, which he handed to her. 'It's a Cleansweep Twelve—not what I'd call a racing broom, but great for all-around use. I think you'll like it.' He retrieved his other broom and extended his hand again. 'I thought we could go to the Cannons training grounds and fly there. That's where Harry and I practice during the week.'

'Yes, I'd like to see that,' she said, taking his hand.

He Apparated her in front of a medium-sized one-storey building. 'Here it is,' he said. 'I could show you around, but I'm guessing you'd rather start flying?'

'Yes, please. But I'll take the tour later.'

He led her to some benches but they didn't sit down. 'How much flying have you done?'

'We learnt it at school, and I've had to fly some for transport, but I've never been particularly good at it.'

'What kind of brooms have you used?'

'Mostly the school brooms, which everybody complained about. But Harry made me try his brooms—first a Nimbus Two Thousand and then a Firebolt. And Ron had me try his Cleansweep Eleven.'

'Those are good brooms,' he said, 'though the Nimbus and Firebolt aren't what I'd recommend for a novice.'

She laughed. 'Other than his first day on the school broom, Harry literally started with the Nimbus Two Thousand.'

'I think we can agree he's an outlier,' he observed. 'Now let's see you fly a bit. I'll be right there with you.'

She placed the broom on the ground, as she'd been instructed in her first year, and said, 'Up.' The broom leapt into her hand.

He couldn't help laughing. 'I'm sorry, but that's adorable.' She looked at him and he said, 'That was the flying equivalent of a small child putting on their anorak by placing it on the floor first.'

Normally she might have been offended by his description, but she saw the humour in it. 'I warned you I'm not a very good flyer, didn't I?'

'Not specifically, but I noticed Harry's reaction when you said you wanted to go flying. But what you did is fine—it was rather cute, actually. Please continue.'

She smiled and stepped over the broom, and then she allowed it to lift her about six feet off the ground. He mounted his broom and hovered slightly below her so their eyes were level.

'That's good,' he said. 'Now raise the handle slightly and incline your body forwards.'

She did so and started to angle upwards, not too fast. He flew alongside her and said, 'That's great, you're doing perfectly. Shall we try a left turn?'

'All right,' she said, lurching to the left.

'Oh, there's a problem we can fix. You're not turning smoothly. It's a classic mistake—you're turning with your torso instead of shifting your weight. Stay still a moment and watch what I'm doing ... First I'll show you the correct way.' He flew slowly forward and then gently inclined his entire body to the left, and his broom followed him in a smooth curve. 'And now here's what you were doing.' He turned at the waist, and his broom jerked to the left. 'It's a useful technique later on, if you want to turn on a sixpence, but it's not for beginners.'

Without prompting, she started flying forwards again and inclined her entire body to the left, as he had done. Her broom curved gently to the left, until she turned to him in excitement and it bucked to the right. 'Oh dear, let me try that again.'

'I'll fly in front of you, so you don't need to turn to see me,' he said, flying ahead and then turning around to face her. He allowed his broom to drift backwards. 'All right, try again.'

She inclined to the left again and turned smoothly, and he stayed ahead of her, flying backwards the whole time.

'I didn't even know you could fly backwards,' she said.

'It's not a very common technique, but it's helpful while teaching.'

'Have you taught before then? You're obviously good at it.'

'Yes, in my third year at Widgington I started helping the new students, and anyone else who was having trouble with their flying.'

'That was nice of you,' she said.

'I got most of the benefit, to be honest. It really helped me with the more subtle aspects of flying. But anyway, now that you've turned left, let's see you practice some S-curves. You'll just shift your weight back and forth—slower is better for now.'

She followed his instructions and slowly flew halfway down the pitch, making gentle curves back and forth.

'Excellent,' he said. 'Now see if you can vary the tightness of the curves ... Good, I think you're getting the hang of it.'

'I'm already feeling better on a broomstick than ever before. Why didn't anyone teach the difference between shifting my weight and moving my torso? It seems so simple to explain.'

'I think it's because a lot of people automatically shift their weight when they move their torso, so their turns are much smoother from the start. Someone like that won't understand why you're having trouble,' he explained.

'Whenever Harry or Ron attempted to teach me, or even when Ron's sister Ginny tried to help, I'd get completely frustrated.'

'Well Harry's a natural, so you'd have trouble learning anything from him. And Ron and Ginny grew up flying, so they probably don't have much vocabulary for what they're doing.'

'What about you then? Didn't you learn early?'

'I did, and I'm probably a natural as well. But I'm quite interested in the mechanics of flying, so I've given it more thought than most natural flyers do. My father's an engineer—I suspect I got it from him.'

'Is he a good flyer too?' she asked.

'No, he's a Muggle.'

'Oh, right. I suppose that explains your home stereo system.'

'Yes, and probably a lot of other things about me. I'm rather more pro-Muggle than most wizards, and not just in the "Let's not torture them" respect.'

'I'm fascinated,' she said. 'How do you mean?'

They were still flying lazy S-curves above the pitch, though he was next to her and no longer flying backwards. 'Muggles tend to have a good deal more ingenuity and intellectual rigour than wizards do. Not all Muggles, of course, but if you compare the students at a top Muggle university with the top students at a wizarding school, you'll find the Muggles are much stronger in critical thinking.'

'Have you met many Muggle students then?'

'Yes—I have a lot of cousins on my father's side, and I played on various Muggle sports teams growing up.'

'How do you maintain the Statute of Secrecy?' she asked. 'I've had trouble interacting with my extended family since I started at Hogwarts.'

'It's not easy,' he said. 'But it helps that we have shared interests—the same books and music, for example. I've had to dodge questions about my schooling and career, and I'm sorry to say I've told some outright whoppers. But I think it's better to deceive them than to just disappear from their lives.'

Hermione felt a heaviness, thinking of her own family. 'I wish I'd done that,' she said. 'Not the whoppers necessarily, but maintaining shared interests. Unfortunately, I've become estranged from my relations, and I think it's been hard for my parents.'

'You're not alone. I've heard that from other Muggle-borns as well,' he said. 'And then it gets more complicated when they have non-magical brothers or sisters. Do you have any siblings?'

'No, I'm an only child. But I know it was hard for Harry's mother. He was raised by his non-magical aunt and uncle, and there was a lot of tension.'

'I'm an only child as well,' he said.

'Were your parents afraid you'd have a non-magical sibling?'

'No, quite the opposite. Apparently my accidental magic was a problem from early on. My mother had to become proficient at Memory Charms and perform them regularly on my father's relations to clean up after me. When it came time to consider having a second child, they didn't want to take the risk.'

'At least your parents knew what was happening. I suspect my parents wanted to call in an exorcist. I'm told I made books fly towards my cot early on, particularly after my father had put them away at bedtime.'

He laughed. 'That has to be the cutest thing I've ever heard.'

'Yes, I suppose I've been a swot all my life.'

'You make that sound like a bad thing,' he said. 'I've never understood why it's a slur.'

She smiled at him. 'You're not what I expected,' she admitted.

'What do you mean?' he asked. 'What were you expecting?'

'Oh, I don't know. An athlete ... maybe even a bit of a bully.'

'A bully? Now you've made me nervous—what did I do to give you that impression?'

'Nothing at all. I just have an unfounded prejudice against athletic types.'

'That's unfortunate. Does Harry know?'

'He's not a typical athlete, at least not in the Muggle sense.'

'I suppose not,' said Ryan. 'And I'll admit I know the type you're referring to. I certainly met plenty on my football teams, and more than a few playing Quidditch. Sad to say, there are people who use sports as an excuse not to develop their minds.'

'Forgive me for lumping you with them,' she said.

'Is that why you put me off when I asked you to dinner?'

'Oh dear, did you notice that?'

'Yes. Remember I've cultivated my brains a bit, in spite of my hand-eye coordination.'

She laughed. 'I suppose I did put you off. But that had more to do with ... the situation with Ron.'

'I see.'

'But I'm glad I ran into you today, and that you invited me to go flying.'

'Oh right, we're flying. Or drifting, more like.'

'I suppose we are,' she said. 'But my turning has already improved.'

'It has done! We'll have you throwing a Quaffle in no time.'

'Not likely,' she said, smiling.

'Would you like to try flying faster? You seemed keen earlier to really soar around.'

'I would like that, but I'm not sure I'm ready yet.'

'You could get onto my broom if you prefer.'

'Could I? That sounds like fun.'

'Definitely, let's do it,' he said, and he turned his broom around and they flew back down to the benches. 'You can leave your broomstick here.'

After she set down her broom, he slid towards the front of his broomstick and lowered the back so she could step over it. 'You should hang onto me from behind. There's no need to worry about falling off, because if you get scared your instinct will be to hold on for dear life. And even if there were a freak occurrence and you did fall off, I'm very fast with a Hovering Charm. That said, I'll take it slow to start with, and you can let me know if you want to go faster.'

'That sounds perfect. And thanks—you're very reassuring.'

Hermione sat on the broomstick behind him and wrapped her arms around his midsection. She couldn't help noticing how hard his torso was, and she had to stop herself from exploring with her hands.

'Are you ready?' he asked.

'Yes, go ahead.'

He lifted into the air and aimed upwards and straight ahead. Once he'd reached a good height, he started flying in a figure-eight pattern. 'How is this?' he asked.

'This is lovely. Can we go faster?'

'Definitely! I'll take it up a notch.'

He accelerated forwards and added in some gentle dips and turns. She clutched him a little more tightly but still felt perfectly safe, and she enjoyed the pull of the wind on her hair. It was hard to see, since his shoulders blocked her view, so she held her neck back and tried to see past him.

'I'm sorry, you probably can't see much from there. If your stomach can handle it, you might get a better view by turning your head and resting it between my shoulder blades.'

She followed his advice, leaning into his upper back. 'Oh, this is nice,' she said. 'Normally I don't get to enjoy the scenery because I'm too busy concentrating on not falling off.'

'We can't fly very far, unfortunately, since the wards don't extend much past the pitch, but I can take you through some manoeuvres if you like. I won't go too fast yet.'

'You mean those patterns you were flying with the other Chasers? Those were mesmerising! I'd love to try some.'

'All right, here goes.' Starting near the rings, he launched into a fairly complicated pattern. She was able to imagine how the other Chasers would have coordinated with them, and she found it exhilarating.

'Can we go faster?' she repeated.

'You're a right daredevil! Absolutely, I'll take it into high gear now. Just start shouting if I go too fast.'

She could no longer conceptualise what he was doing—all she knew was that they were moving very quickly, in unpredictable directions, and that it was wonderful. She held him tightly but that was less out of fear than from a wish to feel how he used his muscles to control the broomstick.

'This is brilliant!' she cried. 'No wonder everyone loves flying so much.'

'I know I'm addicted!' he said, as he continued to take them through elaborate patterns.

Hermione was in raptures. All of her senses were fully engaged, and the warm solidity of Ryan's body was all the grounding she needed. She admired his fearlessness, and she found it contagious. 'I can't believe I'm flying like this,' she said. 'I'm not even scared.'

'You're doing fantastic,' he replied. 'I wouldn't normally propose this, but do you want to do some stunts? Flying upside down and such? I promise you'll be safe, and not just because of brute strength or Cushioning Charms. We'll have the laws of physics protecting us as well.'

Something in Hermione melted, hearing a wizard talking about physics. 'I'd love that,' she said.

Ryan launched into wild flying manoeuvres, starting with a long corkscrew and then swinging into large loops, similar to what she'd seen in Muggle rollercoasters she'd been afraid to ride.

'This must be what rollercoasters are like,' she cried exuberantly.

He slowed down and said, 'Yes, that's where I got some of my patterns. I've been to theme parks with my cousins and enjoy studying the rollercoaster shapes to get ideas for flying. Saves me the trouble of doing the maths.'

'That's brilliant. There's really so much wizards can learn from Muggle science.'

'There is,' he said. 'That's one of the many things that were so frustrating about the war—seeing wizards revile Muggles when there's so much to be learned from us. From them, I mean.'

'You identify with Muggles?' she asked, surprised.

'In part, yes. And with wizards.'

She was quiet a moment, and she allowed the gentle breeze to help organise her thoughts. 'I felt like I had to give up being Muggle when I started at Hogwarts.'

They were flying more slowly by then. 'I can see how that might have happened, with a bunch of pure-bloods sneering at you over the slightest lapse.'

'It wasn't as bad as all that,' she said. 'Most pure-bloods were fine, albeit ignorant about the non-magical world. I took Muggle studies for a year and it was a complete waste of time, and fairly inaccurate besides. But you're right that I wanted to fit in as much as possible right away.'

'I'm sorry you went through that. I had much less of an adjustment when I started at Widgington. For one thing it was a day school, so I had my regular life at home. And at the weekend I still had football practice and saw my Muggle friends. I had to be vague about what school I was attending, and they may have noticed I healed suspiciously fast from a broken arm, but other than that I was able to stay connected.'

'I noticed your tone earlier when you mentioned pure-bloods. Were there many at Widgington?'

'Yes, and most of them were fine. I didn't mean to tar them all with the same brush—I know they're not all Death Eaters. But my mother has some pure-blood relations, and they practically disowned her when she married my father. They relented when I turned out magical, and particularly when I joined the Cannons, but it's been hard to trust their intentions. My great-uncle tried to persuade me to use my mother's maiden name instead of Bellamy, but naturally I refused.'

'Wouldn't that have kept you safer during the war, though?'

'Probably not,' he said. 'My Blood Status was already common knowledge—changing my name would have just called attention to it. No, Uncle Atticus just wanted a bit of glory for the Spoonwockets.'

Hermione giggled. 'Your mother's maiden name was Spoonwocket? I can see why you stayed with Bellamy.'

'I beg your pardon! I'll have you know it was a Spoonwocket who invented the fingernail-cleaning charm. _Expurgo digites!_''

'Those Spoonwockets?' she said, laughing. 'How could I forget! I'm certain I use that charm at least six times daily.'

'Don't we all,' he smiled. "Would you like to fly some more, or shall I give you a tour of the training facility?'

'I'm ready for the tour, I think. But this has been brilliant—thanks so much.'

He steered them to the ground, and Hermione dismounted and retrieved the other broomstick. 'There's not a whole lot to show you,' he said as they walked towards the building. 'We spend most of our day outdoors, and inside is mostly just offices, plus the lockers and the weight room.'

They entered and found Lara there with a pile of papers. 'Ryan, I didn't know you were here,' she said. 'And Hermione, good to see you.'

'Thanks, Lara. Likewise. How are you doing?'

'I'm doing well, thanks. Just taking care of post-match business—I'll be done shortly. Will you be joining everyone to celebrate? I think they're still at the Broken Spyglass.'

Ryan shook his head. 'Not unless you want to go, Hermione. It'll be fun but rather raucous.'

'No, I don't think so,' she replied. Part of her hesitation was because Ron would be there, but she mostly wanted to continue talking with Ryan, and a rowdy pub didn't seem like the right setting.

Ryan showed her around the building, and she was suitably impressed by how Darius's office window looked directly out at the goalposts. 'Muggles don't have a monopoly on good ideas,' she said.

'Certainly not. That's why I love belonging to both worlds.'

They returned to Ryan's flat, and Hermione handed back his broomstick. 'Thanks again,' she said. 'I may have to purchase one of my own. At the very least, I should buy a copy of _Which Broomstick?_ just to see Harry faint from shock.'

'You're welcome to use my broomstick anytime we fly together,' he said. 'I hope we can do this again.'

'I'd like that,' she replied, blushing. 'And I still want that guided tour through pop music.'

'We could do that right now,' he said eagerly, before adjusting his tone. 'If you want, that is. Perhaps you'd rather go home.'

'No, that sounds like fun.' She walked over to his music collection. 'Where do we even start?'

'Good question. When was the last time you heard much popular music? Were you a fan before you started at Hogwarts?'

She shook her head. 'Not really. My parents listened to the Beatles a lot, and other bands from the sixties and seventies, but otherwise I'm a clean slate.'

'Do you like the Beatles? That's really the fundamental question when it comes to British music.'

'I do, yes.'

'Excellent,' he said, and he began pulling CDs from the shelves. 'There's so much fantastic Britpop for you to discover, and loads of American music too. I wish I could hear it all again for the first time—it'll be fun watching you experience it.'

They spent the next hour listening to music—she enjoyed most of it, and his enthusiasm was infectious. She found she even recognised a handful of the songs.

'Oh, I've heard this one!' she said during a particularly lively anthem. He smiled and nodded, and they listened to the rest of song without speaking.

After it ended she explained, 'I heard it the other night, when Harry and I went to a Muggle pub near a university. Everyone seemed to be shouting along with the chorus.

'I'm not surprised,' he said. 'It's called "Common People" and it was a huge hit—the band is called Pulp.'

'They remind me of the Weird Sisters, actually.'

Ryan sniffed derisively. 'That's because Myron Wagtail—the Weird Sisters' lead singer—shamelessly rips off Jarvis Cocker from Pulp. If it weren't for the Statute of Secrecy, they'd probably be sued for plagiarism.'

'That's disappointing,' she said. 'But I agree, this band is much better.'

'Would you like to borrow the album? It's a classic.'

'Yes, I'd enjoy that. I can return it next time I see you, maybe at your next match.'

'I hope I can see you before then,' he said in a low voice.

She felt a thrill in her body and replied, 'So do I.'

He pressed a button on the stereo several times and said, 'This is one of my favourites, from the same album. It's called "Something Changed."'

They were seated on the floor in front of the speakers, and she felt the warm weight of his gaze as they listened to the achingly romantic lyrics. She must have looked at him invitingly because he leaned towards her, and she received him with softly parted lips.

His kiss was gentle, but she returned it passionately, and he drew her body closer to his. When they pulled apart he looked at her with darkened eyes. 'Oh, Hermione,' he exhaled, and his mouth found hers again.

He wrapped his arms around her, and their embrace continued for several more songs, punctuated only by soft utterances of each other's names. 'Ryan,' she sighed, and she ran her hands along the muscles she'd longed to explore while they were flying.

'You're like no one I've ever met,' he said. 'I can't believe how perfect you are.'

'You're rather remarkable yourself,' she replied. She was amazed by how quickly this had all come about, but it felt completely natural.

'Are you hungry? We could go for sushi, unless you still want to put it off to next month,' he said with a smile.

'I think we can advance the schedule. Though I should probably find something else to wear,' she replied, looking at her Cannons jersey.

'I could loan you a shirt, but you'd probably swim in it.'

'I daresay you're right. Can we stop by my house first?'

'Of course,' he said. 'Just give me a moment to change.' He stepped into his bedroom and she took a moment to straighten her appearance.

'My parents will be there,' she called. 'Are you all right meeting them, or would you rather I go myself and come back here?'

He emerged wearing dark jeans and a button-down shirt. 'I'd be happy to meet them,' he said. 'Assuming they don't glower at me for dating their daughter.'

She smiled at his choice of words. 'No need to worry ... I think you already won over my mum by knowing how to use a telephone.'

'Harry said that would impress them,' he confessed.

'Is that why you rang instead of owling me?' she asked.

'Perhaps. But mostly because it was the fastest method—I couldn't just summon you like Harry did today with his house-elf.'

'Harry summoned Kreacher? To the stadium?'

'Yeah, apparently he'd locked him in a cupboard and forgot to release him.'

'Harry locked Kreacher in a cupboard?' exclaimed Hermione. 'On purpose?'

'It seems so. He said his elf was getting out of control and he needed to punish him,' said Ryan, chuckling.

Hermione was enraged. _How could Harry do such a thing?_ 'I need to give him a piece of my mind!' she cried, digging through her handbag. 'Do you have an owl I can borrow?'

'Oh dear, I shouldn't have said anything. But yes, I have an owl—she roosts on the rooftop.'

She pulled out a red envelope and parchment and quickly scrawled a message. 'It's either this or a Patronus, and I don't think an otter would convey the proper outrage.'

'You carry Howler stationery in your handbag?' he asked. 'How many Howlers do you send exactly?'

'I've never sent one before,' she replied. 'Harry gave me the stationery as a joke, and I've had it in my handbag ever since. It's charmed bottomless.'

He led her to the rooftop, and he took the Howler from her and attached it to the owl. 'I'm told she's very persistent, so I promise Harry will receive it.'

'Good! I hope she wakes him from a sound sleep.'

'You know you're a bit terrifying, right?' he said affectionately.

'Yes, I've been told.'

'Terrifying and brilliant,' he added. 'I can't wait to learn even more about you.'

'Consider yourself warned,' she smirked, and she took his hand. 'Side-along?'

'All right,' he said, and she turned on her heel.

They landed in her bedroom. 'Oh dear, I didn't think this through ... my parents might get the wrong impression when we walk downstairs.'

'What, that we've been snogging?' he asked mischievously.

'For example,' she said, turning her face up towards his for a quick kiss, and then she opened the door and led him down the stairs.

'Mum, Dad? I'm home, and I have a friend with me.'

Her mother replied from the kitchen. 'We're in here, preparing dinner.'

They entered the kitchen, and Hermione said, 'This is Ryan Bellamy, one of Harry's teammates.'

'How was the match?' asked Daniel, standing up. 'I'm Daniel Granger, by the way.'

'Nice to meet you, sir,' said Ryan, shaking his hand. 'I'm pleased to say we won for the first time in ages, thanks to Harry.'

'That's wonderful, congratulations!' said Emily, turning from the sink. 'And it's lovely to meet you in person, Ryan.' She turned to Hermione and said, 'Were you out celebrating then?'

'No, Ryan offered to take me flying afterwards.'

'On a broom? I thought you didn't like flying,' said Daniel.

Hermione looked up at Ryan and smiled. 'It seems I'd never had a good teacher before.'

'She was brilliant,' said Ryan. 'I'm certain she'll be proficient in no time.'

Emily said, 'I confess I have mixed feelings about that. I'm not sure I want Hermione undertaking another dangerous activity.'

'I understand. It took my father a while to accept flying—he's non-magical as well. But he was able to stop worrying after he'd done a statistical analysis and determined that brooms are far safer than cars, or even than Apparating.'

'Interesting,' said Daniel. 'So you're half Muggle then? Or I suppose they call that half-blood, right?'

'Yes, technically I'm half-blood,' replied Ryan, 'but it's a broad category as you've probably realised.'

'How old are you, Ryan?' asked Emily.

'I'll be twenty-three in August.'

'Three years older than Hermione, then,' she remarked. 'I'd invite you to stay to dinner, but I've already put it in the oven and I'm not sure we'll have enough.'

'We're going out for sushi, Mum. I've just stopped here to change out of my Cannons jersey.'

'Is that a good idea?' asked Daniel. 'You're less likely to be hit by a car wearing that. They're apparently quite dangerous—worse than brooms.'

Ryan laughed appreciatively, and Hermione excused herself to change into something a bit less blinding. She could tell her parents liked Ryan—probably better than they'd liked Ron, in fact.

She didn't feel the familiar pang when she thought of Ron. Just one day earlier she'd despaired of finding someone she could connect with, but things had changed completely. _I even flew, for Merlin's sake._

After changing into a summer jumper, she returned to the kitchen. 'We should probably go—I'm sure Ryan is famished by now.' Her parents stared at her, and she felt her face turn red. 'Because he flew in a match this afternoon,' she hastened to add.

Emily burst into laughter. 'Have a good time. I'm glad you were able to bring Ryan around. Congratulations again on the win.'

'Cheers,' said Ryan, who also looked embarrassed. 'Good night.'

Hermione kissed her parents and led Ryan into the lounge. 'Do you have somewhere in mind?'

'I do,' he said, taking her hand. 'Shall we?'

'Yes,' she replied, and their eyes met for a long while before he turned on his heel.


	16. Chapter 16

One by one, Harry and the other Cannons stumbled out of the fireplace at the Broken Spyglass, followed by Ron, Lee, and Katie. They were greeted by a loud cheer and immediately surrounded by enthusiastic fans, nearly all of whom were clad in orange.

Someone shoved a pint glass into Harry's hand, and the contents sloshed wildly as everyone clapped him on the back and shook his other hand. Harry didn't care though—he was still elated, and the spilled ale just added to the fun.

Before he could spill any more, he drained his glass to another chorus of cheers. 'Well done, Potter!' and 'Atta boy, Harry!' came the cries, and someone attempted to give him a refill. But he covered the top of the glass with his hand and shook his head.

'Careful, he's got to pace himself,' boomed Suresh, who had already started on his second pint. 'Seekers, you know,' he added, and everyone laughed.

Harry took a moment to look around the pub and was surprised by how large it was. 'It's magically extended,' shouted Gary over the din. 'It expands to fit the crowd, up to a certain point anyway. I'm sure we'll find out what the limit is this afternoon.'

They pushed away from the hearth and a group of patrons vacated tables for them. A magically-amplified voice rose over the crowd, and Harry saw an older wizard standing on a chair. 'On behalf of the Chudley Cannons Official Fan Club, I want to welcome Harry Potter to the team ... and congratulate him on catching the Snitch ... on his very first outing!' It took him a while to finish the sentence because of the interrupting fanfare. 'Three cheers for Harry Potter!' he cried.

'Hip hip hooray!' cried the crowd three times, and Harry thought his chest would explode.

'And three cheers for Lindhurst!' called a fan, and there was another round of hoorays.

Harry cried out, 'And cheers to Gary and Suresh for keeping me intact!' The room went wild again, and they acclaimed for the Chasers as well.

Harry grabbed Owen's hand and raised it high. 'And to Owen Barrowmaker! He's absolutely brilliant—I couldn't have done it without him!' There was enthusiastic applause, and Harry added, 'Shame he couldn't keep clear of the Bludgers,' and Owen raised two fingers at him, to loud laughter.

Owen shouted, 'Harry's a great flyer, and a real team player. Here's to a long and prosperous career with the Cannons,' and the crowed roared and raised their glasses.

Finally Harry pointed out Ron and said, 'And to my best mate Ron Weasley, for turning me onto the Cannons in the first place!'

Everyone appeared to recognise Ron, and he received huge cheers as well.

The players settled around their tables. Harry made sure to include Lee and Katie with him, and he noticed Ron was at a table with Janet and Darren.

Everyone was passing around Omnioculars to watch the game highlights. Amid all the shouting, Harry was able to watch the turnover he had forced, which resulted in a goal by Ryan. He also saw Janet's two saves and the sequence where he caught the Snitch, starting with Underhill's attempt to deceive him with a feint.

'That was really fantastic,' said Owen. 'I doubt I could have spotted the Snitch after the other Seeker had started feinting.'

'It was all your instruction,' replied Harry. 'The Snitch just appeared to me without effort.'

'Brilliant, keep at it! I'm sorry I couldn't serve the team by catching the Snitch much myself, but this is the next best thing.'

Their conversation was regularly interrupted by fans seeking autographs. More than a few witches—and a couple of wizards—asked him to sign the covers from the _Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_. Harry knew he should be embarrassed, but he didn't mind somehow. They were clearly overjoyed, which gave him a lot of satisfaction.

'How long will we stay here?' Harry asked Owen after a while. 'This is fun, but I'd enjoy actually talking with everyone.'

'I'll probably head home shortly—I'm sure Joanna is ready for help with the girls. But the rest of you can leave anytime you like ... you've already put in a long enough appearance.'

'That sounds good. I'll see what the others have in mind.'

A quick conference among the players resulted in most of the reserves staying at the Spyglass, Gary and Owen returning home to their families, and the rest of them—including Lara—heading over to Grimmauld Place.

They went there by Floo, and everyone poured into the formal reception hall. 'So this is the seat of Lord Snitchbottom,' said Renée, looking around.

'My god, Potter, how can you live here?' asked Suresh. 'This place is about as cheerful as the underside of a coffin.'

'You know, I'm completely used to it,' said Harry. 'It's actually much better than it once was, now that the Dark magic and rotting smells are gone.'

'It's true,' said Ron. 'You should have seen it before.'

'I'm sorry, who is Lord Snitchbottom?' asked Katie.

Harry rolled his head in exasperation while Janet explained. 'It came out today that Harry is the proud owner of the ugliest ring in creation, which designates him head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Emphasis on "noble."'

'It's completely meaningless,' said Harry. 'I'm barely related to the Blacks, and the only reason there's a lordship is because they coughed up gold for the Ministry a few hundred years ago.'

'You're Lord Black?' said Lara, laughing. 'I think we're going to need to dedicate a wall at the training facility for all your _Prophet_ covers. And maybe new wards to fend off the marriage proposals. Social climbers, you know.'

'Oh hell, do you think the _Prophet_ is going to find out?' asked Harry, horrified.

'Not from the team, but there were several Falcons staff members present,' said Suresh. 'Sorry mate, you're screwed.'

'Just count yourself lucky no one photographed the ring,' said Renée.

'Doesn't matter,' replied Darren. 'There's probably a drawing in one of those pure-blood masturbatory journals.'

'Cheer up, Harry,' said Suresh. 'Maybe you'll start a fashion for gold and emerald carbuncles.'

'I need to see this thing,' said Lara. 'It can't be as ghastly as what I'm picturing, surely.'

'Oh yes it can be,' said Suresh. 'Go on, Snitchbottom.'

Harry revealed the ring, and Lara, Katie, and Lee choked with laughter. 'Is that actually supposed to be high-class?' asked Katie. 'I thought the old families had discreet signet rings, like some of the Slytherins wore.'

'Those were the rings you saw,' said Suresh. 'The rings like Harry's are probably all hidden.'

'Excuse me, I think I've taken enough abuse.' He turned towards the others and said, 'What do you say—shall I introduce Suresh to the lady of the house?'

'Definitely,' said Janet, and they walked towards the entrance hall.

Walburga was sleeping but Harry woke her up. 'Mrs. Black, I wish to introduce my friend Suresh.'

She narrowed her eyes at Suresh and said, '_A coolie! And a blood traitor to boot. Why have you brought your dishonour into my house?'_

Suresh looked at her sharply, 'And how is this your house, you two-dimensional, racist cow?'

'_I am the mistress of this house, scum!'_

'I don't think so. Boy Who Lived over there is wearing the ring. Show her, Potter.'

The ring was conveniently on Harry's middle finger, which he raised to her.

'_It is my greatest torment that the ill-begotten son of a blood traitor and a Mudblood darkens these hallowed halls,'_ she cried.

'Darkens these halls?' exclaimed Suresh. 'They're pitch black to begin with!'

'_How dare you pronounce the sacred name of my fathers!'_

'Your fathers?' continued Suresh. 'Hang on, didn't you marry into the family?'

'She was also born a Black,' said Harry.

'Now that's just nasty,' said Suresh. 'I may be a pure-blood, but at least I have the full count of great-grandparents.'

'This is fantastic,' said Janet. 'You could sell tickets.'

'_Your blood may be pure,'_ bellowed Walburga, _'but your skin is the wrong colour.'_

'Excuse me, what's your surname again? I'm a good deal blacker than you are,' retorted Suresh.

'Same here,' said Renée.

'Me too,' added Lee. 'So piss off, you pasty bitch.'

Walburga's eyes darted around for a moment, as if she were still processing the exchange. But then she burst into a rage unlike any Harry had seen. _'You disgusting monsters! Were I able to command my elf, I would have him slay you all and hurl your reeking carcasses into a dragon pit!'_ she cried.

'Good luck with that, you worm-eaten corpse,' said Harry. 'Your elf answers to me now. Kreacher!'

_Crack!_ 'Yes, Master!'

'Good afternoon, Kreacher. Would you please cook some pizzas for my friends? We're all hungry.'

'Of course, Master, with pleasure!' he said, before disappearing again.

Before Walburga could respond, Harry tapped the portrait with his wand and said, 'Now shut your gob, cuntwaffle.'

There was silence, and then a round of applause. 'I think that was more satisfying than watching you catch the Snitch,' said Katie.

'Please say we can have her for the shop,' implored Lee.

'That's my intention. I've spoken to a portrait painter, and we have a plan to dislodge her. I'll know more this week.'

Suresh peered into the dining room. 'May I look around? As long as we're here, I want to thoroughly darken these hallowed halls.'

'Have at it,' said Harry.

They paraded through the dining room, which everyone except Suresh and Renée had already seen. 'You could really host an epic party, Potter,' said Suresh. 'How many people does this room even hold?'

'I've never counted, but I'd guess the table seats forty.'

'Fantastic,' replied Suresh. 'And is there more room for entertaining upstairs?'

'Yes, there's an equally gloomy drawing room,' said Ron, 'and also a library.'

They climbed the stairs and entered the drawing room. 'What on earth is that?' asked Darren upon seeing the tapestry. 'Oh my god ... the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Are you even on here?'

'My great-grandparents were on there, but Walburga scorched them off decades ago,' replied Harry, indicating the spot Andromeda had shown him. 'And even if they hadn't been obliterated, I wouldn't have been on it thanks to my unfortunate parentage.'

'_Pas toujours pur,_ eh?' said Renée, looking at the large inscription on top.

'No, not particularly _pur_ at all. I'm sure Sirius thinks it's hilarious I'm Head of House.'

'What was he like anyway?' asked Janet. 'Besides the whole mass-murderer thing?'

Harry and Ron looked at each other. 'He was brilliant,' said Ron. 'A bit mad, but I suppose Azkaban will do that to a bloke. He loved Harry to pieces.'

'It was mutual,' said Harry, a little choked up. 'I wish he could have been there today.'

'Yeah,' said Ron, and everyone was quiet for a moment.

'It's strange how backwards everything was,' said Renée. 'I remember when Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban and his photo was everywhere. We thought he was the worst of the worst. And then a couple of years later the Ministry was saying how awful you were, Harry. My parents didn't believe it, of course, but a lot of my classmates did. And then during the war, the only news we could trust was Potterwatch, or maybe the _Quibbler_.'

'That was Lee, you know,' said Ron. 'Potterwatch, that is.'

'Really?' said Lara, turning towards Lee. 'Potterwatch was a lifesaver. Really gave us hope.'

'I only heard it once,' said Harry, 'but it meant the world to me.'

'Are you still doing radio announcing?' she asked Lee.

'Not much opportunity these days,' he replied. 'I'm running a joke shop with Ron's brother George.'

'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?' asked Lara. 'That place is brilliant—my younger brother loves it. You should broadcast from there—I'm sure he and his mates would all listen.'

'Lara, you're a genius!' exclaimed Ron. 'Lee, this needs to happen. You could have interviews and comedy segments ... that sort of thing.'

'Could you do an interview with Walburga?' asked Janet. 'I'd tune in for that, particularly if you get Suresh on as well.'

Lee had a thoughtful expression, as if his mind were running through possibilities. 'I'd have to discuss it with George, but I love the idea.'

'You could get Harry as a guest,' said Lara. 'Loads of people would tune in for that.'

Everyone looked at Harry and he said, 'Of course, I'd be delighted to.'

'It seems your days of privacy are over, now you're on the Cannons,' said Katie.

'Harry had privacy?' said Darren. 'Now there's a horrifying thought.'

'You have a lot of talents, Potter,' said Suresh, 'but maintaining your privacy isn't one of them.'

Ron laughed. 'No, it really isn't.'

'So let's see the rest of this house,' said Suresh. 'This drawing room will hold another several dozen people, surely.'

They filed into the library, and Harry said, 'I'm not sure it's a good idea to open this room to a crowd. The bookcases are filled with horrors, and the family Grimoire is even worse,' he added, indicating the large volume. 'Don't touch it, by the way. I'm sure it has all sorts of gruesome curses on it.'

'All right, the library is off limits,' said Suresh. 'Are there any other large spaces we could use? Besides the stair landings, which are already pretty big.'

'There's also the sitting room—we can head there next.'

'You must have extra bedrooms,' said Janet. 'Depending on what kind of party we're talking about, those could get some use.'

'Sign me up,' said Darren.

Ron turned to Harry and said, 'You have to admit, Sirius would have loved for you to host a massive party here.'

'You'd be honouring his memory,' said Janet. 'Perhaps we could stage a mass murder of some kind, in tribute.'

_Crack!_ 'Master, dinner is ready. Would Master like it served in the kitchen, dining room, or bedroom?'

Everyone laughed, and a sheepish Harry said, 'In the kitchen, thank you.' The house-elf disappeared with another loud _crack_.

'That's a new suggestion from Kreacher,' said Ron. 'He's expanded his repertoire?'

'Sounds more like Harry has,' said Janet.

Harry ignored her and they all headed downstairs. 'This is the sitting room,' he said as they passed through.

'Oh, this is minuscule. You could only cram twenty or so people in here,' observed Suresh. They walked into the kitchen and he added, 'But fortunately you could squeeze another thirty in here. That's it—you're hosting a huge party.'

'Does Master wish to host a party?' asked Kreacher.

'Apparently,' said Harry, who had somehow surrendered to Suresh's mad idea. 'Merlin knows when, though.'

'Kreacher would be overjoyed to prepare the house for a party! Would Master like for Kreacher to consult the family recipes?'

'Good lord no,' said Harry. 'Your new style of cooking is perfect.'

'Yes, Master.'

The table was laid with a variety of pizzas, and also pitchers of butterbeer and pumpkin juice.

'Pumpkin juice?' asked Darren. 'You really did go to Hogwarts, didn't you.'

'No, I've been bluffing this whole time,' said Harry. 'What's wrong with pumpkin juice?'

'It's ... a granny sort of beverage,' said Darren. 'A bit stringy, keeps you regular. Last popular during Grindelwald's War, I reckon.'

'This is news to me,' said Harry. 'What do modern wizards drink?'

'I'm partial to fruit pressés, personally,' said Lara. 'There are some good wizarding brands available.'

'There's also an exciting new spell called _Aguamenti_,' said Janet. 'Do you actually like pumpkin juice?'

'Not really,' admitted Harry. 'But I got used to it. What about you, Ron?'

'I guess I never thought about it. But you're right, it is rather stringy.'

'I used to carry a water bottle around Hogwarts,' said Katie.

Lee said, 'Personally I like pumpkin juice.' He reached and poured himself a glass.

'Yes, but you also like tripe,' said Katie.

'That's true.'

Everyone helped themselves to pizza and began eating heartily. 'Now this is good,' said Suresh. 'Locking up your house-elf is clearly paying off.'

'He makes good curries too,' said Lara.

'I'll be the judge of that,' replied Suresh.

After they'd eaten and thanked the delighted Kreacher, the discussion turned towards their evening plans. 'Shall we go out then?' asked Darren. 'The night is young.'

Ron glanced at Janet. 'I know I'd like to.'

'So would I,' she said. 'Any thoughts on where to go?'

'How about Penumbra?' said Harry quietly.

Janet laughed. 'It's clear what you're looking for, Snitchbottom.'

Darren said, 'Best not to go there too often. It's safe, but not entirely. It'll eventually ruin you for other bars.'

Remembering Alistair, Harry sensed what Darren was talking about. 'I suppose you're right. What do you propose then?'

Janet and Darren both thought for a moment. 'How about the Lost Legion?' she asked.

'Nice.' said Darren. 'Somewhat more wholesome than Penumbra, but not oppressively so. Good crowd too.'

'Where is it?' asked Ron. 'I've never heard of it.'

'Bath,' said Janet. 'They had a wizarding community back in Roman times, and some of the private spaces remain.'

'How do people even learn about these bars?' asked Harry.

'Word of mouth, of course. Same way you're hearing about them.'

Harry looked around. 'Who else is in?'

Everyone besides Renée accepted. 'My girlfriend is expecting me home—she wasn't interested in coming to the Spyglass after the match, but she'll want me back soon.'

'You should invite her here next time,' said Harry.

'I will, thanks.'

Renée left, and everyone else went home to change into nicer clothing—Ron was particularly keen, since he was still wearing orange from head to toe. The plan was to meet at the Lost Legion soon after.

Harry opened his wardrobe and selected his one smart outfit, which Ginny had helped him buy. _I wonder if the tailor's shop is open tomorrow, _he thought_. _If he was going to be seen in public regularly, he should probably have more than one decent set of clothes to wear.

Following Darren's instructions, he travelled to the Lost Legion by Floo and emerged to find Janet, Darren, and Katie all waiting. Stepping away from the hearth, he looked at his surroundings.

Harry had seen pictures of Roman ruins—there had been a very fussy engraving in the sitting room at Privet Drive—but this was no ruin. The room was vast, with a high, vaulted ceiling supported by numerous columns, and it looked as if it had been completed the day before. The mosaics covering the floor were fully intact, and when Harry looked closer he saw that the tile animals were moving. There were numerous marble sculptures, which were unbroken and also animated, turning their heads to sightlessly survey the scene. It wasn't perfectly preserved—it was perfectly alive.

'This is remarkable,' said Harry, looking everywhere at once. 'We should really bring Hermione here sometime. She's mad for history.'

'It's amazing, isn't it?' said Janet. 'I like how it transforms the act of getting pissed into a cultural experience.'

'Well said,' replied Darren. He turned towards the hearth and said, 'Hopefully the others will be along soon.'

Ron was next to step from the large fireplace. His hair was back to its normal hue, and Harry noticed he was wearing a particularly smart shirt that Hermione had given him for his last birthday. Ron looked around and then turned to Janet and said, 'You look very nice. Classical Roman surroundings definitely suit you.'

Her eyes sparkled, and Harry could tell she'd charmed her lips redder as she'd done the weekend before. 'Thank you,' she said. 'And you're looking considerably less orange. I like it.'

Lee and George appeared next. 'Harry, congratulations!' said George. 'And to think, you owe it all to me.'

'I'm sorry, how's that?' asked Harry.

'You may recall that a fortnight ago you and I were at the Twisted Niffler, and my shoddy Notice-Me-Not Charm revealed your secret Quidditch ambitions to the world.'

'You're right!' said Harry. 'If it weren't for your total incompetence at charms, not to mention your lack of respect for my privacy, I'd still be whinging about my job at the Ministry.'

'My point exactly. So you clearly owe me a drink,' said George. 'Shall we find a table?'

'I don't actually see any empty tables with chairs,' said Ron. 'Just tall tables to stand at.'

'As long as there's a place to rest my glass, I'm content,' said George. 'But first introduce me to your mates.'

Harry introduced George to Darren and Janet, and within a minute Lara and Suresh arrived as well. They wandered over to a cluster of tables, and Harry found himself with Ron, Janet, and George.

'I'm sorry I wasn't able to attend the match,' said George, 'but I had the radio on in the shop. Same as every shop in Diagon Alley, I'll wager.'

'Were people interested?' asked Janet.

'Definitely,' said George. 'It sounds like you made a couple of good saves.'

'They were brilliant,' said Ron. 'I can't believe I forgot to bring my Omnioculars to the match, otherwise I could show you.'

'What I want to see are some Pensieve memories of Harry playing Quidditch as a wee firstie. Were you on his house team as well?' she asked George.

'Yes, my brother Fred and I were Beaters, back when ickle Harrikins was no bigger than a Bludger.'

'Oi!' cried Harry.

'Oh right,' said Janet, ignoring Harry. 'I recall hearing you have a twin. Why isn't he here tonight? There's always room for another ginger,' she added, with a saucy gleam in her eyes.

At first nobody answered, until Harry said, 'Fred died in the war.'

Janet looked mortified. 'Oh my god, I'm so sorry.'

'That's all right,' said George, and Ron nodded.

She continued, 'No, you'd think I'd have learnt by now not to put my foot in it like that. It's not like I didn't lose people too.'

Everyone was quiet, until George said, 'Now that we're all maudlin, shall we get some drinks? I believe Harry's buying the first round.'

'That's a brilliant idea,' said Janet. 'Ron, should we accompany him? He might need help carrying pitchers and glasses, with those teensy little hands.'

'I do not have small hands!' protested Harry, holding them up. 'I caught the bleeding Snitch, didn't I?'

'You're just too easy to provoke, Snitchbottom.'

The three of them walked together to the bar, and the bartender did a pair of double-takes—first at Ron and then at Harry. 'Hello there, what can I get you?'

'Two pitchers, please,' said Harry. 'Ale and porter, and some glasses.'

The bartender started to pull their pitchers and said, 'I haven't seen you here before. Is this your first time then?'

'She's been here before,' said Ron, indicating Janet, 'but yeah, this is Harry's and my first time.'

'Well I hope you enjoy it,' said the bartender. 'It's certainly an honour having you.'

'It's a pleasure to be here,' said Harry. 'I've never seen any place like it.'

'Yes, we're proud of it.' He gave them a stack of glasses and handed them the pitchers. 'No charge.'

'Thanks, but that's not necessary,' said Harry.

'I insist,' said the bartender. 'You can get the next round.'

'Cheers,' said Ron, and they returned to the table with their drinks.

Janet turned to Ron and said, 'Being around you and Harry is bad for my ego.'

'How's that?' asked Ron.

'Darren and I normally get all sorts of attention when we're out, and the rest of the Cannons as well, but now we're just hangers-on. I barely got a second glance just now,' she said with mock indignation.

'Well he must be blind then,' said Ron. 'I'd much rather have a second glance at you—I've seen more than enough of Harry.'

'They did share a dormitory, after all,' said George. 'Not to mention that tent.'

'What was that like?' she asked Ron. 'Not seeing Harry's bits, of course—fighting You-Know-Who that last year of the war.'

Ron straightened and said, 'It wasn't only that last year, you know. It started our first year at Hogwarts, when Voldemort possessed one of our professors ...'

While Ron spoke to a rapt Janet, George leaned over to Harry and said, 'And so it begins.'

'What's that?' asked Harry. 'You mean Ron's pulling career?'

'Exactly. I'm not saying he doesn't deserve it—he earned that Order of Merlin. But it's amusing to see him collecting the spoils of war.'

Harry wasn't sure how to reply—the same could be said of him, after all. 'Do you suppose we should give them some privacy?' he asked. 'I'm feeling a bit extraneous.'

'Same here,' replied George, and they took one of the pitchers over to the table where Lara, Katie, Darren, and Lee were standing.

'Have you lost Suresh again?' asked Harry.

'No, he's off talking to some mates,' said Darren. 'But Lara and I are having fun taking the piss out of the Hogwarts contingent.'

'It's not our fault we were trapped in a brainwashing warded castle for seven years,' said Katie.

George asked, 'Is that the leading theory then?'

'We don't know yet,' said Harry, 'Hermione and Bill are still investigating. But there's definitely something at Hogwarts, based on what happened after my visit on Wednesday.'

'How do you suppose wizarding society is going to react when it all comes out?' asked Katie.

'It'll be mayhem, as usual,' said Darren. 'I've already starting telling my Blockhurst chums, and they're simultaneously furious and amused.'

'It's exciting to realise how many people our age are out there,' said Katie. 'Particularly for those of us who didn't meet our true love at school.'

'This is what Harry and I were talking about a few weeks ago,' said George. 'The absurd tendency for wizards to marry before they're twenty.'

'Tell me about it,' said Katie. 'My grandmum already considers me an old maid. She's been trying to teach me charms for making doilies.'

Darren started laughing. 'And you're what, twenty?'

'Twenty-one.'

'Oh, that's different. You'd best get started on those doilies,' said Darren.

'Is it the same among your peers?' asked George. 'Or is it unique to Hogwarts?'

'No, it's not just Hogwarts,' said Lara. 'Wizards are definitely in a hurry to pair up. I suspect the bond has something to do with it.'

'What bond?' asked Harry.

'Really, Harry, how have you managed to stay so ignorant?' asked George. 'Did Dumbledore put special wards around your four-poster in Gryffindor Tower?'

'Nothing would surprise me,' grumbled Harry.

'Anyway, the bond is a ritual performed at a traditional wizarding wedding, usually afterwards, in private. It creates a stronger link between the couple,' said George.

'In other words, it papers over incompatibilities,' said Darren. 'Not perfectly, but usually well enough to keep a couple from cursing each other to death.'

'George, why didn't you mention this two weeks ago?' asked Harry. 'It helps explain why wizards marry so young.'

'I'm pretty sure I was distracted by our tangent about Arthur Weasley and Muggle contraceptives,' said George. 'But we've been drawn away from Katie's earlier point: that there are more eligible partners out there than we've been led to believe.'

'Yes,' said Lee, 'that came as a nice surprise when George told me about the other schools last week. It also explains how the joke shop manages to stay afloat.' He turned to George and added, 'I never understood how you and Fred expected to make it work just selling to Hogwarts students.'

'We had an easily steered backer,' said George. 'A bit dim, to be honest.' Harry glared at him, and George smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. 'Cheers, mate.'

'So will you throw that party, Harry?' asked Lara. 'It seems like a good opportunity to introduce your Hogwarts classmates to the likes of us.'

Katie said, 'Please say yes! That would be fantastic. I'd be glad to help out.'

'Same here,' said Lara, and the others nodded.

'All right, why not?' said Harry. 'Sirius would certainly approve, and it would make Kreacher happy.'

'Brilliant,' said Darren. 'How should we plan it? We can't just place a notice in the _Prophet_. You'd be overrun.'

'Why not just branch out from our current circles?' said Katie. 'We could invite several years of Hogwarts classmates, and then you and the other Cannons could invite your friends. Nobody would turn down the invitation, surely. Even without Harry involved, everyone would want to see the inside of an old pure-blood mansion.'

'How would we keep it safe?' asked Harry. 'I love the idea, but I won't have much fun if I'm in Auror mode all night, and I'm sure others would feel the same way. And how would people arrive? The house isn't under Fidelius any longer, but it's still Unplottable and all the rest.'

'The goblins can handle that,' said George, 'particularly now that you're back in their good graces. They can arrange portkeys, alter the Floo restrictions ... you name it. For a price, of course.'

Suresh had returned to the table and was eagerly following the conversation. 'So you're going to do it then? Brilliant! Have you chosen a date?'

'Not yet,' said Lara. 'Are there any special occasions coming up?'

George conspicuously ran a finger around his missing ear and said, 'I seem to recall that Harry has a birthday approaching. It was fairly memorable a couple of years ago.'

Harry grimaced. George had lost his ear just before Harry's seventeenth birthday, when the Order used decoys to extract him from Privet Drive. In addition to George's injury, Mad-Eye and Hedwig had both died that night.

George noticed his expression. 'Maybe we should make some new memories.'

'Yeah, maybe so,' said Harry. 'It's Neville's birthday too—the day before mine.'

'Is that a friend of yours?' asked Lara.

'Yes, Neville Longbottom.'

'I'm sorry, did you say Snitchbottom?' joked Suresh.

'Don't let poor Neville hear that,' said Harry. 'I think he still has a complex.'

'He was what you might call a "late bloomer,"' said Katie.

'Have we decided on a date?' asked Lara. 'Today is the seventeenth ... two Saturdays from now will be the thirty-first. Does that work?'

'Wait a moment,' said Harry, 'we have a match that afternoon. Won't we be in a bad mood if we lose?'

Darren, Suresh, and Lara all laughed. 'If there's anything the Cannons are consistently good at,' said Darren, 'it's taking defeat in stride. But I don't think it'll be a problem—our fortunes seem to be shifting.'

'Fingers crossed,' said Harry. 'All right then, I suppose we have a plan. I'll go to Gringotts tomorrow to arrange the protections.'

They talked for a while longer about the party before Katie changed the subject. 'Lee, you need to tell George about Lara's stroke of genius.'

'Oh right!' said Lee. 'Lara thought we could do a regular radio broadcast from the shop.'

'Now there's a thought,' said George. 'What do you have in mind?'

'Comedy segments, interviews ... you should have heard Suresh and Harry earlier with Walburga,' replied Lee.

'Walburga Black on the radio? Brilliant!' said George. 'Do you have any idea how to go about it? We can't exactly relaunch Potterwatch.'

'No,' said Lee. 'It would have to be legitimate this time, so we'd either need to go through the Wizarding Wireless Network or get our own licence from the Ministry. But I have books about all that.'

'I reckon you do,' said George warmly. Harry could see that George wanted to help Lee fulfil his old dream of becoming a radio announcer.

They discussed it a while longer before Harry started getting restless. He was having a great time with his mates, but he had additional plans for the evening. Amazingly nobody had approached him for an autograph, which he appreciated, but the time had come for him to broaden his social circle.

Lee and Lara seemed to be hitting it off, and Katie was having a good time talking with Darren and Suresh. Harry turned to George and said, 'Do you fancy walking around a bit? I wouldn't mind checking out the crowd.'

If George suspected Harry's true motive, he didn't say anything. 'Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe get another drink while we're at it.'

They walked together towards the bar, and Harry noticed people looking at him. He normally did his best not to look back, but this time he kept an eye out for pretty witches. _Not bad_, he thought, noticing a few. _But let's keep our options open._

He and George each ordered another pint, which Harry was permitted to pay for, and without discussing it they chose a tall table in an area with a high concentration of young women. Harry consciously lowered the outer barrier he normally wore in public—not a magical barrier, but a closed-off sort of energy that said, _'Leave me alone.' _It didn't work very well in most settings, but the crowd at the Lost Legion seemed less inclined to intrude.

Witches started trying to catch his eye. He affected nonchalance and focussed on his conversation with George until a particularly attractive duo appeared. _Either of them would do nicely_, he thought, and he felt slightly ashamed of how shallow he was. But not too ashamed to look meaningfully back at them.

He turned from George and made room at the table for the two women. They seemed surprised, as if they hadn't expected Harry to acknowledge them, but he smiled invitingly and they approached.

'Please join us,' he said. 'I'm Harry, and this is my friend George Weasley.'

'Not Ron Weasley?' said one of the women, looking appraisingly at George.

'No, I'm his infinitely superior elder brother,' he replied, in his best Malfoy drawl. 'And who might you be?'

'I'm Rebecca,' she said, 'and this is Helena.'

'I knew a Helena once,' mused Harry, who was feeling the effects of the beer. 'She was a ghost. Beautiful though.'

'Really?' replied Helena. 'Are ghosts your type then?'

George interjected, 'That's a good question. Harry, I seem to recall you spent a lot of time with Moaning Myrtle back at Hogwarts. And didn't you once attend a Deathday Party?'

'Yes, but it wasn't exactly my idea of a good time. I'd say I have a strong preference for the living.'

'I'm glad we've established that,' said George. 'So Rebecca, Helena ... tell us about yourselves.'

The women looked at each other before talking. 'We both attended West Chipworth,' said Rebecca. 'We finished a year ago.'

'What are your interests then?' asked George.

'I work in a Potions shop,' said Rebecca. 'I do a lot of brewing, to maintain stock.'

'Is that your interest or just your job?' persisted George.

'I can't say I'm keen on brewing the same potions all the time, but I enjoy the subject.

'George is quite the brewer,' said Harry. 'He received an Outstanding on his O.W.L.'

'What about your N.E.W.T.?' asked Rebecca.

Both men laughed. 'Never took it,' said George. 'Neither did Harry, for that matter.'

'Harry I understand,' she said, 'but what was your excuse?'

'Hogwarts was being run by a sadistic harpy that year, so I took my leave early and opened a shop,' said George. Harry noticed he didn't mention Fred.

'Which shop? Would I know it?' she asked.

'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes on Diagon Alley,' said Harry. 'It's brilliant.'

She was impressed. 'Too right it is! Our Potions master used to give out your sweets as prizes. She said they were some of the cleverest Potions applications she'd seen. The Canary Creams were her favourites—she had us write eighteen inches about the interaction between Potions and short-term Transfiguration.'

'George, can you imagine Snape giving out sweets for prizes?' asked Harry.

'More like poison for punishments.'

George and Rebecca continued to talk Potions, and Harry turned to Helena. 'I'm sorry, I still don't know anything about you, other than your name and which school you attended.'

Helena smiled coquettishly at him. 'I'm not sure I should reveal anything. I'm at a decided advantage here.'

'Perhaps, but there's a fine line between an air of mystery and total impenetrability,' replied Harry.

'Oh, I'm not impenetrable,' she said saucily, and Harry's eyes shot open. 'But in answer to your question, I do Charms work for our family business. Magical trunks and suitcases, mostly.'

'Brilliant,' said Harry. 'Whenever I see magical suitcases I long for one, but I've no present need. I wish I'd known to purchase a magical trunk when I started school—all I had was an old Muggle trunk.'

'That's a shame,' she said. 'I know my grandfather offered you one for your eleventh birthday, but he never got a response.'

_Dumbledore strikes again, _thought Harry irritably. 'I'm so sorry. I never heard anything about it, or any other gifts for that matter. Please apologise to your family for me.'

'There are no hard feelings, I'm sure. I think they assumed you had more offers than you could respond to.'

Harry shook his head. 'Perhaps I did, but I have no way of knowing. I hate to think how many people thought I was an ungrateful little twat.' He looked down and noticed her glass was nearly empty. 'Can I get you something else to drink? I feel I ought to make it up to your family somehow.'

'Honestly, what I'd really like is somewhere to sit down. I didn't wear very sensible shoes,' she said, stepping away from the table to show him her three-inch heels.

He gave the shoes a cursory glance but lingered on the legs and slim ankles leading into them. 'They're lovely, certainly, but I can't say I'd want to wear them.' He looked around the room and said, 'I don't see any seats available, but we could Floo to my house and continue our conversation sitting down.'

She raised an eyebrow at him. 'All right,' she said. 'I don't normally go home with strangers but I'll make an exception, considering how much I already know about you. Congratulations on catching the Snitch, by the way.'

'Thanks,' he said, smiling. He had forgot about the match and was happy to be reminded. 'George, we're going to find somewhere for Helena to sit down. I'll see you sometime this week?'

George turned from Rebecca for a moment. 'Yes, sounds great.'

'Nice to meet you, Rebecca,' said Harry.

'Likewise.' She looked pointedly at Helena, who nodded very slightly. 'Have a good time.'

Harry led her to the fireplace, walking slowly to accommodate her sore feet. 'Let me go through first, to clear the wards, and then you should ask for "Grimmauld Place," he said.

'Are you serious?'

'Yes. And I should warn you, it lives up to the name. I didn't decorate it.'

'I'm intrigued. See you in a minute.'

He soon welcomed her in the formal reception hall, and she looked around. 'Thanks for warning me. I'd have probably turned right around if you hadn't. Why on earth do you live here?'

'I inherited the house from my godfather. I think he was hoping I'd fix the place up a bit, but I've grown used to it. I suppose I'll get around to redecorating one day, but I have other priorities at present. Such as finding you a place to sit down.'

'For example,' she said dryly. 'Which direction?'

'Upstairs, if you can manage. Feel free to take your shoes off.'

He'd decided to bring her to the drawing room. It had been enjoyable to 'cavort' in front of the tapestry, as Elizabeth had called it, and he wanted to give it another try.

They managed to pass in front of Walburga without waking her, and Helena climbed the stairs ahead of him in her stockinged feet. When they reached the landing, he lightly placed his hand on her back and guided her into the drawing room.

The gas lights flared and she looked around the room with wide eyes. '_Toujours pur_ ... really? Have I awakened in some kind of alternative universe? You're the Harry Potter who _defeated_ Voldemort, right?'

He laughed. 'Don't worry, this is the Black family tree, not mine. I'm not even on it.'

'I know I'm not,' she said. 'My father's parents are immigrants, and my mother is Muggle-born.'

'Same with my mother. Here, have a seat,' he said, indicating a sofa opposite the tapestry. 'Can I get you something to drink?'

'Yes please, what do you have?'

_Oh bugger_, he thought. They'd finished the Butterbeer at dinner. 'I'm sorry, all I have is pumpkin juice.'

She started laughing. 'Are you serious? I thought you and I were the same age.'

'We are. But I learnt today that Hogwarts has warped me in yet another way by making me believe pumpkin juice was essential wizarding fare. It was pretty much all they served.'

'Really? That's odd. Do you suppose it was to prevent problems with the plumbing?'

'Anything's possible,' he replied. 'So I'm guessing you don't want any. I could offer you water then, or run out to the corner shop and get you something a bit more contemporary.'

'Water is fine,' she said, and he conjured and filled a glass for her. 'Do you mind if I put my feet up?'

'By all means, go ahead. Would you like a foot massage?'

'Oh yes, please,' she said, with surprising passion. _Now this is promising,_ he thought. Helena seemed like less of a foregone conclusion than Elizabeth had been, but if she was that excited at the mere mention of a foot massage, he had high hopes for what might follow.

He wasn't disappointed. 'Oh, Harry,' she moaned. 'Yes, that's perfect. Yes ... yes.' Before long, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes had taken on a sultry cast.

This seemed like his opportunity. 'Is there anywhere else you want ... massaging?' he asked, leaning over her. She answered by pulling him closer, and they stayed entangled on the sofa for a long while.

'I've revised my opinion on pure-blood decorating,' she murmured. 'It has some real advantages.'

'I'm glad you see it that way. Are you still comfortable?' He had no wish to relocate, but he wasn't in contact with any sofa springs.

'Yes,' she said, running her hands farther down his body. He took the hint and began focussing his efforts beneath her skirt, removing her stockings first. 'Oh, Harry ... don't stop.' This continued for a while until he could no longer delay more active participation.

He removed his trousers in plain sight, to avoid any surprises, and she smiled lustily at him. 'Yes, now,' she moaned.

After casting a Contraception Charm, Harry climbed on top and they soon found a mutually enjoyable rhythm. Helena was vocal, which he rather enjoyed, so it was a while before they noticed the loud tapping sound.

He tried to ignore it, but it grew more and more insistent. 'What is that?' asked Helena. She sat up, dislodging him, and turned to the window. 'Is that an owl?'

His vocabulary was limited. 'Fuck, I don't know.'

'You'd better get it,' she said. 'I think it might break the glass.'

Harry staggered from the sofa, catching his foot on his discarded trousers and falling to the floor. 'Bugger!' He stood up again and made his way to the window before opening it.

All owls were terrifying—even Hedwig—but this one was particularly fearsome. It glared fiercely and held out a leg, to which a red envelope was attached. Harry removed it and the owl flew off with a violent flutter of wings.

'I think it's a Howler,' he said in a panicked voice. 'How did anyone get my address? It's fully protected.'

'Stop talking and open it!' she cried.

'Can't I _Incendio_ it or something?'

'Not once you've touched it! Please, open it now!'

He tore it open and Hermione's voice blasted through the room. _'HARRY JAMES POTTER, I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE IT BUT APPARENTLY YOU LOCKED KREACHER IN A CUPBOARD YOU BLOODY BASTARD. IT'S BAD ENOUGH YOU OWN A SLAVE BUT THEN TO PUNISH HIM WORSE THAN A DOG. I SHOULD CALL THE R.S.P.C.A. ON YOU, YOU REVOLTING SWINE. AFTER ALL WE'VE BEEN THROUGH I THOUGHT I KNEW YOU BETTER THAN THIS. YOU'D BETTER HAVE A GOOD EXPLANATION BUT I CAN'T THINK OF ONE. YOURS, HERMIONE_._'_

The envelope fell from Harry's hand and burst into flames before collapsing into ashes. 'Was that Hermione Granger?' asked Helena.

'Yes,' said Harry, dazed. He was still standing by the window without his trousers on.

'What did you do exactly? Why did you lock someone in a cupboard? And what's that about owning a slave?' She was sitting up and had pulled her dress back over her.

'It's my house-elf, Kreacher. He's been increasingly contrary lately, to the point where he won't let me prepare my own breakfast. This morning I idly threatened to punish him, and he lit up like a candle. So we agreed he could stay in a cupboard for several hours, but then I forgot to release him before leaving for my match, and I had to summon him to the stadium. Which must be how she found out—I suppose my teammate Ryan mentioned it.'

'I see.'

'She has very strong feelings about the treatment of house-elves,' he added.

'So I gathered,' said Helena. She was silent another moment before laughing. 'And here I thought I knew everything about you.'

He couldn't help smiling. 'So you're not going to report me for keeping slaves and torturing them?'

'No,' she said. 'But I might want to see proof of this house-elf, and that he's not being mistreated.' She rose from the sofa and began walking towards him.

'Now?' he asked, glancing down at his naked bottom half.

She was right in front of him and put her hands on his hips. 'I was thinking tomorrow morning, when he brings us breakfast in bed. I hear house-elves are mad for that sort of thing.'

'They are,' he said in a low voice. 'Shall we get situated then?'

'I think that's best.'

He kissed her before leading her up to the bedroom, leaving his trousers and her stockings on the drawing room floor.


	17. Chapter 17

This time Harry wasn't surprised to awaken next to someone other than Ginny. _Helena_, he reminded himself, before turning to look at the clock. It was later than he'd expected—half past nine—but he supposed they'd been up late.

Helena was less nosy than Elizabeth had been. Like Harry, she was not very verbal during sexual activity, so she hadn't pestered him with personal questions. But he still knew little about her—perhaps she would be more forthcoming this morning.

She was still asleep, so he took the opportunity to visit the bathroom and brush his teeth. When he emerged, she had begun to stir and was in the middle of extending her arms very fetchingly.

'Hello there,' he said, running a hand through his hair.

She smiled. 'Good morning ... did you sleep well? I know I did.'

He climbed back in bed and said, 'Yes, I slept brilliantly. I'm full of energy in fact.' He tried pulling her on top of him but she resisted.

'Slow down, lover-boy ... I need the loo first.' She got out of bed, and he admired the view as she walked towards the en-suite. _So many witches,_ he thought pleasurably. _If this wasn't what we fought the war for, it should have been._

When she returned, they took full advantage of their renewed energy, and afterwards they lay in blissful silence.

She finally spoke. 'I suspect you're famous for the wrong thing.'

He understood her meaning, of course, but he wanted to hear her say it. 'And what should I be famous for?'

'I think you know,' she said, batting him playfully.

'Maybe I do,' he admitted. But you can't blame a bloke for asking.'

'I suppose not. So where's my breakfast? I understand you have a house-elf. Can he bring us something, or is he currently in his cage?'

'It was a cupboard. Should I call him here, or would you rather I order breakfast telepathically using the house-elf bond?'

She thought for a moment. 'I'm torn. On the one hand, I'll be impressed to see our breakfast arrive through the use of mind arts. On the other hand, I want to verify his well-being, in case I need to report you to the authorities.'

He chuckled and said, 'Here's another way to frame it: Do you want a centuries-old elf to see you in your present state, or would you like your breakfast to appear as if by magic?'

'You raise an excellent point. Let's have the seamless approach.'

'Very well. And what would you like to eat? I'm partial to a modified English breakfast, with more fruit and vegetables than the traditional version, and also some of Kreacher's homemade scones. But he can prepare just about anything you'd want.'

'What you described sounds fine. Lovely, in fact.'

'Done,' he said. 'Well, not yet actually. Give me a moment—I'm still new at this.' He closed his eyes. _Kreacher!_ he thought.

_Yes, Master!_

_Would you be so kind as to bring breakfast in bed, for me and a guest? The usual breakfast, including scones if you have them. And tea of course. But no pumpkin juice._

_Yes, Master! Would Master like for Kreacher to deliver it personally or to send it up invisibly?_

_Invisibly, if you please, _thought Harry. _And thank you, that will be all. _He felt Kreacher vanish from his mind with a pop.

'All right, that's sorted,' he said, opening his eyes.

'I'm very curious to see whether this works,' she replied. 'House-elves are rather foreign to me, to be honest.'

'You grow accustomed to them, just like anything else. I never imagined I'd have one, but here we are.'

'Yes, it sounds like your life is full of surprises,' she observed. 'First you're an Auror, and then a Seeker. Will you be Minister of Magic next?'

'Merlin, I hope not!'

'People have suggested it, you know. Not right away, of course, but when you're older.'

'No one who's met me, surely,' remarked Harry. 'But enough about me—what about you?'

'What about me?'

'How did you manage during the war?' asked Harry. 'You said your mother was Muggle-born.'

'Yes. We had to hide her, and my uncle as well. My father claimed she'd gone back to her family to live as a Muggle, but we actually kept her hidden in a trunk. A magical trunk, of course.'

'Really? For how long?'

'The better part of a year,' she said. 'Not the entire time, mind you. But we had wards that alerted us to visitors, and she'd Apparate into the trunk whenever there seemed to be a risk.'

'That sounds better than what most Muggle-borns went through,' he observed. 'It's a shame more trunks like that weren't available.'

'Actually we distributed a fair number of them,' she said. 'We couldn't provide top-of-the-line models like we had for my mother and uncle—they require too much labour—but we gave away dozens of basic models.'

'Remarkable,' said Harry. 'There are so many stories from the war I've never heard. It's a shame mine gets all the attention.'

'I daresay yours is more dramatic than most. Breaking into Gringotts and all.'

'It's funny how things change,' he said. 'I need to go there on business today, as if nothing had happened.'

'Your ban is over then?' she asked.

'Yes, as of two weeks ago.'

They were interrupted by the sound of a small gong, and several trays materialised over the bed. A small vase held a bouquet of dandelions and other weeds, presumably from the back garden. The effect was not impressive.

'I'm glad he's stopped nicking flowers from the corner shop,' said Harry. 'But those dandelions are a bit underwhelming.'

She smiled. 'It's a good effort. And the food looks marvellous.'

'It does,' he said. 'But I should really find a wizarding florist before he starts cutting down trees.'

They each filled their plates, and she reached for the rolled-up newspaper. 'Is that the _Prophet_? Let's have a look.'

A wordless panic seized him, but he was unable to stop her from unrolling it. The front headline read, '_Harry Potter, Aristocrat,_' and there was a photograph of Harry looking remarkably posh in his new Cannons robes. The sub-headline said, '_Cannons Seeker Unmasked as Lord Black_.' To his added horror, there was an inset colour illustration of the family ring, in stark contrast to the black and white photo.

She turned and looked at him appraisingly. 'Aren't you full of surprises!'

He sighed heavily and shook his head. 'It's complete bollocks.'

'So it's not true?'

He wished he could deny it. 'No, it's true,' he said, 'but it's completely meaningless. Wizarding lordships were awarded to the highest bidders when the Ministry was built in the 1700s. They're nothing like Muggle titles. I only found out a fortnight ago.'

Her eyes lit with mirth. 'I can't believe I'm in bed with an aristocrat.'

'I'm not an aristocrat!'

She glanced around and said, 'You realise you're not very convincing, seeing as we're eating breakfast in bed served on silver trays by your house-elf, in your enormous London townhouse.'

'Those aren't silver,' he said lamely. Mundungus Fletcher had stolen the silver ones.

'I stand corrected. But my point remains.'

_Curse you, Sirius!_ he thought savagely. 'I was raised in the suburbs by Muggles, for Merlin's sake. My mother was Muggle-born. I could have cooked breakfast myself.'

She waved her hand dismissively. 'I've read my share of novels—all the best aristocrats have a humble upbringing. Are you wearing the ring now? I couldn't feel it on you, but I know there are charms to hide them.'

'Yes, I'm wearing it,' he said dully. 'But don't make me show it to you—it's ghastly.'

'All right, you've suffered enough for one morning.' She smiled and reached for a strawberry, which she popped into his mouth.

He relaxed a bit. 'I never wanted this to come out, you know. It was revealed yesterday before the match, when the referee inspected me for illegal enhancements.'

She was reading the article. 'Yes, that's what it says here. _"According to an unnamed source."'_

'It must have been one of the Falcons staff members. None of the Cannons would have ratted me out like that.'

'Oh dear. What other secrets are they hiding?'

'I think that's the only one,' he said. _Surely the Snitchbottom nickname doesn't count._ 'That and the bit about punishing Kreacher.'

She shook her head, still reading. 'No, that's not in here. Apparently cruelty to bonded servants isn't newsworthy.'

'It should be.' _Oh blast, Hermione! _He'd never replied to her Howler. It would have to wait, he supposed.

They ate silently for a while, occasionally feeding each other a piece of fruit or scone. She giggled and said, 'It's a shame we used a Contraception Charm. I could have borne your illegitimate heir.'

'I would have disavowed him in court,' he said coldly.

'So you're not going to marry me? I thought you were a gentleman.'

'Apparently not. My apologies for misleading you.' _This is fun_, he thought. _A bit like taunting, but naked and with strawberries._

'You realise I'm ruined now. No decent wizard will have me.'

'I can provide a reference if you like.'

'Can you take care of that when you go to Gringotts today? I'll need it notarised.'

'Of course. I'll send it with my owl.'

'An owl? How common. Shouldn't you have a raven, or perhaps a swan?'

_Or an albino peacock_. 'You're right. No mere post-owl will do.'

'We'll have to upgrade your accent as well,' she continued. 'I believe there are tutors available.'

'Perfect. I'll get started straight away.'

She rose from the bed. 'I should really be going. I have a lunch engagement with a marquess, and it seems only proper to clean up first.'

He sat up and asked, 'Will I see you again?'

'I don't know. Will you?'

'It's not going to be more than a fling, I'm afraid. I'd certainly enjoy seeing you again, but I don't want to give you the wrong impression.'

'That makes sense. You don't strike me as the monogamous type.'

Thinking of Ginny, he wanted to protest. But he knew it was smarter to keep his mouth shut. 'Not at present, no.'

'You'll make an excellent roué, Lord Black.'

'What's a roué?' he asked. 'I dropped out of school, you know. And besides, they never taught French at Hogwarts.'

'It's what you are, my lord. A shameless seducer.'

Harry was simultaneously offended and intrigued. 'I'm not shameless,' he said, and she laughed.

Helena had pulled on her dress and was looking around the room. 'Where are my stockings?' she asked.

'In the drawing room.'

'Oh right. _Toujours pur.'_

He got out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown. 'I don't actually know your surname. How will I reach you?'

'It's Strauss, and your raven will find me. No Howlers please.'

They walked together to the drawing room, where he retrieved his trousers. She picked up her shoes and stockings without putting them on. As they left the room, he said, 'I should warn you, there's a vindictive portrait in the entrance hall. She was sleeping last night, but it's too much to hope she'll stay quiet this morning. She's truly horrid—she'll probably make disparaging comments about your mother. I'm hoping to finally get her removed this week.' At Helena's startled expression, he added, 'The portrait, not your mother.'

'All right. Let's go then,' she replied.

Walburga was indeed awake. _'The degenerate bounder returns, with his latest conquest! How dare you spread your disgusting seed!'_

'We used a Contraception Charm,' replied Harry. 'No seed was spread.' He tapped her with his wand and she was silent.

'Wow, even the portraits are talking about you. It's a good thing I'm not angling to become the next Lady Black,' said Helena, as he led her to the formal reception hall.

'She was the last Lady Black, in case you're wondering.'

'Oh dear. Your life really is extraordinary.'

He put his hand on her waist and said, 'You're rather something as well. I'm glad I met you, and I'd like to see you again. At least for a while.'

'That sounds good. I'd promise to wear more sensible shoes next time, but I want another foot massage.'

'I'm sure that can be arranged. Expect my raven in a day or so.' He leaned in to kiss her one last time.

'Goodbye, Harry, and thanks. I had a lovely time, really.'

'So did I, Helena. See you again soon.'

She left through the fireplace, and he returned to his bedroom. He liked Helena—she'd been a lot of fun. And it was a relief she didn't have any false expectations.

'Kreacher!' he called.

_Crack!_ 'Yes, Master!'

'Thank you for breakfast. That was perfect.'

'Kreacher is so pleased, Master! Shall Kreacher remove the trays?'

'Yes, please. And Kreacher, I've decided to host a large party in a fortnight. For more than a hundred guests, I think.'

'A twelve-course dinner party?'

'Merlin, no! Just starters, I think. But lots of them.'

'All right, Master,' said Kreacher, a little dolefully.

'And sweets,' added Harry. 'French pastries and so forth.'

'Thank you, Master!'

'Will you need assistance? I could ask if some of the Hogwarts house-elves are available.'

'Kreacher does not need assistance, but Kreacher would enjoy ordering other elves around. Master would be very kind to borrow the Hogwarts elves!'

'I'll ask Minerva,' said Harry. 'You may go now.'

Kreacher bowed and removed the trays before vanishing with a loud _crack_.

_That's one item ticked off,_ thought Harry. Next on his list was a shower, and then replying to Hermione.

After he'd washed and dressed, he used his memory of catching the Snitch to raise his Patronus. 'Hermione, there's a perfectly good explanation. Kreacher is fine—happier than ever, actually. I can tell you more in person.'

He sent Prongs to deliver the message and then went down to the sitting room to read the rest of the _Prophet_. The Cannons match was the lead story in the sport news, with high praise for his performance. For the first time in his life, Harry felt an urge to save the article, but he dismissed the idea. There was no point in getting attached to whatever the _Prophet_ had to say, considering all the times they'd slandered him.

'Are you there?' came Hermione's voice from the kitchen.

'Yes, in the sitting room.' He stood up and took a few steps towards her as she entered.

'Hi,' she said, looking a little sheepish. 'How are you? Did you enjoy your evening?'

'I did, thanks. Should we talk in here, or would you like something to eat? There may still be some scones.'

'Let's stay here,' she said, walking towards her usual armchair. 'So what happened with Kreacher?'

He explained, and she closed her eyes and nodded. 'I'm sorry I didn't have more faith in you. I hope the Howler didn't wake you up.'

'No, I was awake,' he said simply. 'And how was the rest of your day? Did you enjoy flying with Ryan?'

A smile crept over her features, and she almost glowed. 'Yes, it was brilliant. First we went flying at the Cannons training pitch. And then we listened to music at his flat for a while.' She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. 'And then we went to a Japanese restaurant.'

'So you like him then?'

'Yes, very much. Thanks for introducing us.'

'Will you be seeing him again?'

'Tomorrow night.'

'I'm so glad,' he said. 'And for Ryan as well—I know how much he fancies you.'

She nodded, her eyes bright.

'Do you have big plans for today?' he asked.

'I'm going to see Bill and Professor McGonagall at Shell Cottage to discuss the Hogwarts problem.'

'Oh, good. Please say hi to everyone for me.'

'I will. And what are you up to this afternoon?'

'I need to go to Gringotts ... That reminds me, how did your meeting go on Friday?'

'It was a total calamity,' she said calmly. 'Apparently I looked particularly like Bellatrix that afternoon and they took it as a grave insult.'

'Oh no! Are you all right? What happened?'

'They kicked us out, but not before holding me at sword-point and threatening to disembowel me.'

'Are you joking?' asked Harry. 'Why aren't you more upset?'

'I was beside myself. But I'm fine now.'

'Well, that's something,' he said. 'What's your next step?'

'They want you to come and make amends on behalf of the Ministry.'

'Me? What for?'

'Apparently you impressed them by returning a goblin-made artefact. Ragnok said you're a better diplomat than I'll ever be.'

'There's a sentence I never expected to hear,' observed Harry. 'But certainly, let me know when.'

'I will, thanks. What do you need at Gringotts?'

'I've been persuaded to host a big party in a fortnight, on my birthday, and I want them to handle the wards.'

'Really?' she said. 'That's wonderful!'

Harry was surprised—he'd expected her to disapprove, or at least be worried about it. 'Yeah, we want to introduce people from Hogwarts to my teammates' friends from other schools.'

'What a great idea! I wonder if Ryan could provide the music—I'm certain he'd want to.'

'That sounds good, but how would that work? I assume you're talking about Muggle music and not just Weird Sisters records.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Definitely not the Weird Sisters. But you're right, we'd need to get around the electricity problem.' She thought for a moment. 'What about your roof? Do you think we could get a tape player and some speakers working up there?'

'I'm not sure,' he said. 'There's no outlet. But I'm visiting Diagon Alley this afternoon and can make enquiries. There's bound to be a solution.'

'Good thought. Anyway, I should leave now, and thanks again for introducing me to Ryan. He's ... lovely.'

Harry smiled. He'd never seen a lovesick Hermione before—she hadn't been this way with Ron. 'All right, we'll talk soon.'

'Sorry again about the Howler!'

'It was comical, if nothing else.' He walked her to the fireplace and she returned to her parents' house.

Not long after, Harry raised an ambulatory Notice-Me-Not Charm and travelled to Diagon Alley by way of the Leaky Cauldron. Nobody noticed him as he slipped from the fireplace and exited through the back alley. He tapped the appropriate brick with his wand and was soon standing before Gringotts.

He lowered his privacy wards before entering, not wanting to trigger their intruder sensors, and walked up to a clerk. 'Good afternoon,' he said. 'I'd like to speak to someone about adjusting the wards on my house for a special event.'

'Yes, Mr Potter,' said the clerk. 'Please wait here while I fetch one of our wards experts.'

After only a minute, the clerk returned with an older goblin who politely nodded to Harry. 'Please come with me, Mr Potter,' he said, leading him to a surprisingly large office. They sat down and he continued. 'My name is Tarnog, and I'm the Director in charge of wards and protections.'

'I'm honoured to meet you, Tarnog,' said Harry.

'Likewise, Mr Potter. What services do you require?'

'In a fortnight I'll be hosting a party for well over a hundred people, and I'd like to arrange transport and protections.'

'What kind of building is it, and what are the current protections?'

'It's my townhouse,' said Harry, 'and it's currently Unplottable and completely hidden from Muggles. I have two Floo connections, both of which require special authorisation for inbound use, but outbound use is unrestricted. I alone am able to Apparate in and out of the house, although I can bring someone by Side-Along, and I also have anti-Animagus wards.'

Tarnog, who had written everything down on a parchment, nodded approvingly. 'I assume Curse-Breaker Weasley helped you with this?'

'Yes, I wouldn't have known where to start. The house used to be under Fidelius, and Bill helped me transition it to something a bit more flexible.'

'And you'd like to enhance it for a special event. Can you provide a complete guest list?'

'Er, no,' said Harry. 'We're inviting people we know and allowing them to bring friends. It's an attempt to introduce a lot of new people to one another.'

'I see,' said Tarnog. 'That complicates things interestingly.' Harry took the 'interestingly' as a positive statement, probably because it would raise the cost. 'Do you wish to restrict the types of guests you admit? No marked Death Eaters, for example.'

'Definitely,' replied Harry.

'What about Dark creatures like werewolves and vampires?'

Harry always had mixed feelings when anyone denigrated werewolves. Greyback was certainly a monster, but Moony had been like family to him. 'It won't be the full moon that weekend, so I don't think it's necessary to exclude werewolves.'

Tarnog raised an eyebrow. 'And vampires?'

'Yes, probably better to exclude them,' replied Harry, before suddenly remembering Alistair. 'But would it be possible to include a specific vampire?'

'If you wish,' he said, making a note on his parchment.

Harry thought of another potential risk. 'Can we screen for people under the Imperius curse?'

'Unfortunately no,' said Tarnog. 'Gringotts shares that vulnerability, as you well know.'

_I suppose we're speaking candidly_, thought Harry. 'What about Polyjuice Potion?'

'Again, not without something resembling the Thief's Downfall. We could provide one, but the cost would be high.'

Harry shook his head. 'I'm less worried about the cost than the unfriendly welcome ... drenching guests with water seems like poor hospitality. I suppose we'll have to risk it when it comes to Polyjuice.' He had a dark thought and asked, 'Is there any way to protect against Love Potions?'

'We can't screen for the potions themselves, but for a price you can hire special goblets with detection charms. We can screen for other coercion draughts as well.'

Harry abhorred Love Potions, and not only because Tom Riddle had resulted from one. 'Yes, that's a requirement … And what about cameras? Can we prevent people from taking photographs?' He didn't want there to be a ten-page spread in the _Prophet_ the next morning.

'Of course.' Tarnog made more notes on his parchment. 'I assume you'd like curse protections?'

'How do you mean?'

'In a confined space like a private home, it's possible to eject people for performing specific curses. Your Unforgivable Curses, for example.'

'Yes, please. I certainly don't expect anything like that to happen, but it's good to be safe. Please protect against other harmful curses as well—_Confringo_, _Expulso_, that sort of thing. Do you have a standard list?'

'Yes,' replied Tarnog, amending his notes. 'As for transport, you can retain Floo access for those who are already authorised, but otherwise I recommend portkeys. They can take the form of an invitation, and you can set a limit to how many people can hold onto it.'

Harry thought for a moment. 'So, for example, I could allow each person to bring one guest, and they'd use the invitation as a portkey?' Tarnog nodded. 'Would the portkeys be time-restricted?'

'If you like, but the preferred solution would be to use a passphrase. We can randomise the arrival locations so people don't land atop one another.'

'That sounds perfect,' said Harry, and Tarnog wrote everything down. 'There's another item. I'd like to use the rooftop for dancing, so we'll need to fortify the Silencing wards. The tricky bit is that the sound system will require electricity, which means the wards can't interfere with it. And to complicate matters, we don't have an electrical outlet up there, or anywhere else in the house.'

Tarnog smiled. 'This can be solved,' he said. 'For a cost.'

'Right,' replied Harry. 'Perhaps you can provide an itemised list so I can decide on everything at once.'

'Of course,' he said. 'Goblin technology, which is far superior to wizard magic, has devised a method for powering Muggle electrical devices in magical settings.'

'Really? That's remarkable. How would I get hold of something like that?'

'Select Gringotts clients are permitted to hire—not purchase—such an artefact. It would allow a Muggle sound system to function within wards for up to twelve hours.'

'That's amazing!' exclaimed Harry, before absorbing the bit about 'select Gringotts clients.' He looked at Tarnog soberly and asked, 'Would I be permitted to hire it?'

'Yes, Mr Potter. You have earned the respect of the Goblin Nation.'

Harry was taken aback. 'I'm pleased to hear it, thank you,' he said sincerely. 'I hope we can enjoy good relations from now on.'

Tarnog nodded. 'Will you require anything else for your event?'

'Clean-up, I suppose? In case one of the guests hides a spying device or similar.'

'That is already included,' said Tarnog. 'And prior to the event, your house will be cleared of compromising materials such as microscopic blood samples or loose hairs.'

'Good lord yes. I hadn't even considered that risk.' The last thing he needed was for someone to steal his hair for Polyjuice Potion._ I get into enough trouble on my own,_ he thought.

'I believe we've covered everything,' said the goblin. 'Is there anything else you require?'

'No, I think that's it.'

'You will wait while I prepare an estimate of costs,' instructed Tarnog, who pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and began writing. He took his time, which made Harry nervous. _Just how much is this going to cost? _He tried to decide on the maximum amount he was willing to pay.

Tarnog finished writing and turned the parchment towards Harry. 'I've estimated you'll need seventy-five portkeys, each of which can transport two people, and one hundred and fifty goblets. But I've noted the individual prices here, in case you wish to adjust the numbers,' he said, indicating a figure halfway down the parchment.

The total cost was roughly twenty percent higher than the amount Harry had decided was his upper limit. 'Yes, I believe that's acceptable,' he said resignedly.

'Excellent,' replied Tarnog. 'We'll prepare a contract for you within the hour, which you may return and sign. All we need is the address and date of the proposed event.'

Harry provided the particulars and agreed to return later to sign the contract. 'Thank you, Tarnog. I'm grateful to you and to Gringotts for your help.'

Tarnog nodded and rose from his chair, indicating that Harry should leave. Before exiting Gringotts he dug through his pouch for the business card Benedict Thimble had given him. The address appeared to be five minutes away, so Harry raised his Notice-Me-Not Charm and left the bank.

When he arrived, he removed the charm and peered through the window. The shop looked small from the outside, but that meant nothing in Diagon Alley. For all he knew, the interior could be as large as Harrods. As usual he paused to collect himself before interacting with strangers, and then he opened the door and entered.

An attractive young witch, perhaps a few years older than Harry, stood at the front counter. 'Good afternoon,' she said automatically before her eyes lit in recognition. 'How may I help you ... Lord Black?'

'Please don't call me that,' he said. 'It's a meaningless title and I have no intention of using it. My regular name is fine.' Noting how pretty she was, he added, 'Call me Harry.'

She smiled becomingly and said, 'Then you must call me Althea. How may I help you, Harry?'

'I suppose I'm looking for some new clothes. I was impressed by the tailoring on my new Quidditch robes, so I thought I'd stop in and see what you have for general wear.'

'I'll be glad to show you some options,' she said, 'and of course you have a team discount. Do you have a specific occasion in mind, or are you looking to upgrade your wardrobe in general.'

'The latter. I've never put much thought into what I wear, but I've started going out more and feel I should make an effort.'

'I wish more men would do that,' she said. 'It would certainly be more decorative. Do you prefer Muggle or wizarding styles?'

'Until now I've preferred Muggle styles, but I'm beginning to reconsider—I quite like the styling on my team robes. All the other robes I've worn have been tents by comparison.'

'Yes, it's unfortunate that school robes are so unflattering—and Auror robes as well.' Her eyes raked him and she added, 'I think there's nothing more attractive than a fit wizard wearing well-cut robes.'

He allowed himself to enjoy the compliment and said, 'But I'm interested in Muggle clothing as well. It's certainly more versatile.'

'It is,' she agreed. 'But speaking personally, I hope you'll inspire a new trend towards wizarding dress. It's taken a real beating lately with all the Death Eater connotations.'

'I've never made the connection before, but you're right. The nicest robes I ever saw were worn by someone who's currently in Azkaban,' he said, recalling Lucius Malfoy.

'Let's see if we can't make you something even nicer,' said Althea, leading him to a wide display of robes. The store was, in fact, rather larger than it appeared from the outside. She began pulling robes from the rack and said, 'We'll have you try on a wide variety, and then I'll use charms to approximate what the bespoke version would look like. We still have all your measurements on file, of course.'

Harry tried on multiple styles and, truth be told, he liked nearly all of them. He and Althea both rejected the same set of robes, which were decidedly too stodgy, but the others looked very smart indeed.

'What about colours?' she asked. 'Please don't disappoint me by wearing only black and charcoal.'

Harry was at that moment wearing charcoal robes with green trim. 'But I like these,' he protested. 'And they don't look at all like Slytherin robes.'

'No, you definitely need those. But I'd love to see you in ivory as well.'

He frowned. 'That sounds impractical,' he said, recalling a white carpet Aunt Petunia had repeatedly made him clean by hand.

'Not at all,' she replied. 'It's charmed against stains, and if the charms wear out and you do get a stain, just bring the garment back and we'll fix it free of charge.'

'Fair enough,' he said, and she brought out a number of lighter coloured robes, which he tried on as well.

Althea appraised him in a set of dove grey robes. 'These really demand a floral waistcoat. Silver, with rosebuds and foliage.'

'This is starting to sound a bit foppish,' said Harry. 'Remember I get taunted by my teammates all week, and by rival Seekers at the weekend.'

'Nonsense—the waistcoat is mostly hidden anyway, so I'm certain rival Seekers won't see it. It's the witches who will notice, and I promise they won't laugh. Quite the opposite, in fact. Women admire a man with the confidence to wear that sort of thing.'

They had amassed a pile of robes before she led him to the Muggle section of the shop. 'Personally I think men's trousers are where Muggle fashions shine, since they're not hidden under robes. And you've just the physique to look good in them—classic Seeker's build.'

Harry knew she was flattering him, but he didn't mind. They were the only people in the shop and he was enjoying himself. And it would probably be years before he'd drag himself clothes shopping again, so he might as well get it all done at once.

In the end, Althea had outfitted him with robes, shirts, trousers, neckties and other accessories, new undergarments, several jumpers, a woollen cloak for winter, and a Muggle coat as well. She also gave him the name of a shoemaker she trusted. The total cost was staggering—considerably more than the price he'd been quoted at Gringotts—but unlike the goblin wards and portkeys he'd get more than one night's use from it.

'When will everything be ready?' he asked.

'That all depends. If you want to pick things up as we produce them, you'll have your first items in a couple of days. But if you'd rather collect it all at once, it'll be several weeks at least.'

'Can I send my house-elf at regular intervals? It's no trouble for him—he'll be glad for something to do.'

'Yes, of course. Just send him around every evening at six o'clock starting on Tuesday and we'll have something for him.'

'Excellent,' said Harry.

Althea asked, 'Do you have any preference about which item we make first?'

He thought a moment and said, 'The ivory robes, I think.'

'Perfect,' she said. 'I predict you'll have a lovely night out in them. But make sure you have shoes to match—you should probably order those from the shoemaker straight away.'

'Good suggestion. What colour do you recommend?'

'You could go with a light tan, or perhaps some brown and white wingtips for a bit of Muggle flair. But promise me you won't let them talk you into a raised heel.'

'Oh?' He'd often wished he were taller but it had never occurred to him to wear a heeled shoe.

'Nobody expects a Seeker to be tall, so you'll just look like you're overcompensating. And personally, I think tall men are overrated. I'm the same height as you, and I consider a man your size to be a perfect fit.'

'That's good to hear.' In a deeper voice he added, 'Would you care to join me for dinner some evening? I'll wear the floral waistcoat if you ask nicely.'

She smiled and said, 'That's very sweet, but I'm married. Thank you, though.'

'Oh, I apologise. You aren't wearing a ring, so I assumed ...'

'You're not the only one concealing a ring. Shopgirl's first rule, you know. But don't worry, I didn't steer you wrong.'

'That's a relief,' he said cheerfully. 'And thanks again for all your help—I'd have been lost otherwise.'

He went directly to the shoemaker, who was only a few doors down, and ordered shoes to match the ivory robes. They had a variety of styles and he resolved to return when he had more time. He also stopped at a florist's shop and opened an account. 'Yes, we're accustomed to working with house-elves,' the clerk told him. 'We'll just scan his magical signature, and then he can help himself.'

'Excellent. I'm glad his days of petty larceny are over.'

His final stop before returning to Gringotts was at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, to tell Lee and George that the party was on. 'Thanks for referring me to the goblins—you were right about them being able to handle the transport and wards. But don't spread the word beyond Katie, Angelina, and Alicia. I'll need to figure out numbers first.'

'Not a problem,' said George. 'How was the rest of your evening, by the way?'

Harry smiled. 'I've no complaints. And yours?'

'Promising,' he said. 'I don't work quite as fast as you do, but I'll be seeing Rebecca again in a couple of nights.'

Harry was pleased that George was having some fun. In fact, it was astonishing how many of his friends had met someone new as a result of Harry joining the Cannons. Hermione in particular—she'd been miserable just a few days prior but seemed head over heels that morning.

_Poor Dudley_, he thought with amusement. _He never even had a chance._


	18. Chapter 18

When Hermione returned to her parents' house from Grimmauld Place, she immediately set to owling Ryan about the party. She knew he'd hear about it from Harry at practice the next day, but she wanted to tell him herself.

She was about to start writing when it occurred to her she could just ring him on the telephone, and she felt silly not to have realised it sooner. _Are you a Muggle or not?_ she thought with amusement.

'Hello,' he answered, and her heart melted just a bit.

'Ryan, this is Hermione.'

'Oh, hi. I was just thinking about you.'

'What a coincidence,' she said, smiling. 'How are you doing?'

'I'm extremely happy for some reason,' he replied. 'I can't imagine why.'

'Funny, I'm the same way.'

'Is that why you rang? Not that I'm complaining.'

'No, I actually have an excuse. Harry's decided to throw a big party on the thirty-first, and we're hoping you can provide music.'

'What, from my vast collection of wizarding records?'

'No, Muggle music, like what you played me yesterday.'

'Really? At Harry's house? How is that possible?'

'He's going to Diagon Alley today in search of a solution. We think it might be possible on the roof somehow.'

'If he can make it work, I'd love to help. Will there be dancing?'

'I think so, but we didn't discuss it,' said Hermione.

'It seems like there ought to be. Who is he inviting?'

'Young people, mostly. The idea is to introduce our Hogwarts classmates to people who attended other wizarding schools. He'll ask you to invite some of your friends.'

'Are you serious?' exclaimed Ryan. 'That's fantastic. And Harry has the perfect house for it, if you can ignore the creepy pure-blood ambiance.'

'Funny, I don't even notice it anymore. The house is really far more cheerful than it used to be.'

'Unbelievable.'

'You know,' said Hermione, 'it occurs to me that it's rather absurd to be talking on the phone with you, when we're probably both standing next to fireplaces.'

'Are you proposing what I think you are?'

'For a few minutes, anyway,' she said. 'Is that all right?'

'It's more than all right. See you shortly.'

She hung up the phone and took a pinch of Floo powder. The words 'Bellamy flat' sounded impossibly lovely to her.

He was wearing shorts and a football jersey, which tugged at her heart. 'There you are,' he said, before leaning in for a kiss. 'Isn't magic wonderful?'

'It is,' she agreed. 'Are you off to play football?'

'Yes, with some of my old teammates—we play a scratch game occasionally. You're welcome to watch if you like, though I suppose it would be rather boring after Quidditch.'

'I'd love to watch, but I need to accomplish several things before my meeting this afternoon.'

'You'll have to see us another time, then. I'll enjoy introducing you to my mates, if only to prove I have friends other than my cousins.'

'Have they grown suspicious of you?'

'Exceedingly. But it's just as well you can't come today—I'll need to train you first in my cover story. Though something tells me you're a fast learner.'

'You can tell me about it tomorrow evening. I'm curious to learn all about Ryan Bellamy, Muggle.'

'I go by Clark Kent, actually.'

'Seems appropriate,' she observed. 'I should go, but thanks for allowing the intrusion.'

'You are most welcome.' He kissed her again, and she returned home through the fireplace.

When she emerged, her mother walked into the lounge and said, 'There you are. I thought I heard you but then you'd disappeared.'

'I was on the phone with Ryan, but then we realised I could just pop over and see him for a few minutes.'

'Remarkable,' said Emily. 'I'm not sure I'll ever get used to magical transport. That's probably the only part of your world I truly covet.'

'It's awfully convenient,' agreed Hermione. 'It almost makes up for the rest.'

Neither of them elaborated on what 'the rest' meant. _The fact that everyone is armed with a deadly weapon._

Not that Hermione didn't love the wizarding world. She cherished her ability to perform magic, and although she regretted brewing that potion from the Grimoire, she'd been gratified to learn how powerful she was. But there was no denying the enormous flaws of her adopted world—flaws she'd been aware of but which Ryan was putting into relief.

'Do you know how long you'll be at your meeting this afternoon?' asked Emily.

'It's hard to say, but I'm sure I'll be home in time for dinner.'

'That's good. I thought we could try the new Vietnamese restaurant near the city centre.'

'I'd love that,' said Hermione, who thought immediately of Ryan and his appreciation for foreign cuisine. She pictured him in a Muggle restaurant with her parents and felt a sense of comfort she hadn't known she'd craved.

Hermione went upstairs to prepare for her meeting. She and Bill hadn't established an agenda, but she had her own ideas about how to address the Hogwarts problem, and they would require some tricky charms. Time passed quickly as she worked, and soon it was time to Apparate to Shell Cottage.

She arrived a little early, to enjoy the beautiful view and the roar of the ocean. She also placed a wreath of flowers on Dobby's grave, with deep appreciation for the brave elf who had saved their lives. It bothered her that she had been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, while a hero like Dobby remained unsung. She'd told his story in every interview she'd given, but the reporters never wrote about him. The most they ever said was that they'd escaped Malfoy Manor with the assistance of a house-elf, as if he'd been little more than a broom. Didn't they realise that without Dobby and his selfless courage, Voldemort would never have been defeated?

When she finished paying her respects, she walked over to the cottage where they'd taken refuge near the end of the war. She and Harry had arrived severely malnourished, and even Ron had still been a bit peaky. Brave, beautiful Fleur—who could have returned to France and safety—had nursed them back to health, along with the others Dobby had rescued. Hermione had often tried to express her gratitude, but Fleur always replied with the Gallic dismissal: _'C'est normal.'_

The door opened and Hermione was greeted by Bill. 'Good to see you—come inside!' Once she entered, he gave her a big hug and said, 'How are you doing? You're looking well.'

'She is not looking well, she is looking _magnifique!'_ said Fleur before kissing Hermione on each cheek. 'What have you done with your hair?'

'I found a charm in an old spellbook that tames my hair into this,' she said, indicating her smooth ringlets.

'It is a miracle,' said Fleur. 'You look very beautiful—for a normal witch, that is.'

Hermione smiled, knowing Fleur meant no malice. 'Thank you. And you're looking lovely as well.'

'_Mais non,_ this ocean wind is giving me wrinkles,' she said, and Bill laughed.

'That's not true and you know it.' Bill turned to Hermione and added, 'She's been trying to convince herself she's decrepit, in anticipation of Gabrielle's visit next week. Fleur is certain she'll look like an old shoe next to her baby sister.'

'It is true,' protested Fleur. 'Gabrielle will be radiant, and I will be nothing.' Bill rolled his eyes and shook his head.

'But how are you doing, Hermione?' he asked. 'I heard about your meeting with Ragnok ... Are you all right?'

'I am,' replied Hermione. 'I wasn't at the time, but I'm feeling fine now. The meeting was a disaster, but hardly the lowest point in wizard-goblin relations.'

'Not even close. Frankly, I suspect the goblins are delighted the Ministry came in so flat-footed. Ragnok said the only way to move forward is for Harry to turn up with a pile of goblin-made artefacts, right?' Hermione nodded. 'That was what he always wanted, but he couldn't very well demand it unless the Ministry made some kind of appalling gaffe.'

'I can assure you, I did just that,' replied Hermione.

'I'm glad you see the humour in it—I was worried how you'd take it. In fact, I was afraid you'd still be a wreck when I saw you today, but clearly that's not the case.'

'Apparently not,' she said, smiling. 'I guess you could say I had a change in perspective.'

'Did you enjoy Harry's match? I wish I could have seen it myself, but at least we heard the broadcast.'

'It was like nothing I've ever seen. Harry was brilliant—all of the Cannons were.'

'And how is Harry?' asked Fleur. 'We miss seeing you both at the Burrow on Sundays. But perhaps you two are now eating together?' she added hopefully.

'He invited some of us over on Tuesday, to cheer me up, and he and I went to a Muggle pub on Thursday, but otherwise we're pursuing our own paths. He seems to be adjusting rather well to single life, after a rocky start anyway.'

'_Ah bon?'_ replied Fleur. 'Is he dating other people?'

'You could say that. He has a lot of new friends on the Cannons and they seem to be showing him a good time.'

'Have you met any of them? What are they like?'

Hermione felt her cheeks redden, and she couldn't hide her smile.

'Ah, what's this?' asked Fleur. 'Have you found a new sweetheart already?'

'Possibly,' she confessed. 'I had a lovely afternoon and evening with Harry's teammate, Ryan.'

'Ryan Bellamy?' exclaimed Bill, before turning to Fleur and adding, 'He's their star Chaser.'

'I must see a photograph,' said Fleur, walking to the table and opening the _Prophet_. She flipped through to the sport news and said, 'Point him out to me.'

Hermione knew exactly where to look, having searched the _Prophet_ that morning. 'Here he is,' she said, indicating an action shot of Ryan. 'He's the blond one.'

'_Oh là là, comme il est beau!'_ she exclaimed. 'And he is not stupid?'

Hermione laughed out loud. _'Non, pas du tout. Au contraire, il est très intelligent.'_

Fleur chided her. 'Your French is rusty. You must come visit more often—perhaps while Gabrielle is here. You will bring your _petit copain_ as well.'

'I'd like that,' said Hermione, who for some reason wasn't reluctant to introduce Ryan to a pair of part-Veelas.

Bill looked at the clock and said, 'McGonagall will be here in a few minutes—how do you want to proceed?'

'I assume we'll have to start by explaining the situation to her again?' asked Hermione.

'Yes, but it'll be interesting to see how much she's forgot and how quickly it comes back.'

'I agree—I should probably keep notes.' She pulled a notebook and quill from her bag. 'I've devised some tests we can use to pinpoint the nature of the interference, but I'll go over them in more detail after Professor McGonagall arrives.'

There was a green flash from the fireplace, and Professor McGonagall entered the room. 'Bill, Hermione, it's always good to see you. And Fleur, you're looking well.'

'_Mais non,'_ she scoffed, before heading out to the garden.

They continued their greetings while walking to the sitting room. 'So what exactly did you want to talk to me about so soon after our last meeting?'

'That's the thing,' said Bill. 'What do you remember about our last meeting?'

Professor McGonagall frowned. 'All of it, I presume. Are you implying I might have forgot something?'

'That's what we're trying to determine,' replied Bill.

'All right. I suppose I remember coming here. We exchanged pleasantries before sitting down in this very room. You told me about ...' She faltered. 'You told me about ... something I suppose. And then we made a plan to meet again this afternoon, with Hermione.' She looked at them with satisfaction. 'Did I miss anything?'

Bill and Hermione exchanged glances. 'Yes, you missed quite a lot,' said Bill. 'We're convinced that Hogwarts is interfering with the memories of everyone who enters the castle. That's what you and I spoke about on Wednesday, at considerable length. And you weren't able to convey any of it to me just now.'

Professor McGonagall's eyes grew wide. 'My word! What's the extent of the memory modification? Is there a specific topic, or is it generalised?'

'It's about the existence of other wizarding schools in Britain,' replied Hermione.

'But there aren't any other wizarding schools in Britain.'

'That's not true,' said Bill, handing her a parchment. 'There are more than thirty wizarding schools in the UK, and more in Ireland.'

She frowned as she looked through the list. 'This is staggering! And I must say, it certainly answers a lot of questions I've had about wizarding society. You say you've already told me all this?'

'Yes,' said Bill, 'and you agreed it was a serious problem. We don't know if it's something in the Hogwarts wards, or if it's in the food, or possibly a combination. And Hermione and I can't just go investigate, because then we'd forget what we were doing.'

'I have some ideas about that, actually,' said Hermione. 'I've thought of some experiments we can do, to establish the parameters of the interference.' She pulled several items from her purse, including a parchment. 'First, I've written a letter I'd like to send to Professor McGonagall by various means.' She handed it to them:

_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_Due to an interfering ward and/or potion at Hogwarts, you and everyone else inside the castle have been rendered ignorant of critical information. Don't be afraid: It is not life-threatening and has nothing to do with Voldemort. However, we've made it a top priority to investigate and remedy the problem, which has far-reaching effects through wizarding society._

_Please be so kind as to write on this paper what you understand about the situation (even if the answer is "Nothing"). Afterwards, please deliver this letter by hand to Hermione or Bill, but only if they are outside Hogwarts._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

After they read the letter, Hermione said, 'We'll mark on the letter whether we sent it to Professor McGonagall by owl or whether it was hand-delivered via Floo. Then we can compare them from a safe location. I think it'll be more convincing if we all sign it,' she added, handing them her quill. Bill and Professor McGonagall both added their signatures to the bottom, and Hermione used her wand to make several duplicates.

She pulled out two silver discs. 'Next, I've created some simple communication tokens using the Protean Charm. We'll give one to Professor McGonagall with instruction to write down what it says, regardless of whether she understands it. My plan is to transmit a variety of phrases to Professor McGonagall to see which ones trigger the interference. For example, we could transmit the phrase, "There are British wizarding schools other than Hogwarts," or simply send the name of one of the other schools—"Widgington Academy," for example.'

'Good thinking, Hermione,' said Professor McGonagall. 'But I insist you call me Minerva.'

_Success!_ thought Hermione. 'Thank you, I will. Now there's another test we can do, which is much simpler. Minerva, perhaps you could go back to Hogwarts right now with one of the letters, write your answer, and then return promptly to Shell Cottage without eating anything.'

'Of course,' said Bill. 'That would indicate whether there's a potion in the food.'

'If that were the case,' said Minerva, 'someone would have had to instruct the house-elves to do it. Couldn't I just ask the head elf about it?'

'Not at Hogwarts, you couldn't,' answered Bill.

'Can you Summon the head elf from here?' asked Hermione.

'Of course,' replied Minerva. 'Tufty!'

_Pop! _'Yes, Mistress!'

'Are you aware of any instructions to add potions or some other adulterant to the Hogwarts food?'

'No, Mistress.'

Bill asked, 'Are there any vitamins or nutritional supplements you've been asked to add? Perhaps a standing order?'

'No, sir. The house-elves are not adding anything to the food other than the food. House-elves are strictly forbidden from tampering with wizard food in such a way. Tufty would have to punish herself if she did that.'

'Thank you, Tufty. You've been most helpful.' Minerva turned to the others and asked, 'Is there anything else we should ask while she's here?'

'We should have her deliver one of the letters,' suggested Hermione, sealing one of the parchments in an envelope from her bag. 'Tufty, would you please deliver this to Professor McGonagall's office?'

'Yes, Miss. Tufty is glad to help. Is there anything else?'

'No, Tufty, that will be all,' said Minerva, and Tufty disappeared with a loud _pop._ 'My first thought is that we can rule out the food now, but of course we can't until I've actually tested it. Should I Floo back to the castle with another letter?'

'Yes, and we'll call you if you take too long,' replied Hermione.

'Hang on, are we certain Floo calls are safe? I invited Minerva here by owl,' said Bill.

'Merlin, good point,' said Hermione. 'We'll need to test that as well. Should we do that now, before Minerva goes over?'

'No, we should probably have someone on the receiving end, to most accurately simulate a typical Floo call.'

They looked at Minerva, who took one of the letters and said, 'Here goes.' She threw a pinch of powder into the grate and said, 'Hogwarts Headmaster's Office.'

It took a little longer than they'd expected for her to return, which made Bill and Hermione nervous, but Minerva eventually stepped out of the fireplace holding a parchment.

'I'm supposed to deliver this to you by hand,' she said, looking puzzled.

They looked at what she'd written on the parchment:

'_Nothing.'_

'Can you tell me what this is about?' asked Minerva.

Bill and Hermione sighed. 'There seems to be a ward on Hogwarts that interferes with people's knowledge that there are other wizarding schools in Great Britain,' began Hermione.

'Good lord, you're right,' exclaimed Minerva. 'May I see that list again?'

'So you remember?' asked Bill.

'I think so,' said Minerva. 'We had quite a long conversation earlier, and Hermione showed us the tokens she'd prepared, as well as the letter, and I summoned Tufty for questioning.'

'Yes, that's about the sum of it,' said Bill. 'This is good—we've determined there's a second factor, possibly the food.'

'But without any participation by the house-elves,' said Minerva.

'You're assuming we can trust what the elf just told us,' said Bill.

'Of course we can trust her,' snapped Hermione. 'Tufty and all the Hogwarts elves are bound to the school. It would be impossible for her to lie to Minerva.'

'Hermione is correct,' said the headmistress. 'There's no way she could mislead me.'

'All right,' said Bill. 'But getting back to the letter, it's clear that you didn't remember the other schools or our conversation while you were at Hogwarts. Which confirms there's a ward as well.'

'I discussed this with Phineas Nigellus Black,' said Hermione. 'He said this wasn't possible with wards, and it would require some kind of potion in the food, but that the potion would wear off.'

'When was he headmaster?' asked Bill.

'From 1912 until his death in 1925,' replied Hermione. Bill and Minerva looked impressed. 'It's inscribed on the bottom of his portrait,' she added.

'How knowledgeable was he about wards and potions?' asked Bill. 'Do you know what he taught before he was headmaster?'

Hermione shook her head, but Minerva said, 'Runes.'

'I guess he'd know what he was talking about then,' said Bill. He turned to Hermione and asked, 'Had he heard of the other schools?'

'Yes, and he seemed to have a poor opinion of them.'

They suddenly fell silent. 'You don't think ...' began Bill.

'But how?' asked Hermione. 'The house-elves aren't adding anything.'

Minerva was appalled. 'I can't believe a Hogwarts headmaster, of all people, would tamper so thoroughly with young people's minds, and wizarding society as a whole!'

'That's literally the job of a headmaster,' observed Hermione. 'And Phineas Nigellus certainly had Dark tendencies.'

They were quiet again until Bill asked, 'Should we bring him here for questioning?'

'I can't imagine he'd cooperate,' said Hermione. Her eyes grew wide and she added, 'Unless Harry ordered him to.'

'You mean Lord Black?' said Bill, and Minerva chuckled.

'Yes,' said Hermione. 'The very same.'

'Was Phineas Nigellus ever head of House Black?' asked Bill. 'He might not submit to Harry if he were.'

'I don't know,' said Hermione. 'I'd have to consult the tapestry.'

'It sounds like our next step is to talk to Harry,' said Minerva. 'Do you know if he's available right now?'

'No, he's gone to Gringotts and Diagon Alley for the afternoon.'

'We'll have to find another time then,' said Minerva. 'One of you will have to arrange it, of course.'

'I can,' said Hermione, and they compared schedules to identify potential meeting times.

'Minerva, would it be difficult to arrange your own food until then? Without help from the house-elves?' asked Bill.

'But we've ruled out the house-elves,' said Hermione, a trifle indignant.

'Yes, but we haven't ruled out their means of transport. Perhaps something is happening when the food is transferred from the kitchens to the Great Hall, or wherever else people might eat.'

'That's simply not possible,' protested Minerva.

Bill shook his head. 'I don't think we can rule anything out. Remember Phineas Nigellus had access to Dark magic, through the Black family library and elsewhere.'

'The Grimoire!' cried Hermione. 'There may be something in there.'

'What Grimoire?' asked Minerva.

'The Black family Grimoire. Harry gave me access to it several weeks ago.'

Minerva looked at her gravely. 'Did you enter into a blood bond with Harry?'

'No, it was nothing like that. It was a far more primitive method for granting access. We were required only to add a few drops of blood to a small receptacle inside the cover.'

'That's a relief,' said Minerva. 'You and Harry have experienced enough drama without being accidentally compelled into a marriage bond.'

'All right,' said Bill. 'I think we have our marching orders. First, Minerva is to return to Hogwarts and prepare her own food.'

'Not so fast,' interjected Minerva. 'How will I know to prepare my own food?'

Hermione tilted her head backwards in frustration just as Bill's dropped forwards into his hands. 'This is maddening,' he grumbled. 'Do you think a written note would be convincing enough?'

'I don't know. We could try, I suppose,' said Minerva.

They were silent a long moment before Hermione suddenly exclaimed, 'The Pensieve! Preserve a memory of the three of us assuring you why it's necessary to prepare your own food until we meet. Carry a note with you back to Hogwarts instructing you to watch the memory in the Pensieve. You still have it, right?'

'Yes, of course. And that's a brilliant idea. I'm sorry I can't award you house points anymore.'

Hermione smiled, and Bill cleared his throat. 'Returning to our marching orders,' he said, 'the other steps involve Hermione. You'll need to get hold of Phineas Nigellus and see if he'll submit to Harry. You'll also set up an appointment for the three of us to meet with Harry and Phineas, assuming he'll stay in his frame. And finally you'll look through the Black family Grimoire for possible spells or potions.'

'Yes,' she said, 'I'll contact Harry straight away. Is there any use for the tokens I made?'

'Not at present,' said Bill. 'But it was a good thought.'

Minerva took a deep breath. 'I believe we've made excellent progress, but it's frustrating knowing I'm about to be Obliviated.'

'We were all Obliviated for years,' said Bill. 'At least now we've got a real chance to solve this, not just for ourselves but for wizarding society as a whole.'

'The repercussions are bound be enormous,' agreed Minerva. 'Naturally people from different schools have managed to meet and interact before now, but I think we'll see a whole new level of cross-pollination.'

Hermione smiled. 'It's starting already. In a fortnight Harry's hosting a large party for our Hogwarts classmates and friends of his teammates, most of whom attended other schools.'

'Harry is throwing a party for dozens of strangers at Grimmauld Place? Blimey! The war really is over,' said Bill. 'Does he need my help with the wards?'

'No, that's why he's gone to Gringotts this afternoon.'

'Good idea. It'll cost him, but he won't have to worry about anything.'

Minerva was getting ready to leave, so they deliberately had a conversation about why it was necessary to prepare her own food until their next meeting, which she duly preserved in a flask for viewing in the Pensieve.

'I've enjoyed seeing you both this afternoon—I'm sorry I won't remember it,' she said. 'And apologies in advance for requiring you to refresh my memory.' They said their goodbyes and Minerva returned to Hogwarts through the fireplace.

Before leaving, Hermione spent a while in the garden with Fleur, who was using her wand to nurture various herbs she was cultivating. 'I am very disappointed we will not be sisters-in-law. You would have been such an ally against Bill's mother. Ron was very foolish to let you go.'

'I'm sorry as well, and I feel the same way about Bill. But I'm not feeling so hurt over Ron as I was at first.'

'Certainly not, with that big strong Chaser to keep you company. He will make Ron very jealous—you will see.'

Hermione shook her head. 'That doesn't matter to me. I just want everyone to be happy.'

'Pfft! You are not a normal witch, Hermione. All witches want their former boyfriend to be jealous.'

'Ron was jealous enough of Harry, thank you very much.'

'And he will be again, trust me,' said Fleur. 'This _beau mec_ Chaser, he is only the _entrée_. Harry will be the _plat principal.'_

'Definitely not,' said Hermione, laughing. 'And besides, I expect Harry will have plenty of other takers for the foreseeable future.'

'Yes, probably. Particularly now that he is rid of those horrible glasses. But there is no hurry. He needs to grow up first.'

Hermione returned home well before dinner, so she sent her Patronus to Grimmauld Place to see if Harry was home. 'Do you have a moment? I have a few practical questions. Let me know if I might come over.'

Prongs returned and said, 'Yes, I'm in the kitchen,' in Harry's voice. Hermione threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and found him at the table with various scraps of parchment in front of him.

'How was Gringotts? Are they able to help with the party?' she asked.

'Yes, they can handle everything, including the electrical power for the roof. Ryan will have to supply the stereo and speakers though.'

'That's fine. I told him about it this morning and he said he'd love to help.'

'Brilliant, thanks. Next I need to figure out the invitations, but let's start with your questions.'

'Oh right,' she said. 'Bill and I saw Minerva today, and it looks like we'll need your assistance.'

'Really? I can't say I know anything about wards, other than what you've taught me.'

'No, we think Phineas Nigellus may be involved, and we're hoping you'll have some influence over him as his Head of House. Assuming he was never Lord Black himself.'

'I have no idea whether he was or not.'

'That's fine—I can check the tapestry. I'll be right back.'

Hermione returned to the kitchen several minutes later. 'No, he had an elder brother who died without children, and the title skipped him. So my next question is whether you're available some night this week to meet with Bill, Minerva, and me. We'd like for you to help us interrogate Phineas, if you're willing.'

'Of course,' he said. 'Does tomorrow night work?'

'No, I'm seeing Ryan,' she said, with a shy smile.

'I wouldn't dream of interfering with that. What about Thursday?'

'Yes, Thursday works for all of us. Would it be all right if we came here? That way you won't have to transport Phineas, and we'd also have access to the Grimoire.'

'You think he used a spell from the Grimoire?' asked Harry.

'We don't know—it's just a theory. I'll need to spend more time with it if that's all right.'

'You're welcome on Tuesday evening. The only reason I didn't suggest it for the meeting is because the portrait painter will be coming as well.'

'Really? Does she have a solution to the Walburga problem?'

'Her letter sounded hopeful, but we won't know for certain until we try.'

'I'd love to watch if that's all right. What time is she coming?'

'I'm expecting her at half five, and of course you're welcome.'

'Thanks! I'm sure it will be fascinating.' She looked at the parchments in front of him. 'Do you need help with the guest list then?'

'Yes. I'm aiming for no more than one hundred and fifty people, and I'm trying to figure out who to invite. My thought is to invite everyone from our year, with a few exceptions of course.'

'Marked Death Eaters, you mean?'

'For example. But there are grey areas. Pansy Parkinson, for example.'

Hermione shook her head. 'She wanted to turn you over to Voldemort during the final battle.'

'True, but you could argue she was trying to stop Voldemort from killing anyone else.'

'I think you're too forgiving,' said Hermione. 'She was on Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad, for Merlin's sake.'

'You're right. What about Millicent Bulstrode?'

Hermione made a face. 'No. Ginny told me she was horrible during seventh year, while we were off searching for Horcruxes.'

Harry looked at his parchment and said, 'I'm leaning against Theodore Nott, since his father was an inner-circle Death Eater. But if Theodore wasn't actually Marked, that might speak well of him.'

'You'd have to ask Neville. He wasn't very nice to me, but none of the Slytherins were.'

'Right, but I don't want to exclude all the Slytherins. Remember the goal is to promote friendship among young wizards.'

Hermione sighed. 'It's a tricky question, isn't it. Could you tell me more about the protections Gringotts is providing?'

'No marked Death Eaters, no Unforgivables or other violent curses, and no Love Potions.'

She shuddered at the last one. 'Good.' After thinking, she said, 'No to Pansy and Millicent. Probably no to Theodore, depending on what Neville says. And yes to Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, and Blaise Zabini.'

'Really, Zabini? He always struck me as arrogant. And he called Ginny a filthy blood traitor.'

'That's true, but I'm certain you struck people as arrogant. And you cursed Malfoy with Dark magic.'

Harry sighed heavily. 'I suppose so. All right, Blaise gets an invitation. Do we invite people from other years? I'd like to include all my Quidditch teammates, including Oliver Wood.'

'Not Cormac MacLaggen, I hope,' she said.

'Good lord no. Between getting handsy with you and smashing me with a Bludger, he's decidedly unwelcome.' He looked again at the parchment and said, 'But we'll want everyone who was in the D.A., right?'

'Except Marietta Edgecombe,' she said. Marietta had betrayed them, and she undoubtedly held a grudge against Hermione for cursing her with stubborn pustules that spelled out the word _'SNEAK.'_

'Oh right, yes. Can you help me remember all the members' names? You were the one who managed the list.'

They brainstormed for a few minutes and Harry jotted down names, until Hermione said, 'Wait a minute ... Romilda Vane.' Romilda had attempted to dose Harry with a Love Potion in his sixth year, but Ron ended up accidentally taking it instead.

Harry sighed. 'She's probably grown up a bit since then. What was she like at Hogwarts last year?'

'Not much improved, I'm afraid. Still boy-crazy, and she used to make lurid comments whenever Ginny disappeared to the Room of Requirement for long intervals. I say no.'

'All right,' agreed Harry. 'I think that's the Hogwarts list then—do we want to allow everyone to bring a guest?'

'That depends on how many of your teammates' friends you want to invite. You're probably up to about fifty Hogwarts invitees, so if you double it you're already up to one hundred, leaving only fifty new people, including your teammates. And you haven't mentioned Bill, Fleur, or Percy. Not to mention your cousin Dudley,' she added with a smirk.

He laughed and said, 'Dudley ... what a thought. But you're right—maybe only certain Hogwarts people can bring a guest, and the rest can't.'

'How will you enforce that?'

'The invitations will be restricted portkeys.'

Hermione was shocked. 'The invitations will be portkeys? Just how much is this going to cost?' She paused, embarrassed. 'I'm sorry, that's none of my business.'

Harry looked sheepish. 'It's going to cost a lot. But I think it's worth it.'

'You're right. And yes, I agree that only trusted Hogwarts people can bring a guest, and the rest can come alone. It's not as if they won't know anyone there.'

'Sounds good. I'll distribute the rest amongst my teammates and their friends.'

Hermione smiled mischievously. 'And are you going to invite anyone special? Or do you plan to avail yourself of one of the newcomers?'

'I'm not going to dignify that with an answer,' replied Harry stiffly.

She laughed. 'Well said, my lord. How are you doing, by the way?'

He rolled his eyes. 'I knew it was coming. I suppose I'll manage, just like with everything else. Lord Black is hardly the worst thing they've called me.'

'Draco Malfoy must have choked on his pumpkin juice when he read that,' she said. 'I can just hear him ... _"Harry Potter an aristocrat? With his Mudblood mother?"'_

'I expect you're right,' replied Harry. 'Did I tell you, Andromeda said he would likely have been named Head of House if I hadn't usurped.'

'You were truly born to foil him, weren't you? He'll have to content himself with only being Head of House Malfoy. Tragic.'

'Seems appropriate, considering he's confined to House Malfoy.' Draco had been sentenced to two years' house arrest for his participation in the war, and only Harry's testimony had kept him from Azkaban.

Hermione looked at her wristwatch. 'I should be going—I'm having dinner with my parents. See you Tuesday!'

She returned home and rode in her parents' car to the Vietnamese restaurant. Looking out the window, she thought, _Has it only been a week since Ron broke up with me? _She felt like an entirely different person, and she knew it wasn't simply because she'd met Ryan. Her entire outlook had changed, ever since that brilliant and bewildering conversation with Luna.

She even felt different—her body was alive with energy as it had never been before. It was as if she could feel the magical blood flowing through her veins, especially between her head and her heart. She'd never previously realised how disconnected she'd been from her own body. All her life she'd been accused of living too much in her head, and now she finally understood what they'd meant.


	19. Chapter 19

His fellow Cannons had always impressed Harry as a cheerful lot—particularly given the team's standings—but they were especially buoyant on Monday morning after the match. Not even Tuttle could bring them down with her one of her 'motivating lectures' at the beginning of practice.

'I suppose you fancy yourselves the best team in the league, now you've got a one-game winning streak,' she barked. 'But nothing upends a winning team like getting cocky, and you lot are some of the cockiest bastards I've seen.' She glared at Harry. 'Hey Potter, do you reckon you can keep off the front page of the _Prophet_ three days running?'

'I've started a wagering pool,' interjected Suresh. 'So far the longest interval anyone's chosen is five days.'

Harry had learned there was no point in replying to Tuttle's snipes, so he simply waited for her to move onto her next target. 'And Bellamy, you looked like you were more interested in preening for the cameras than throwing the Quaffle.' _That was wholly unjust,_ thought Harry—Ryan had led the scoring, and it wasn't his fault the _Prophet_ had taken a good photograph of him.

'We've got an important match on Saturday, at home against Appleby. Don't assume you can let the crowd do all the work for you—the Arrows have steamrolled their last three opponents, and they'd like nothing more than to wipe the floor with the Cannons. So I want you to come out swinging with our most aggressive moves yet. That means all of you, so quit scratching your arses and start running.'

Janet sidled up to Harry as they began to jog. 'She's very inspiring, don't you think? It's a shame she couldn't have been in that tent with you and your mates during the war.'

'It looked like you wanted to be in a tent with one of my mates the other night,' teased Harry.

She waggled her eyebrows and said, 'He's a tall drink of Firewhisky, that Ron Weasley. But I noticed you vanished again. Did you need help getting to sleep after your big day?'

Harry broke into a sprint to leave her behind. As much as he enjoyed bantering with Janet, he preferred to let his mind wander during his daily run.

Lara had asked him that morning whether he could stay after practice to meet with the publicity department. He assumed it was primarily to review the merchandise they were creating—when he signed his contract, the goblins told him to demand approval rights over all uses of his name and image, and Darius had readily assented. But he suspected the publicity team wanted to talk about the Lord Black business as well.

Harry had no intention of using the title, and he was considering issuing a statement to that effect. He wanted to nip this thing in the bud before everyone started calling him Lord Black—he'd needed to correct three different people during his shopping trip on Sunday. From what he'd gathered, the only other wizards who used titles were pure-blood prats with Death Eater sympathies, and he had no desire to be grouped with them.

He started thinking about how Sirius would have handled it and soon found himself imagining an alternative timeline in which Sirius hadn't chased after Wormtail but had adopted Harry instead. Sirius would have spurned the title as well, and they'd have enjoyed a pleasant life in a cottage somewhere. Harry smiled at the image of bachelor Sirius pushing Harry in a pram through wizarding districts, charming all the witches with his good looks and his plight as the twenty-two year-old single father to the Boy Who Lived.

Harry could imagine Sirius parking him in his cot with a charmed mobile overhead to entertain him, whilst Sirius entertained a witch in an entirely different manner. And eventually Sirius would marry and give Harry a stepmother and siblings, and he could have grown up normally.

_Except for the Horcrux, _thought Harry. _And the prophecy._ No, there was no scenario in which he could have had a normal life, except for the unthinkable one in which Neville had been targeted by Voldemort instead.

Harry had long since noticed that his 'if only' fantasies involved Sirius more often than his own parents. He had so few memories of James and Lily Potter, and none of them were first hand. He had his Dementor-induced memories of their deaths, and then the ghostly versions of them that had appeared during the _Priori Incantatem_ episode with Voldemort's wand. He had seen Snape's Pensieve memories, which showed James in the worst possible light. And then there was the version of them he had met using the Resurrection Stone, when he believed he was about to join them in Death.

But otherwise his parents were more of an idea than a reality. Harry had attended numerous funerals and memorial services after the war, and he'd frequently heard how the deceased _'lived on in our memories.'_ But James and Lily only lived on in a handful of memories—Minerva and the other professors who remembered them, the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix, and perhaps even Aunt Petunia. But otherwise they were slowly vanishing, and Harry would be unable to preserve more than a few vague impressions.

_Is that what human lives ultimately amount to?_ he wondered. He knew he would likely be remembered as a hero, but with increasingly less emotion as the years passed. In the end he'd probably be best remembered as a Chocolate Frog Card—_'I've got Harry Potter again and I've got six of him ... do you want it?'_

But did it even matter if he were remembered? People talked about fame in terms of immortality, but that always reminded him of Voldemort, who had shunned human contact. Harry, on the other hand, craved human connection. He craved it physically, as he'd come to discover—he'd already made plans with Helena for Wednesday night. And he found he was enjoying meeting new people more than ever before. If someone had told him even a couple months earlier that he'd pay an ungodly amount of Galleons to fill his house with strangers, he'd have been shocked speechless.

It had irritated Harry to see his picture on the _Prophet_ yet again on Sunday. But he loved the cheeky banter he'd shared with Helena, and he looked forward to its sequel. He'd also enjoyed the experience of trying on robes with Althea, basking in her full and undivided attention. Harry had felt whole in those moments, without thoughts of past or future, Horcruxes and loss. He wanted to live exclusively in that sense of presence.

Fortunately he'd be back up on a broom soon enough, where he experienced it as well. His laps finished, he walked to the building to fetch his Silver Arrow and splash water on his face. When he left the locker room, Ryan was there.

'Hi, Harry. I heard from Hermione that you wanted music for your upcoming party. I'd be happy to help—I can even bring my stereo.'

'Yes, please do, and thanks!'

'I assume she told you about us?' asked Ryan, a little shyly.

'She did, and I'm happy for you both. And you should take that as high praise—I'd probably curse anyone I didn't approve of.'

'Understood,' said Ryan. 'I'm glad her mates are looking out for her. Speaking of which ... I thought she could sit with my group during Saturday's match. That way you don't need to provide her a ticket—I'm sure you still have a million people you want to invite, and I heard the match is sold out.'

'Already? Clearly I need to talk to Lara sooner about getting extra tickets this season.'

'You'd best get on it—apparently they're going fast. I'd offer you some of mine this week, but my mates won't be put off any longer, and my parents will be back by then.'

'No worries,' said Harry. 'And heads up, I'll be giving you four extra invitations for the party, not counting yourself and Hermione.'

'Fantastic, cheers! I think the party's a great idea, and you're very generous to do it—I know how much you value your privacy.'

'I do, but I'm realising there are more important things than privacy.'

They grabbed their brooms and went out the pitch, where the trainers set them to flying. The drills were more varied than usual, and a good deal more aggressive. Harry didn't get to experience his usual expansive state, but he enjoyed the sheer adrenaline of daredevil flying in a pack. Nobody crashed into each other, but there was a good deal more jostling than usual, and some of the moves bordered on fouling.

'I want you to push it to the very edge this weekend,' ordered Tuttle. 'The Arrows won't see it coming, and I guarantee the fans will love it. I wouldn't risk it with an away crowd, but this lot'll be on our side.'

After their morning session, Harry and the other starters showered and went to the pub for lunch. When he told them about the party they were thrilled, particularly at the prospect of inviting their school friends.

'You're really going to open up that sarcophagus you call home to a bunch of lowlifes?' asked Janet. 'Aren't your classmates afraid it'll be catching?'

'Where exactly did you get your impression of Hogwarts students?' asked Harry. 'Except for a few stuck-up pure-bloods, they weren't particularly snobbish.'

'That was my impression as well,' said Gary. 'I think you're conflating Hogwarts students with Muggle public-school stereotypes, with no basis for it.'

'Oh, we've a basis for it,' said Renée. 'How about the fact that there's never been a non-Hogwarts Minister for Magic, ever?'

'Or any non-Hogwarts alumni on the Wizengamot, ever,' added Suresh.

Gary held up his hands in surrender. 'All right, you win. That really is appalling. I'd apologise, but I'm Muggle-born so I can't claim any responsibility.'

'No, you just get the fringe benefits,' said Darren.

'I've a question,' said Harry. 'What even governs which school someone is admitted to? I received a Hogwarts letter and that was the end of it. I suppose my parents went there before me, but my mother was Muggle-born. Why did she end up at Hogwarts rather than, say, West Chipworth?'

'Careful, Snitchbottom—you're asking about deep, hidden magic,' replied Ryan. 'You're right that school admissions generally run in families, which is why the older schools like Hogwarts have a higher percentage of old family pure-bloods.'

'Lord Black,' coughed Darren.

'But there's no apparent logic to where Muggle-borns get placed,' continued Ryan. 'Proximity doesn't matter, since most students travel to school by Floo or portkey. There's a persistent rumour, however, that the placement of Muggle-borns is determined by the Department of Mysteries.'

'The Department of Mysteries?' said Harry. 'Are you serious?'

'I've heard that too,' said Renée, and a few others nodded.

Harry's mind reeled. Hermione—without whom he could never have defeated Voldemort—was Muggle-born, and Harry himself was the subject of prophecy. Had the Department of Mysteries deliberately brought them together? Furthermore, his mother had been placed at Hogwarts as a Muggle-born, and she never would have met his father otherwise ... Had Harry's entire existence been orchestrated by the shadowy Ministry department?'

'Oh dear, I think you just broke the Chosen One,' said Janet.

'I seem to recall he spent some time in the Department of Mysteries,' noted Darren. 'You didn't come across _The Big Book of Fucking With People's Lives,_ did you?'

'No, just the Hall of Prophecy,' said Harry absently. He was still lost in thought.

'Hold on, that bit was true?' asked Darren. 'I was joking when I said you'd been there. I assumed it was just more bollocks invented by the _Prophet_._'_

_How much autonomy do I even have?_ thought Harry. He'd come to consider Dumbledore his manipulator-in-chief, along with the mysterious forces that had driven the prophecy. But if the Department of Mysteries was placing Muggle-borns, there had to be a whole other level of interference.

'Harry, are you all right?' asked Ryan.

'I'm sorry, yes,' he replied, flustered. 'I just got caught inside wheels within wheels.' He turned to Darren and said, 'Yes, the battle at the Ministry in '96 started in the Department of Mysteries. But that's where my godfather died, so I'd rather not talk about it.'

There were nods and expressions of sympathy before the group fell into silence and concentrated on their food.

When they returned to the pitch for training, Harry was greeted by Tuttle. 'I'm in charge of your training this afternoon—we'll be working on disruptive feinting techniques. You're a particularly aggressive flyer and we should make the most of it.'

'Where's Owen?' he asked. 'Will he be participating as well?'

'No, not with his injuries. I sent him to the weight room with a trainer instead.'

Harry was disappointed not to train with Owen, but he was curious what a one-on-one session with Tuttle would be like.

'I'd like to know more about your flying history,' she said, in a surprisingly conversational tone. 'Any injuries?'

'Yes, a broken arm and a cracked skull, both from Bludger strikes.'

'But never a crash?'

'No.'

'Ever fallen off your broom?'

'Yes, but it was because a hundred Dementors turned up.'

'Sweet Merlin,' she muttered, shaking her head. 'Right, so you've never had a contact injury other than the Bludgers. That's good—means you're not going to be jittery when we take it up a notch.'

'What do you have in mind?'

'I want to see you feinting, a lot. You're already nearly as good a spotter as Barrowmaker, and after your performance against the Falcons you'll have a reputation for it. No Seeker is going to risk not following you when you feint, so go for it. And I'm not talking about airy-fairy feints into the clouds—I want you to feint like a fucking Bludger. Go for their Chasers. Disrupt their Beaters if they're not in control. Fly at their bloody Seeker if you have to. And then before they know what's hit them, resume your Seeking pattern.'

Harry nodded. He'd done his share of feints, but he'd never tried anything as radical as what Tuttle was describing.

'If you do this right, the other Seekers are going to be scared shitless. I want them to see the man who ended You-Know-Who.'

'Tuttle, I hope you realise I didn't defeat Voldemort with raw power. Not even close.'

'I know that. You defeated him with dogged determination and great brass bollocks. You called him "Riddle" for fuck's sake. That's what I want to see out there.'

'All right,' said Harry. 'I'm in.'

'Good,' she replied. 'Right now I don't want you interrupting the other players' training, so I'm just going to have you show me your most aggressive solo moves—anything that might pass for a feint. So no corkscrews, obviously. But show me some sharp turns, erratic paths, hairpins around the posts, you name it. There should be sparks coming out of your broomstick when you're done. If you break it we'll get you a new one, but push it to the limit.'

Harry felt his excitement rising, and at her nod he kicked off and rose to a clear area above the pitch.

And then he flew like a bloody maniac. He imagined he was following a wildly capricious Snitch, rapidly changing direction in three dimensions. He gunned for the base of one of the goalposts before turning at the last moment and weaving through its neighbours. It was simultaneously exhausting and exhilarating, and he felt his conscious mind relax control as he surrendered to the chaotic energy.

Tuttle eventually whistled him to the ground and said, 'Holy shit, no wonder the Ministry was afraid of you. What did you think?'

His heart was racing. 'I loved it, but it was exhausting.'

'That's fine—you don't need to do it continuously. Just every five minutes or so.'

'The trick is going to be getting back into proper spotting mode between feints,' he said. 'They require very different mental states.'

'That's what you're going to work on this week. I don't expect you to get the hang of it right away, but hopefully by Wednesday you'll have the knack. If not, we'll return to the old strategy. And don't feel bad if it doesn't work. This is an experiment, but it could pay off big.'

She had him practise flying for a while longer before blowing the whistle and gathering everyone near the benches. 'Starters versus reserves, ten minutes,' she barked in her usual tone.

Harry didn't warn Owen about what he was going to do. He knew Owen was expecting him to fly more aggressively, since Tuttle had mentioned it after the match. But this was going to be more insane than anything he'd shown Owen before, and he wanted to maintain the element of surprise.

The balls were launched, and Harry began his normal circling pattern. Owen flew by and said, 'Don't get cocky, Potter. Saturday was only beginner's luck.'

'You're just jealous because I've already won more matches than you did.'

Owen laughed and flew off, and Harry reset his intention to let the Snitch appear to him. He circled, and after about five minutes he began his first feint, a rocket blast towards the goalpost. Owen started to follow him, and before he was able to verify the Snitch wasn't present Harry turned erratically, forcing Owen to keep following in case the Snitch had changed direction. Finally Harry shot upwards through a knot of players before resuming his circling.

'What the blazes was that?' asked Owen. 'Was that a feint or did you just have a stroke?'

'I thought I'd show you what decent flying looks like.'

'And here comes the ego,' said Owen. 'It'll be your downfall, Potter. Or should I say Black?'

'You're better off saying some Cushioning Charms,' replied Harry before flying off again.

Owen was next to feint—a textbook manoeuvre which Harry stopped following in short order. 'It's cute you thought I'd fall for that,' said Harry.

'You're not famous for your brains, Potter. Isn't that what you kept the Mudblood around for?'

'I dare you to say that around Ryan. They're dating now.'

'So she shot you down again? That's just sad. You were literally the only person she saw for weeks and she still wasn't interested. But then I guess she knows you better than anyone.'

Harry was surprised by how much that taunt rattled him. He flew away from Owen to clear his head and resume his Seeking pattern.

The Snitch was really taking its time, which gave Harry the opportunity to practice some truly radical feints. He forced several turnovers from the opposing Chasers, which was surprisingly easy when you flew at them like a madman. He also antagonised the opposing Beaters, which made Gary and Suresh's job easier.

Owen was impressed with Harry's attacks. 'I reckon they'll name that Beater move after you. They'll call it the Potter Kamikaze Feint.'

Instead of replying, Harry shot towards the ground, less than a minute after completing the Kamikaze Feint. But Owen didn't follow him—he simply launched into his circling pattern, prompting Harry to do the same.

The frequent feints were taking their toll. Harry was finding it increasingly difficult to settle into his usual Seeking strategy, and his old Omniocular habit was coming back. He was also getting tired.

Owen finally launched towards the goalpost, too far away for Harry to catch up. 'Barrowmaker's got the Snitch,' announced Tuttle, and the match was over.

'Are you all right, Harry?' asked Owen. 'I gather that was Tuttle's new strategy.'

'Yeah, and I'm not convinced it's a keeper. That was gruelling. How was it for you?'

'It was interesting, to say the least. But I'm probably not as tired as you are, since I couldn't keep up to begin with. I'll give you detailed notes later—your patterns were becoming predictable after a while.'

'Thanks,' said Harry, and they flew to the ground.

Tuttle was surprisingly encouraging during her post-match notes. 'That was a good start, Potter—I didn't expect you to nail it on the first try. And those attacks on the Beaters had real potential. That could become your signature move.'

Harry was relieved to go through their final stretches and head for the showers. He took his time until he remembered he had a meeting with the publicity team. _Merlin, I'm knackered_, he thought as he towelled off and exited the shower stall. Maybe Lara could provide him with an Energy Draught to get through the rest of the day.

'That was some truly deranged flying, Potter,' said Titus. 'I'm relieved you're on our side ... That was the first time I've had a Seeker accelerate towards me at top speed. I hope you don't start a league trend.'

'Revenge is sweet,' retorted Owen. 'It's about time Beaters were afraid of Seekers.'

'It was Tuttle's mad idea,' said Harry. 'Don't blame me.'

'Nice try, Snitchbottom, but she got the idea when you plowed into those Chasers on Saturday,' said Darren.

A towel-clad Janet came over from the women's half of the locker room and added, 'You realise, Potter, if you fly like that on Saturday, everyone's going to think you're stark raving mad.'

'That should at least convince them he's the true heir to House Black,' said Darren.

Harry dressed and dragged himself to Lara's desk, and she obligingly provided an Energy Draught. 'I'm not surprised you're knackered, after the way you were flying. Darius shouted for all of us to come watch through his window—I've never seen anything like it.'

'You might not see it after Wednesday,' replied Harry after drinking the potion. 'That's when we'll decide whether it's a strategy worth pursuing.'

'It was entertaining, that's for certain,' she said. 'But I suppose I should show you to the publicity department, assuming they're not all frightened of you.'

She led him down the hall to a large room he'd never previously seen. There were team banners and posters on the walls and a smattering of desks and drafting tables. Two witches and a wizard were waiting for Harry at a large table in the middle of the room.

They stood when he entered, and one of the witches said, 'Thanks for coming to meet us—' She hesitated, apparently uncertain how to address him.

'Please, call me Harry.'

'Right, but what about your surname?'

'Potter, same as always,' he replied, and there was a a collective sigh of relief.

'Glad to hear it,' she said. 'We had a bit of a panic with the Lord Black article ... Lara insisted there was nothing to worry about, but it's good to be certain.'

'I'm sorry I didn't think to reassure you sooner,' said Harry. 'I've known about the Lord Black rubbish for several weeks, and if I'd wanted to change my name I would have said something.'

'I'm glad that's cleared up. My name's Susanna Montfort, and I run the Cannons publicity department. And these are Thaddeus and Gillian,' she added, indicating the two others.

After greetings were exchanged, Susanna continued. 'Seeing as we're on the topic of Lord Black, what instructions would you like for us to provide to the press in that regard?'

'If it weren't for the Wizengamot seat I'd never have gone public,' said Harry. 'But if you're going to issue instructions, I'd like it made clear that I have no intention to use the title, and that I'd prefer not to be addressed that way.'

'Do you want to fully disavow the connection with House Black?'

'Not at all. Sirius Black was my godfather, and he deliberately made me his heir so I could steer House Black towards the Light. I take that responsibility very seriously—it's only the title that's a load of bollocks.'

Thaddeus was taking notes. 'We probably shouldn't phrase it like that. Wizarding lordships are highly respected, after all.'

'They shouldn't be,' said Harry. 'I'm told they were all granted in 1707, when the Ministry was established. They needed money for construction, and the biggest donors were rewarded with titles.'

'Surely there's more to it,' said Thaddeus. 'Or they're at least older than that.'

'Not from what I've heard, and I consider my source reliable. Personally, I'd like to blow the lid off this lordship rubbish entirely.'

Thaddeus shook his head. 'If you really want to, but you'll hack off a lot of pure-bloods that way.'

'I've already hacked off a lot of pure-bloods—I doubt this will make much difference,' said Harry.

'For the purposes of the team,' interjected Susanna, 'we should issue a simple statement requesting that Harry be addressed as before, and not as Lord Black.' She turned to Harry and added, 'If you want to make a political statement, you should probably do that as a personal press announcement and not under the auspices of the team. But we can assist you with that, if you like.'

'That sounds good, thanks.'

Susanna looked relieved. 'The next order of business is for you to review the merchandise we've designed. We'd like to start production straight away, in order to have it available for Saturday's match, and as you know we need your signed approval.'

'Yes, and I apologise for the inconvenience,' said Harry.

'Not at all,' she said. 'It's quite understandable, given the amount of fraudulent material published on your behalf. Stories about immortal warlocks and such.'

'Yes, and wrestling a giant squid,' added Harry.

Gillian looked crestfallen. 'You mean that one's not true?'

'Er, I'm afraid not,' said Harry. _Sweet Merlin, she's clearly not Ravenclaw material. Presumably she's a good artist._

'Right,' said Susanna. 'We'll start with the basic items. Here's the picture we'd like to use for your official team photograph.' She opened a folder and revealed a parchment with a Spellotaped portrait of Harry in his Cannons robes.

'That's not bad, actually.' In the photo, Harry was smiling but in a very natural way. _Nothing like Lockhart_. He held his broomstick diagonally before him, in both hands, and his tailored robes were very flattering. 'Yes, that's fine.'

'Perfect, just sign your name here,' said Susanna, indicating the edge of the parchment next to the photograph.

She showed Harry a stack of photos, including group portraits, flying shots, and candid photographs as he interacted with his teammates. There was a particularly nice one depicting Harry and Owen, and he asked for a copy.

'Of course—just let us know which ones you like and what size you'd prefer.'

He signed his approval on all of them, and Susanna said, 'Gillian's the artist, so we'll have her take you through the more creative items.'

Gillian opened a box containing a small figure of Harry in his team robes, similar to the figure of Viktor Krum that Ron had purchased at the Quidditch World Cup. The miniature Harry walked and peered about with a friendly expression.

'Extraordinary,' said Harry. 'Is that a good likeness, do you think?'

Gillian looked back and forth between Harry and the small figure. 'I think so. It ought to be, really—it was magically generated from your photographs.'

'It looks good to me,' said Susanna, and Thaddeus nodded in agreement.

'All right, where do I sign?' asked Harry, and he was given another parchment.

Gillian pulled out a small poster. 'This is based on the design Darius gave us, produced by your friend I believe.' She unrolled it to reveal Luna's design of a bright orange lightning bolt against a dark background. 'I've modified it a bit. The lightning bolt is shaped more like your actual scar now, and I changed the background from black to midnight blue. Black and orange struck me as a bit too Hallowe'en, which seemed in poor taste.'

Harry nodded in agreement—his parents had been killed on Hallowe'en, after all. _Perhaps Gillian is more clever than I thought. _

'It's really a brilliant design—your friend is very talented,' she said. 'We'd like to use it on all sorts of merchandise: T-shirts, banners, mugs, Exploding Snap decks, and so forth.'

'Er, may I see the entire list? I'd rather approve them on a per-item basis.'

'Of course,' said Susanna, handing him yet another parchment. He signed his name to most of them, but withheld his approval on an ashtray, tea towels, a set of coasters, and knickers.

He felt a wave of gratitude that his Gringotts ban had expired and he'd had access to goblin legal advice. The last thing the world needed was Harry Potter-branded women's undergarments, or a house-elf using a stylised version of Harry's scar—and Voldemort's Horcrux—to cover his bits.

'We'd also like to put your autograph on a souvenir Snitch, if that's all right. Those tend to be very popular items—it's a regulation Snitch in every other respect.' Harry assented and signed his name twice—once on the approval document, and then on a clean parchment to be printed on the Snitch.

Next she pulled a large box from underneath the table and showed him various T-shirts and jerseys with his name and player number on it. None of them were as nice as his robes, but they were otherwise inoffensive, so he approved them.

'There's one other item,' said Gillian, a bit sheepishly. 'I'm not seriously suggesting it, but my little boy wanted me to show it to you.' She pulled out a drawing depicting Harry on a broomstick, catching the Snitch in one hand and levelling his wand with the other. At the receiving end of his Cannons-orange curse was a cartoon rendering of Voldemort.

'Wow,' said Harry, shaking his head in amazement. 'That is not even remotely how it happened. I wish it had been, though.' Everyone laughed, and he added, 'I won't sign approval for it, but I'd be glad to autograph it for your son if he'd like.'

'That would be lovely, thanks,' replied Gillian, and Harry signed his name one last time.

'I believe we're all set,' said Susanna. 'Thanks for being so agreeable, Harry, and of course we're delighted to have you on the team.'

'I'm glad to be here—best decision I ever made.'

'Not better than finishing You-Know-Who, certainly,' said Thaddeus. 'Cheers for that.'

_That was a prophecy, not a decision,_ thought Harry, but he nodded politely.

The meeting finished, Harry went outside and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. He was impressed by how well the Energy Draught had worked—he wasn't anywhere near as tired as he'd been immediately after practice.

He found himself a bit restless for company. Although he'd been tempted to make plans with Helena for that very night, he'd owled her instead suggesting Wednesday evening. He would have his new robes by then, and he wanted to take her somewhere nice to dinner. There was no concern she'd mistake it for courting, so it seemed a good opportunity for a night on the town.

Not knowing when his potion would wear off, Harry decided to see if Ron was available—there was no risk he'd be offended if Harry were suddenly exhausted and kicked him out. He fired up Prongs and sent Ron the invitation.

'Harry, where are you?' called Ron from the kitchen.

'In the sitting room.'

Ron entered and said, 'Hello, yes—dinner sounds great. Do you want to go out?'

'I'm thinking Café Kreacher,' replied Harry. 'Practice was exhausting, and I took an Energy Draught that might stop working at any moment.'

'Glad to hear they're pushing you. Did they wear out Janet as well?'

'Why, are you concerned she won't be up for some particular activity?' asked Harry innocently.

'I'm not seeing her tonight, but we have plans tomorrow, and I'd prefer to set expectations accordingly.'

'In answer to your question: no, they did not wear Janet out. Unless you count the team drills in the morning, which were more aggressive than usual.'

'So they're focussing on you, eh? I had a feeling they might want to weaponise you a bit more, after you forced that turnover,' said Ron.

'Yes, that's exactly the plan. Hard to say yet whether it'll work, though—it's a not easy to watch for the Snitch when I'm flying like a lunatic. Tuttle wants to give it until Wednesday, and if I can't make it work we'll return to Plan A.'

'I hope you can pull it off. It would make fantastic viewing, and I've got season tickets, you know. Received them by owl this afternoon.'

'That's great. Any idea who you're inviting this weekend? I have ten tickets this time, and I was planning to invite your whole family.'

'I've already asked George, so you don't need to invite him. But Charlie's been hinting he wants to see you play, so I bet he'd come home for a long weekend if you offered him a spot.'

'I'll do that. And I think I'll ask Hagrid as well. He'll need two seats, of course.'

'Merlin help the poor sod sitting behind him,' said Ron.

'I know—I'll ask Lara if I can swap those two tickets for something in the back.'

'So are you going to summon Kreacher or what?'

'Oh, right,' said Harry. 'Kreacher!'

_Crack!_ 'Yes, Master.'

'Would you please prepare dinner for Ron and me?' He looked at Ron and asked, 'Is steak and kidney pie all right? And treacle tart?'

Ron nodded, and Kreacher said, 'Yes, Master, right away.'

After Kreacher had gone, Ron said, 'Don't get any funny ideas about having him serve it in the bedroom.'

Harry laughed. 'That was mortifying. Between Kreacher and the portraits, I don't have much deniability about my private life.'

'You'd better be careful, mate. If you think the _Prophet_ has been intrusive in the past, just wait until they start photographing you with a different witch every week.'

'I'm sure you're right,' said Harry, 'but I'm sick and tired of letting the _Prophet_ stop me from having a good time.'

'When have you ever done that?'

'That's a fair point,' replied Harry. 'But you see where I'm going. I've had enough of tiptoeing through the wizarding world for fear of catching attention. We can safely assume the _Prophet_ is going to print whatever they like, whether it's true or not. So I may as well do what I want and let the chips fall where they may.'

'Famous last words, Potter. But I'm glad to hear it. I feel like we're both emerging from hibernation—last Saturday was like a long jolt of adrenaline. In a good way, not a Battle of Hogwarts way.'

'I'm glad you had a good time. And I don't need to worry about you seeing Janet now that Hermione is sorted.'

'What about Hermione?' asked Ron.

Harry realised the slip he'd made, but it was too late to take it back. 'Er, she's started dating Ryan.'

'Ryan Bellamy?' said Ron, incredulous. 'That's hard to picture.'

'Yes and no,' said Harry. 'He's more intellectual than you'd think, and he's obviously sincere. He practically asked for my permission first.'

'I'm glad it's not Darren,' said Ron. 'She may not be my girlfriend anymore, but she deserves better than to be a notch on someone's bedpost.'

'I'm in no position to judge, but I feel the same way.'

They talked about various topics and eventually migrated to the kitchen for dinner before Harry remembered to tell Ron about the party.

'You're doing it then?' asked Ron.

'Yes, I signed a contract with Gringotts and everything.'

'Thanks, mate. I'm glad I won't have to wear my Auror robes that night.'

Somewhere halfway through the treacle tart Harry felt the Energy Draught wear off. 'Feel free to finish eating,' he told Ron, 'but I need to call it a night.'

'No worries. Remember I'm still on an early schedule. Is there anything you'd like me to say to Murdoch on your behalf?'

'Ugh, I'd forgot about him already,' said Harry groggily. 'You can tell him he was right, and that I wasn't actually Auror material. I think my Dark wizard-hunting days are behind me. I'd rather hunt the Snitch.'

'I'll pass that right along. Thanks for dinner, and I'll see you on Saturday morning if not sooner.'

'Sounds good—have fun with Janet.'

Harry dragged himself upstairs, did the bare minimum of personal hygiene, and then collapsed on his bed. _I'd rather hunt the Snitch,_ he thought once more before falling asleep.


	20. Chapter 20

For perhaps the first time in her life, Hermione found it difficult to concentrate on her work. Her team at the Ministry had reached the same conclusion as Bill Weasley—that the goblins were perfectly happy to move forward as long as they could be bribed sufficiently. So the next step was to see how much goblin-made treasure could be shaken loose from the Ministry stores.

This left Hermione free to research her other pet projects, such as house-elf regulations and Ministry hiring practices, but her thoughts kept turning towards a tall blond Chaser wearing football shorts and whispering sweet nothings about the laws of physics.

She kept checking her wristwatch, but the day crept along glacially. There was a bright spot at lunch, when she overheard people in the Ministry cafeteria talking about the Cannons match and how well Bellamy had played. Hearing another person mention his name reminded her that he was real and not just someone she'd imagined, as she might have done as a girl.

She was to meet Ryan that evening at his flat and go from there to dinner. It seemed likely they'd go somewhere exotic and Muggle, but she would have been equally happy to eat sandwiches with him on a park bench.

The workday finally ended, and she could barely stand still in the lift as it crawled towards the Atrium. Normally she travelled home by Floo, but the lines were long and she was impatient, so she Apparated instead. Her parents weren't home yet, and after she'd changed into a nice Muggle outfit and refreshed the charm on her hair, she went downstairs and turned on the stereo.

Ryan had loaned her several CDs, and she found she liked all of them. Furthermore, she was content just to immerse herself in the music and not distract herself with a book as she might have normally done. How had she never noticed all the complexity in music, even in a seemingly ordinary pop song? The emotion in the vocals, the satisfying chord progressions, and the jangle of the guitars transported her as never before.

She almost lost track of time, but her long habit of punctuality brought her to Ryan's flat at the appointed hour. He was standing on the hearth when she arrived.

'Is it wrong that I was hoping you'd stumble from the fireplace, just so I could catch you?' he asked.

'You can catch me regardless,' she said, and he took her into his arms.

After they'd greeted each other, she said, 'I can't believe how slowly today passed. I'd have sworn someone charmed my wristwatch to move backwards. I hope your day was a bit more invigorating.'

'Flying helps,' he said, 'and Harry unleashed some truly maniacal feints this afternoon, but I'll admit I was impatient as well.'

'I'm not certain I want to know about Harry's maniacal feints.'

'No, you might make me replicate them next time we're on a broom together.'

'Am I that frightening?' she asked.

'Terrifying,' he replied admiringly, and he kissed her again. 'But I've promised you dinner and conversation, so perhaps we should leave the flat.'

'If you insist,' she said, and his eyes momentarily widened. She couldn't help laughing and said, 'Where do you have in mind?'

'We've two options, both local. One is a Muggle Thai restaurant I go to all the time, and the other is a wizarding restaurant—Italian.'

'Local? I'm ashamed to admit I don't know where we are.'

'That's the hazard of magical transport, isn't it,' he said. 'But we're in Cambridge.'

'Really?' she said excitedly, turning towards the window.

'We're not at the city centre, so you won't see any spires. But both restaurants are there, so you'll see historic architecture soon enough.'

'Can we walk from here?'

'We could, but we'd have to cross some tedious ring roads. It would be pleasanter to Apparate to a secluded spot and start from there.'

'That sounds good,' she said, extending her hand. They were soon in an alleyway, and they continued holding hands as they walked through the narrow streets.

'So which restaurant would you prefer?' he asked.

'They both sound good,' she said. 'I suppose wherever it's easier to have a conversation.'

'Yes, that's always the challenge. In Muggle restaurants there's the secrecy concern, and in wizarding settings there's the risk of interruptions. Which I suppose will be infinitely worse now that you're here with me.' He paused and added, 'Sorry, that came out wrong.'

Hermione laughed and said, 'No, I understood your meaning.'

'But back to your question, the Italian restaurant is the better choice. It's darker than the Thai restaurant, and the tables aren't as near to one another.'

'All right then,' she said, looking up at him. 'Lead on.'

They ambled through the streets and he pointed out some of the famous buildings until they arrived at another alley. 'This is the problem with most wizarding establishments. The exteriors are invariably dreary, or downright unsavoury.'

'Yes,' she agreed, as they walked past a series of bins. 'But presumably it's nicer inside.'

'It is,' he said, pressing his wand to a rune that was disguised as a bit of graffiti. A large door came into existence, and Ryan opened it and ushered Hermione inside.

'Much better,' she said. The interior was spacious but intimate, with stairs leading down to a podium with a number of tables beyond. The host greeted them.

'Good evening ... table for two?' He looked warmly at both Ryan and Hermione but didn't acknowledge whether he'd recognised them.

'Yes, please,' said Ryan, and they were led around a corner to a small and very private booth.

When they were seated she said, 'This is lovely, and perfect for a conversation.'

'That's good,' he replied, 'because I want to hear all about you. You only provided the barest outlines at dinner on Saturday.'

'But you promised you'd tell me about your Muggle secret identity. I'm keen to learn about it, not least because I'd like ideas for how to reconnect with my own family.'

'All right,' he said. 'But first the menu.' They took time to review the menu and make their selections, and after the waiter left they started their conversation in earnest.

'Until I was eleven I didn't have to hide very much,' he said. 'I wasn't able to start school until I was nearly eight and could be trusted to keep a secret. I was also less prone to accidental magic by then, although my mother had to smooth over a few incidents.'

'And by smooth over you mean Obliviate?' asked Hermione.

'Yes. She hated doing it—still does—but the alternative was worse in her opinion.'

'What, home schooling?'

'That, or an ad-hoc school taught by a relatively unlettered parent. Not that you need a doctorate to teach eight-year olds, but I think it helps to have a teacher with a broader perspective on the world than most witches or wizards have.'

'Yes. I was appalled to discover how patchy the pre-Hogwarts education system seems to be.' She paused and corrected herself. 'I'm sorry, pre-wizarding school.'

'You're forgiven. It's not your fault your memory was tampered with all these years.'

'So you went to a Muggle primary school, and then you received your Widgington letter, or however it works?'

'Yes. My mother and most of her family attended Widgington, so it came as no surprise,' he explained. 'I had to tell my friends that my parents were switching me to a private school—fortunately my friends didn't question it. But several of my father's relations couldn't understand why my parents were paying for my education when there was a perfectly acceptable state school, so they were told it was for athletics. Which led to ongoing requests to attend my matches, until my mother had to start Confunding them.'

'Oh dear,' said Hermione. 'How did that work out?'

'Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—the repeated charms eventually dampened their curiosity on the topic, and after a while my mother no longer had to interfere. But it weighs heavily on her that she may have caused some kind of permanent damage, albeit subtle.'

Hermione was too self-aware not to see the similarities with her own situation. She had often wished she could Confund her parents when they asked probing questions about her life at Hogwarts, but of course she'd been hampered by the Restriction on Underage Magic. So she'd lied instead.

'What did you tell people when you were eighteen? Did you tell them you went to university?'

'Yes,' he said sadly. 'It would have been out of character for me to just drop out. I'd become an avid reader, since that provided a lot of conversation fodder with my cousins, and it didn't seem likely I'd abandon my studies and work in a chip shop.'

'I can see that.'

'My primary school friends and football teammates went to uni as well, and we only saw each other during term breaks and holidays. So I told them I attended university in Durham, since none of them did, and I mainly got away with it.'

'Mainly?'

He sighed. 'My mate Liam—you'll meet him when you come see us play football—got pretty insistent about coming to visit me, and I had to Confund him. I've had to do that to several of my friends, and I've hated it. I'm always horrified when I hear wizards talk about casually Confunding ticket sellers and such.'

Hermione was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. It was a relief when their starters arrived, since they didn't need to talk for a while. She was even tempted to order a glass of wine, just to take the edge off.

'Are you all right?' asked Ryan. 'Did I say something to upset you? Unfortunately these aren't my proudest moments I'm describing, but I hope you won't hold them against me.'

'No, it's not that,' she said, looking down. 'Not the way you're thinking, anyway.'

He didn't say anything, and she felt terrible. What could he say? She took a deep breath and continued. 'I'm not judging you for what you've done. Not at all. The problem is that I've done far worse.'

Ryan reached for her hand across the table. 'Oh, Hermione. I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking—I suppose you had to do some difficult things during the war, when you were on the run.'

_He's probably imagining I Confunded ticket vendors or shopkeepers,_ she thought. 'Well yes, but that's not what I'm referring to ... I Obliviated my parents.'

She saw his eyes flicker with shock, but they were full of compassion. 'I'm certain you only did what was necessary.'

'I was thorough,' she continued, not wanting to hide the truth. 'I gave them new identities entirely. Made them forget they ever had a daughter and believe they were desperate to go live in Australia. It was the only way I knew to keep them safe.'

'And you succeeded,' he said emphatically. 'Not only that, you were able to help Harry without having to worry about them. I don't think it's a stretch to say that your decision may have influenced the entire outcome of the war.'

She relaxed a little until she realised she hadn't even told him the worst part. 'But even before that ... I lied to them for years. Flat-out, bold-faced lies—starting during my first term at Hogwarts. And it wasn't like your situation, with the Statute of Secrecy. My parents knew I was a witch, so that wasn't a factor. But I was terrified if they found out how much danger I was in that they'd make me leave Hogwarts and stop being magical. I didn't know there were other schools, after all.'

'Oh, Hermione,' said Ryan soothingly. He looked like he wanted to reach around the table and hold her.

'My first year I was nearly killed by a troll. And then in my second year I was petrified by a Basilisk. I couldn't tell my parents about that. Or that there were Dementors at Hogwarts, or that a mass murderer was after my best friend.'

'Exonerated,' said Ryan, and she smiled.

'Every year at Hogwarts it was one thing after another. And I never told them that Voldemort came back. If they'd known how much the Death Eaters hated people like me, they'd have moved us to Australia without my intervention. But I couldn't leave Harry and Ron. And so I lied. And I lied some more. And then I Obliviated my parents.'

'You did the right thing,' he said. 'And I'm not just saying that. Harry probably didn't tell you this, but Death Eaters killed my grandparents. My father's parents, because of me.'

She looked up at him. 'Oh, Ryan ... I'm so sorry.'

He shook his head. 'I can't tell you how many times I've wished I'd done something—anything—to protect them. If only I'd Obliviated them or exiled them to America or sent them on one of those horrible, year-long cruises. But we'd only thought to protect my father.'

'Do you know who did it, and whether it was ...' She was going to say 'quick_'_ but thought better of it.

He shook his head. 'It's hard to say. It could have been any number of Death Eaters—someone who didn't like the Cannons, or didn't approve of an abomination like me playing for them. They left the Dark Mark overhead, and my grandparents ... their bodies ... looked frightened.'

She grasped both his hands across the table and looked at him with deep empathy. 'I'm so sorry,' she repeated. What else was there to say?

'We had to hide the rest of my family—my father's siblings, and my cousins. And we couldn't tell them the real reason. We told them my father had been targeted by terrorists because of his work, and then my mother Confunded and Compelled the living daylights out of various officials to get them relocated.

'Fortunately it was only a few more months before the war ended—thanks to you, Hermione, and to Harry. I hope you realise how many lives you saved. And if lying to your parents and Obliviating them is what made that possible, then I'm the last person to criticise you for it.'

Hermione was softly crying and unable to speak, prompting Ryan to conjure a handkerchief and hand it to her. She finally said, 'We should have sat next to each other and not across,' and her tears flowed faster.

In an instant he was by her side with his arm around her. 'Do you even know what a miracle you are, Hermione? I can't believe I met you, and that I'm holding you right now.'

She snuggled next to him and said, 'I feel the same way about you, Ryan.'

'Even though I'm an athlete.'

She laughed. 'Yes, even so.'

Their main course arrived, and although the booth was cramped they remained seated next to each other.

They ate for a while in silence, but then she turned to him and said, 'I tend to forget what other people went through during the war, or even minimise it. But we all had burdens and dark thoughts weighing us down.' She had thought nobody would understand what it was like to spend months with a Horcrux, but perhaps she'd been mistaken.

'I'm sure nobody's experience can compare to yours,' he began, but she shook her head.

'No, my point is that just because you were living in a house with food and not in a tent, or because you were busy protecting your family and not ... doing what Harry and Ron and I were doing, that doesn't mean we weren't going through the same fundamental experience, or part of the same struggle.'

She sighed and continued. 'I wish I'd known how many people there were like you. It really felt like there were just a handful of us resisting, and that we were alone. I can't tell you what a difference it made to hear Potterwatch that one time, to know that people still cared. Or the night we went to Godric's Hollow— which was a disaster, by the way—but at least we saw the messages people had left for Harry on the marker in front of his parents' house.'

'Hermione, you have no idea. We were desperate, and the only thing that gave us hope was seeing the Ministry try harder and harder to catch Harry, because that meant he was a threat. And same with you ... Undesirable Number Two.' He smiled. 'You looked mad cute in that poster, you know. You had a sort of scowl.'

'I'll be honest, when Ron and I split up, I didn't know how I'd find someone who could understand. Besides Harry, of course, but that's not how we see each other.'

'I know,' he admitted. 'I asked him whether he was going to pursue you now that you were single.'

'You really are absurdly gentlemanlike,' she laughed.

'Is that even a word?'

'Of course it is—Jane Austen used it. _"Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner,"'_ she quoted.

'How could I forget?' he laughed. 'But you must admit it's rather cumbersome.'

'I suppose it is. I could say Ryan-like, if you prefer.'

'I am undeniably Ryan-like. Or Bellamoid, alternatively.'

'That is such a Muggle joke,' she said. 'I love it.'

'Yet another example of what wizards are missing out on.'

They shared a dessert, and after leaving the restaurant they walked through more of the historic parts of Cambridge under the setting sun.

'If I hadn't been a witch I might have gone to university here. I certainly wanted to as a child.'

'Cambridge or Oxford, right?' he asked.

'Of course. I had already begun comparing the different colleges to determine which one was best. I even had a special notebook, in which I listed all the pros and cons.'

'And then your Hogwarts letter arrived and ruined everything?'

'Exactly. It's unfortunate there's no wizarding equivalent to the university system.'

'I agree,' he said. 'Growing up in Cambridge I longed for a uni experience, but I knew that was unlikely.'

'So you've had to console yourself by playing professional Quidditch?'

'For now, anyway. Obviously it's not a long-term career, but after I retire I might resume my studies.'

'What are you most interested in?'

'I'm probably strongest in Charms, being a Spoonwocket and all,' he said, and Hermione smiled. 'But I also like Arithmancy and Runes, and I think there's still a lot to be discovered where those fields intersect. In the meantime, I'm having fun playing for the Cannons, and it's a good way to save money for my future career as a mad scientist.'

It was nearly dark out, and she turned towards him. 'Just hearing you use expressions like "mad scientist" makes me realise how much I've missed this side of myself. Harry doesn't talk much about Muggle things, since his home life was so awful. And of course Ron doesn't know the first thing about the non-magical world and has no interest in learning about it.'

Ryan nodded. 'It's been the same for me. I've mainly dated half-bloods, but the kind who might as well be pure-bloods for all they know about the Muggle side of things. I've only introduced one girlfriend to my Muggle friends and relations, and that was years ago.'

'Are they growing suspicious?' she asked, smiling.

He nodded. 'My cousins and mates keep throwing their female friends into my path, which is awkward. I have nothing against dating Muggles in principle, but it would require a whole new set of lies and memory charms, and I couldn't be intimate with someone I had to lie to.'

His thumb was lightly stroking her hand, and Hermione felt herself beginning to melt, perhaps because he'd used the word 'intimate.'

'I'd like to return to your flat now if that's all right,' she said.

'Yes, of course.' He looked around to confirm they weren't being observed, and then Apparated them home.

His flat was dark, and he turned on the light. 'Would you like to stay a while?' he asked tentatively. She responded by leaning towards him and inclining her face upwards, and they stood kissing for a while.

'Could you put on some music?' she asked.

'Always,' he said, and he went to the shelves and selected an album. He placed the disc in the CD player and joined Hermione on the sofa, where they resumed their prior activity.

She eventually asked, 'What are we listening to?'

'It's the latest album by XTC.'

'How appropriate,' she replied, and they both smiled.

They remained clothed, but it required considerable willpower from Hermione—and from Ryan as well, she suspected. She had an idea that she shouldn't rush too quickly into a physical relationship, but it was hard to see the logic just then.

'I should probably go,' she said, sitting up.

'All right, if you must,' he replied. 'When can I see you again?'

'I'm busy tomorrow and Thursday nights, so it would have to be Wednesday or Friday.'

'Wednesday,' he said decisively. 'It has the twin advantages of being sooner and not being the night before a match.'

'Perfect.' She rose from the sofa and walked towards the fireplace. He moved to kiss her one last time but she pulled away. 'I won't leave if you do that,' she said.

He smiled and backed away. 'Then go, before I lose my mind.'

She threw in a pinch of Floo powder, spoke her destination, and quickly stepped through the green flames.

-––—––-

Emily was having trouble falling asleep for no apparent reason, and so she went to the kitchen to make some herbal tea. She'd been at the table several minutes when she heard the familiar _whoosh_ of flames from the fireplace.

Hermione peered into the kitchen. 'Why are you still up? Is everything all right?'

'I'm fine—I just couldn't sleep and thought a tisane might relax me. There's more water in the kettle if you want something.'

'Yes, actually,' said Hermione as she walked to the counter and restarted the kettle.

'Did you have a nice time with Ryan?'

'Oh, Mum, I had a wonderful time,' she said, her eyes glowing.

'I can see that,' replied Emily, not mentioning that her daughter's ringlets appeared disheveled. 'Did you go to dinner?'

'Yes, at an Italian restaurant near his flat. It turns out Ryan lives in Cambridge, if you can believe it.'

'Did you get to walk around? I'm sorry your father and I never brought you there.'

'Yes, he showed me some of the colleges. It was lovely.'

Emily sipped her tea and observed Hermione, who was pouring the hot water into a mug over a sachet. 'Is he from Cambridge originally? I don't imagine he moved there for university.'

'No, he grew up there. He didn't attend uni, but he's hoping to resume his studies after he retires from the Cannons.'

_Good lord, he's an intellectual trapped in the body of a Greek god. No wonder Hermione is smitten,_ thought Emily indulgently. 'That's good. It would be a shame to peak in one's twenties.'

'I'm sure he'd agree—he's actually quite ambitious. He's currently saving money to support his future career as a mad scientist.'

'I can't imagine any professional footballers having the same goal, but perhaps they have hidden depths.'

'Mum, listen to yourself! Just last week you were chiding me for being prejudiced against athletes, and now you're doing the same thing.'

'I suppose I am. I have to admit, I like that he has a non-magical parent.'

'I do too,' said Hermione. 'I hadn't realised how much I missed that side of things.'

Emily felt a mixture of emotions, including a bit of hurt that she and Daniel weren't enough to keep Hermione connected to her Muggle origins. 'Do you expect to meet his parents anytime soon?'

'Yes, I'll meet them on Saturday, at the Cannons match. And I might see them again on Sunday, because Ryan wants to borrow their car to bring his stereo to Harry's party.'

'Harry is throwing a party?'

'Yes, an enormous one on his birthday, the weekend after next.'

'That doesn't sound like him, but I'm glad to hear it. I sometimes worry you and your friends don't act enough like teenagers.'

'That's not true for Harry any longer. Now that he's joined the team, he seems to be having some of the fun he missed growing up.'

'I suspect it's important developmentally,' observed Emily. 'I know I grew up quite a lot at university, and I get the impression your father did as well.'

'Perhaps you're right,' said Hermione absently, sipping her tea. She looked at her mother and said, 'May I ask you something?'

'Of course.'

'How long am I supposed to wait before ... becoming intimate with a partner?'

'Is Ryan pressuring you?'

'No, not at all. I'm just finding it harder to wait than I'd expected.'

'Was it different with Ron then?'

Hermione nodded. 'It was completely different, for about a thousand reasons. Remember we got together less than an hour before Fred died, among others.'

_And Ron wasn't an intellectual trapped in the body of a Greek god,_ thought Emily. 'Yes, I can see how that might put a damper on things,' she said. 'As for Ryan ... I guess you need to trust your intuition, and whether you feel really comfortable around him.'

'I do already. More than I would have thought possible.'

'And how much do you know about him from other sources?'

'That's a good question. Not much, I suppose, other than that he's the Cannons' star Chaser.'

_Of course he is._ 'Then maybe it's worth asking around. If he's famous, he's bound to have a reputation.'

Hermione nodded. 'It feels a little underhanded, but if he's who I think he is I know he wouldn't mind.'

'Do you know anything about his prior relationships?'

'Only that he's mostly dated half-bloods who weren't familiar with Muggle culture. And that he wouldn't feel comfortable dating a Muggle because he'd have to lie to her.'

_I'm glad he has compunction about lying,_ came a harsh voice in Emily's mind. 'That speaks well of him, certainly.'

'It does,' said Hermione. 'I'd love for you to get to know him better. Sometime soon, I hope.'

'I'd like that. I must say, he's made a good impression so far. And not just because he knows how to use a telephone.'

Hermione smiled. 'He's made a good impression on me too.'

_Don't say it,_ thought Emily with an inward smirk. 'I'm glad—you deserve to be happy. And I admit I'm enjoying seeing you a bit lovesick. We missed that phase with Ron.'

'I'm not sure I ever had it with Ron. Our relationship was so different. And the war, of course.'

_The bloody war. _'Yes, of course.'

Hermione rose. 'I should go to bed. And you should too—I hope you're able to fall asleep.'

'I believe I will.' Emily stood from the table and gave her daughter a hug. 'I'm glad you had a nice time, and thanks for confiding in me. I love you, sweetie.'

'I love you too, Mum,' she said before walking upstairs to her bedroom.

Emily cleared the two mugs from the table and placed them in the dishwasher. She felt grateful her daughter had trusted her enough to ask about sex, after their long history of distrust. And she was glad to witness this stage of Hermione's life, which she had feared she'd missed. _I should send Ron a thank-you card for breaking up with her._

She turned out the light and returned to her bedroom. Snuggling up to Daniel, she was grateful for the extraordinary child they had created. Hermione had broken their hearts, but apparently even a Muggle like herself was capable of extraordinary feats of healing.


	21. Chapter 21

Lyle approached Harry after their morning practice session, as they walked back to the lockers before lunch. 'Harry, thanks so much for allowing us to invite friends to the party. I'm really looking forward to it, and not only because I'm dead curious to see that house of yours.'

'I suppose it's gaining a reputation.'

'Yeah, _Toujours pur_,' smirked Lyle. 'But I need to ask you something. I want to bring my best mate, Connor, but he's a werewolf. Got bit during the war. He takes Wolfsbane at the full moon, and it won't be full moon anyway, but ...'

'Of course he can come. One of my dad's best friends was a werewolf, and he was like family to me.'

Lyle looked relieved. 'Thanks, Harry. Not all wizards feel that way.'

'I know, Remus had a hard time of it.'

'Remus? Really?'

'Yeah, I know.'

Harry had told the reserves they could bring three guests, except for Owen who could bring four, and everyone was excited about the party. Next he would go to Gringotts with the invitation list and portkey limits, and the invitations would be sent directly from the bank.

In some respects, throwing the party felt like a more radical decision than quitting his job at the Ministry had been. It seemed highly symbolic that he was opening a house that had once been virtually sealed under a Fidelius Charm. Furthermore, he knew Sirius would approve, and it felt like a step towards fulfilling his godfather's wish that he remake the Blacks as a Light family. Harry suspected there would be press coverage, which he dreaded, but he hoped it would call attention to the wizarding schools that had previously been ignored.

He approached Darren on the way back from lunch. 'I'd like your opinion on something,' he said. 'I'm considering inviting Alistair to the party.'

'Are you serious?'

'I am, but I honestly don't know whether it's a good idea.'

'What, in terms of safety?' asked Darren. 'He's not going to eat anyone.'

'I know, but as you've pointed out he's dangerous in other ways as well.'

'A bit too charismatic, you mean?'

'For example. Nearly everyone I'm inviting is in their late teens, and I don't want to inadvertently lead someone down a twisted path.'

Darren nodded. 'That's a valid concern. But I suspect you and he could come to an agreement based around his code of honour.'

'What do you mean exactly?' asked Harry.

'Part of why he's so powerful among vampires is that he's built a strong network of trust based on his code of conduct. When he gives his word, he keeps it very strictly. Mind you, he doesn't give his word to just anyone. I'm told he can be as savage as any other vampire under the right circumstances. But if he wants to attend your party, you and he will reach an agreement about how you expect him to behave, and then you can rest assured he'll keep to it.'

'That sounds good, but I'm not confident I can negotiate effectively with a vampire. He was rather compelling.'

'No, he'll do it by owl. His code would prevent him from influencing a negotiation that way.'

'Interesting,' said Harry. 'Now I definitely want to invite him.'

'You should require him to bring at least one thrall, or ideally two. That would create a sort of buffer, since he needs to expend a portion of his charisma to keep them in check.'

'And you think he'd agree to that?'

'For you, probably. I'm sure he'll appreciate the historic significance of the party—immortals get off on that sort of thing. Makes a good story later on, you know.'

After lunch, Harry went to the benches with his broom and was pleased to see Owen there. 'Will you be joining us, or are you getting your nails done again like yesterday?'

Owen laughed and said, 'Tuttle asked me to show you how not to be so bloody predictable.'

'I'm all ears. Do you want to sit down?'

'Yeah, could do,' said Owen, taking a seat on one of the benches, and Harry sat next to him. 'I've given your new strategy some thought, and I agree it has potential. But we'll need to find a way around the disadvantages.'

'Like the part where it's completely exhausting?'

'For example. But also the part where you fell back into your old Seeking habits.'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, by the end I was completely unable to expand into awareness and hold an intention. I was too tired, and also too agitated from all those aggressive feints.'

'That's part of your problem,' said Owen. 'Your feints were uniformly aggressive. The fact is, more often than not, when the Snitch appears it's in the middle of nowhere and not right next to Beaters. So if you want your feints to be more convincing, you should occasionally take a straight shot towards an empty patch.'

'But won't it be too easy for my opponent to see there's no Snitch there?'

Owen shook his head. 'You're forgetting you'll be in a stadium packed with fans wearing blinding orange. There's much more visual distraction during a league match than I'm sure you ever experienced at Hogwarts.'

'You're right, and I should have realised that, considering I played in a packed stadium three days ago.'

'No worries—you're still getting used to league play. So I'd encourage you to take an easy feint from time to time. And it'll have the added advantage of clearing your head a bit.'

'Good point,' said Harry. 'And it could help with the fatigue problem as well.'

'Exactly. And then you need to vary your intervals. I know Tuttle told you to feint like mad, but you should occasionally go ten minutes or longer without a feint. It'll help you expand back into awareness, and your opponent will be more likely to take the bait afterwards.'

'Not to mention the Snitch might turn up during those ten minutes.'

'Stranger things have happened,' said Owen.

Harry looked at Owen and asked, 'What was your experience yesterday? Tuttle wants me to scare the shit out of my opponents—her words. Did I have that effect, or did I just seem unhinged?'

'I wouldn't describe you as "unhinged" so much as "frighteningly single-minded." It crossed my mind yesterday that I was getting an up-close look at the Harry Potter who broke out of Gringotts on the back of a dragon.'

'Oh dear. Probably not my sanest moment.'

'I suspect not, but it was necessary. And I'm sure there are plenty of people who still question your sanity, but nobody doubts your dedication to a task.'

'Even so, I can't believe anyone would confuse my desire to catch the Snitch with my drive to defeat Voldemort.'

'It doesn't matter. People aren't thinking logically in a situation like that, and we aren't equipped to fully evaluate a threat when we're faced with it. Afterwards, yes. But during? No—we act on instinct.'

'Interesting. So as long as I'm exuding intensity, or whatever you want to call it, my opponents are going to react as if I'm liable to kill them? I'm not sure that's how I want to interact with people. Quidditch is supposed to be fun, after all.'

'It is fun,' said Owen. 'The uncertainty only lasts a moment, and afterwards the mind reclassifies the threat appropriately. Have you ever been on a Muggle rollercoaster?'

'No.'

'Neither have I, but I'm told they're enjoyable precisely because they're so scary, and because they trick our mind and body momentarily into thinking we're about to die.'

Harry frowned. 'I've got personal experience of this—genuinely knowing I was about to die—and there was nothing fun about it. Serene, perhaps, but not exhilarating or fun.'

'Right, but that was a prolonged experience, not a momentary one,' said Owen. 'What about in battle? Did you ever have a moment where you thought you were about to die—just a moment—but by the time you realised it you'd already survived?'

'More times than I could count.'

'What did that feel like?'

'Usually it was followed almost immediately by a similar threat, so it was more gruelling than anything. But I'm starting to grasp what you're saying. There's also an intoxicating burst of adrenaline, and a surge of ... aliveness.'

'Exactly,' said Owen. 'When you interact with an opponent that way, they're going to feel a similar surge. The fans too, for that matter.'

'But what about catching the Snitch?'

'Good point. I may have gone off topic a bit. What was your original question?'

'I think it was whether I seemed appropriately intimidating or merely mad as a hatter?'

'The former. Definitely the former.'

Harry nodded. 'That said, I'm not sure I want a reputation among the league Seekers as a ticking time-bomb.'

'No, it's just like taunting. Everyone knows it's not serious, at least not usually.'

'All right, so getting back to your instructions … You're saying I should do some boring feints every now and again, just to clear my head and throw my opponent off the scent. And take the occasional long interval between feints for the same reason. Anything else?'

'This is going to sound mental, but you should occasionally go after your own Chasers,' said Owen.

'But what if I force a turnover? I've discovered it's dead easy to throw Chasers off balance.'

'You'll need to practice that with them. Perhaps they can take precautions.'

Harry nodded. 'You're right, and that was a big oversight in yesterday's approach. Do you think I should warn them before the practice match?'

'Yes, definitely.'

There was a shout from Tuttle. 'Hey Seekers, are you planning on flying today?'

'We're considering it,' responded Owen. 'Await my owl.' She glared at them and turned away.

'What do you think, should we do some flying?' asked Harry.

'No, it'll just encourage her,' said Owen, standing from the benches and picking up his broomstick.

They spent the rest of the session chasing a practice Snitch, and Harry was able to hone his spotting skills. He found it relaxing to expand into awareness and allow the Snitch simply to appear.

By the time Tuttle blew the whistle, Harry had found the Snitch as often as Owen had. 'Well done,' said Owen. 'Now the trick is whether you can do the same during the match, when you're flying around like a Confunded pixie.'

Tuttle divided the teams for the practice match in a new way: starters versus reserves, only with Harry and Owen switched. Harry quickly approached the reserves to warn them about the new strategy. 'I'm occasionally going to feint right into you, even though we're on the same side. Owen rightly pointed out that it won't be convincing if I only attack my opponents.'

Titus grumbled and said, 'And here I thought I'd have a break from mad Seekers plowing into me.'

The balls were released, and Harry started his usual pattern. He was more deliberate about setting his intention than he'd been the day before, and he expanded into a powerful state of oneness with all three dimensions of the pitch, including the flyers within it. If the Snitch had appeared in those five minutes, he surely would have spotted it.

But it didn't, so he dove into his first feint. It was a textbook, non-aggressive feint, and Harry could sense Tuttle's disappointment. But he wasn't bothered—this was just a warm-up for the mayhem to come.

Next time, he zig-zagged erratically, first towards the ground and then up through his own Chasers towards a goalpost. He disrupted them, and they missed a shot as a result, but they didn't lose control of the Quaffle. But Harry didn't notice whether they scored after that, because he resumed his Seeking pattern with a particularly strong intention.

Owen attempted a modified version of Harry's Chaser feint, but he was more cautious than Harry would have been and didn't disrupt them. Harry stopped following him relatively quickly, knowing the Snitch wasn't there.

'That was sweet of you to say hi to the Chasers,' said Harry. 'Were you feeling lonely?'

'I was, but now that you've found me I'm mysteriously craving solitude,' said Owen.

'With your fan club, you mean?'

'No, with your parents.'

'Nice one,' said Harry. 'I never realised I'd develop an appreciation for dead parent jokes—thanks for expanding my horizons.' He flew away and resumed his Seeking pattern.

But not for long—he shot towards the rings and nearly crashed into Janet, who shouted at him. 'You're a bloody maniac, Snitchbottom!'

'I love you too,' he cried cheerfully, before resuming his search.

In the end he managed to satisfy Tuttle with a series of bloodthirsty feints, most of which Owen was forced to follow at least in part. It was tiring but not as bad as Monday had been, and he was still maintaining good spotting practices.

But it was Owen who got the Snitch. He and Harry sighted it simultaneously, but Owen was in a better position to catch it. 'Good effort,' said Owen. 'Your feints were more convincing, and it looks like you're not as knackered as yesterday.'

'Yeah, that was definitely better,' said Harry as they flew to the benches. 'I'm starting to feel more confident in this approach.'

During her post-match notes, Tuttle agreed. 'Seekers, good work. I don't know whose idea it was to have Potter attack his own side, but that was right on the money.'

'It was Owen's,' said Harry.

'Potter, I reckon you should work tomorrow with the starting Chasers—practice disrupting them and see whether they can recover. Which will give them an advantage when other Seekers start copying you and coming after them as well.'

'Merlin help us,' muttered Darren.

After their stretches, the players walked back to the building and Owen approached Harry again. 'Regarding your concern about what the other league Seekers think of you, I've been meaning to tell you we have a monthly get-together, and naturally you're invited. Next one is this coming Monday.'

'That sounds excellent,' replied Harry. 'Count me in.'

'It'll be at a pub somewhere—I'll let you know. And it's good you'll join us, because otherwise they'll just pepper me with questions the entire time.'

When they reached the building, Lara got Harry's attention. 'Do you have a moment, or are you knackered again? I can get you another Energy Draught if you need one.'

'No, I'm doing much better today. What's up?'

'We're starting to receive a lot of post on your behalf,' she said, 'and I'm wondering what you'd like us to do with it.'

'Do you have a standard procedure?'

'It depends on the player's preference. Some players want to read everything short of the Howlers. Others don't want to see a single letter, so we just send form replies to the friendly ones. Most players fall somewhere in between, allowing us to screen everything and pass along anything that looks significant. But it looks like you're going to have a rather high volume, and it seems to be more ... polarised than what most players receive.'

Harry sighed. 'Yeah, I'm not shocked.'

'What have you done about it in the past?' asked Lara.

'Not as much as you might think. Apparently Albus Dumbledore intercepted my post for years, until he died, and naturally I didn't receive anything while I was in hiding. After the war I would normally have engaged Gringotts to take care of it, but that wasn't an option, so the Ministry offered to handle it. I suspect they just Vanish the lot of it, to be honest.'

'Right, that's one approach. But it's against team policy to ignore fan mail completely. It's the fans who pay our salaries, after all.'

'Good point. I suppose I should have you screen it, and then send form replies to most of them but let the more interesting letters through. Unless that creates an undue burden, of course.'

'We may have to hire another staff person, but that's not a problem. Ticket sales are up, and they're expecting merchandise sales to skyrocket, so it's only fair there'd be some added expense.' She added, 'We'll have them sort it by category: letters from kids, hate mail, marriage proposals, and so forth. And then you can decide which ones you're interested in.'

'I'd just as soon skip the hate mail, thanks.'

'You never know ... Some players make a drinking game out of it. But I suppose you already have Sirius Black's mother insulting you on a daily basis.'

'Not much longer, fingers crossed,' said Harry. 'I'm meeting with the portrait painter tonight to see if we can't eject her for good.'

'Then don't let me keep you—good luck!'

Harry showered and returned to Grimmauld Place with only ten minutes to spare before Louisa Gesso was to arrive with the new painting. He was expecting Hermione as well, and he hoped she'd arrive early, since he was getting nervous.

She obliged him by arriving through the kitchen fireplace and finding him in the sitting room. 'I hope it's all right I came unannounced. I didn't think you'd be "entertaining" right now, but perhaps I should have sent my otter just in case.'

'Very funny, Granger. But no, I'm perfectly respectable at present.'

'That's good. How are you doing?'

'I'm pretty anxious, to be honest. I tried not to get my hopes up about the painting, but I'm seeing now how thoroughly I've failed. As much as we joke about Walburga, I'm really desperate to have her out of the house.'

Hermione nodded. 'I don't blame you. It can't be fun having to tiptoe through your own home. And she's very inconveniently placed.'

'You make it sound like it was an accident, but you know it wasn't. She was a vindictive old cow, and she made Sirius's childhood a living hell.'

'I know,' she said sympathetically.

'Sirius charged me with bringing House Black into the Light, and I feel like getting rid of Walburga is a piece of that.'

'I agree, but you can't blame yourself if it doesn't work. And hopefully it will work.'

'Right,' he said dully. 'We should go wait for Louisa at the fireplace.'

They went upstairs and walked past Walburga for what they hoped would be the last time. She was sleeping, thank Merlin, and they waited in the formal reception room.

The fireplace flared green and Louisa stepped out, carrying a large framed canvas wrapped in cloth. 'I didn't want to shrink it,' she said. 'It'll be safe to do so later, but for now we want the painting in its purest form.'

Harry took it from her. 'Please, come in. And I'd like to introduce my friend Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Louisa Gesso.'

'It's nice to meet you,' said Hermione. 'And I'm fascinated to observe the process.'

Harry looked impatiently at the wrapped canvas. 'May I have a look?'

'Of course,' said Louisa. 'Let's unwrap it in here, and I'll explain the procedure.' She directed Harry to set the canvas upright atop a chair. 'Please, do the honours,' she said.

He lifted the cloth away to reveal a large portrait of Padfoot. Upon seeing Harry and Hermione, Padfoot bounded eagerly and started barking, before settling into a doggy grin with his tongue hanging out.

'Oh, that's lovely!' exclaimed Hermione. 'It's just like him.'

Harry was overcome with emotion and unable to speak. He tentatively reached his hand towards the surface of portrait, as if to pet it.

'I know, Harry, I had the same impulse,' said Hermione. 'That's the only hard part, not being able to play with him.'

Harry nodded, his eyes shining. 'You've done a beautiful job, Louisa, regardless of whether it works. Thank you.'

'It was my pleasure, Harry.'

'What's that in the background?' asked Hermione.

Louisa looked a little sheepish. 'I confess, I got a bit fanciful. Harry said that if we were successful in ousting Mrs. Black, he wanted to give the portrait to one of his mates. So I thought I'd give her a suitable backdrop.'

There was a marked contrast between Padfoot and his setting. He was in a room that looked like a cross between the drawing room as they'd originally found it and a grisly laboratory. The shelves were coated in cobwebs and contained any number of spooky artefacts.

'I think I recognise some of those from Borgin and Burkes,' said Harry. 'Is that a Hand of Glory?'

'Yes,' replied Louisa. 'An ordinary candle seemed so pedestrian.'

'But you've a candelabra as well,' said Hermione. 'Decorated with ... scorpions?'

'Yes, and snakes.'

'What's that in the cage?' asked Harry.

'It's a breeding pair of naked mole rats,' said Louisa.

'A breeding pair? Will there be more?' asked Hermione, alarmed.

'No, but two of the same gender would tear each other apart. And a single one struck me as a bit too forlorn, even if it isn't sentient.'

'So what's the next step?' asked Harry.

'We'll carry the painting into the entrance hall and I'll perform a charm that grants Padfoot access to Mrs Black's portrait. And then we wait.'

'How long before we know whether it works? Are we talking hours, or days?'

'Minutes. He'll either do it or not—there won't be any mystery.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'All right, here we go.' He lifted the new painting and carried it to the next room.

There was a large console beneath Walburga's portrait. Hermione stepped ahead and removed the tray of burnt scones, and Harry placed the new painting there.

Louisa performed a wand movement and said _'Irrumpo picturum,'_ and in an instant Padfoot leapt from his frame into Walburga's.

She awoke. _'What filthy beast breeches my sanctum?'_

Padfoot snarled at her and began to tug violently at the cuff of her sleeve.

She narrowed her eyes at him. _'I know you. You were always a wretched cur, from the day they first placed you on my breast. I should have crushed you with my bare hands.'_

Padfoot had let go of her sleeve and was baring his dripping fangs at her. He looked ready to pounce.

Walburga looked nervous and started creeping backwards. _'Begone, hound! I already cast you from this family, disappointment as you are, were, and ever shall be.'_

Louisa nudged Harry. 'Egg him on.'

'Padfoot, get her!' cried Harry. 'Go for the jugular!'

Padfoot leapt at Walburga's throat and she shrieked in terror. _'Get down! Down! Kreacher!'_

The house-elf did not appear. 'It's over, Walburga,' said Harry. 'Save yourself and leave the frame at once.'

Panicked, she dodged Padfoot's snapping jaw and fled from the portrait into the neighbouring frame. Louisa immediately aimed her wand and cried, _'Attrapo!'_

'_Most vile blood-traitor!' _shrieked Walburga at Louisa. _'You have brought shame upon your lineage by abetting the loathsome, half-blood lothario!'_

Louisa cast an amused glance at Harry before tapping Walburga with her wand, rendering her silent. 'You're sure you don't want to _Incendio_ her? I won't mind.'

Elated, he said, 'No, she's got a brilliant future at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.' He turned to Louisa and said, 'You've done it! I can't believe it. How can I possibly thank you? Besides paying you, of course.'

She smiled. 'This is what I do. It's my pleasure, Harry.'

'Would you like me to give you credit somehow? She'll be on public display—we can list your name if you like.'

Louisa shook her head quickly. 'Ye gods, no. I don't want my name anywhere near her. But feel free to recommend me personally.'

Padfoot drew their attention by whining. 'What is it, boy?' asked Harry. The dog sat up and looked out earnestly at them.

'I think he's begging,' said Hermione. 'Do you want a scone, Padfoot?' She held one up.

He began wagging his tail emphatically, and she tossed the scone at the surface of the portrait, where it bounced off his mouth. 'That's a bit disappointing,' she said.

'I can fix that,' said Louisa. She performed a series of charms and tapped the portrait in several places. 'There, try again.'

Hermione took another scone, attempting to find the one that was least burnt, and tossed it again towards Padfoot's mouth. He caught it and eagerly began chewing.

'Bloody marvellous!' exclaimed Harry. 'We'll have to keep a tray of treats for him.' He asked Louisa, 'They won't make him sick, will they?'

'No, not at all. And he won't require feeding either. He's just a painting, remember, and not sentient. But he'll give every impression of enjoying it.'

Hermione asked, 'Could you say more about portraits being sentient? I've been curious about that for a long time but haven't found an answer.'

'I'm not surprised,' said Louisa. 'It's something of a trade secret. But the short answer is that there's a continuum, and that most portraits fall somewhere in the middle. We were fortunate that Walburga was at one of the extremes, otherwise I couldn't have ethically unseated her. I suspect she didn't have all her wits when they painted her.'

Harry nodded. 'That's likely.'

'I'm not sure I've ever met a fully sentient portrait,' said Hermione. 'I tried talking with nearly all the Hogwarts portraits at one time or another, but they always struck me as rather ... two-dimensional.'

'Did you ever talk with any of the headmasters?' asked Louisa.

'Yes, Harry has a portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black here at the house. And I witnessed a brief exchange with Albus Dumbledore's portrait at Hogwarts.' She was referring to Harry's conversation with Dumbledore after the final battle.

'Yes, that portrait would be top-of-the-line, as far as sentience is concerned. Mind you, it's not the same as the original human—their emotions don't run as deep, for example—but otherwise they're a good facsimile. The portrait of Headmaster Black, however, won't be fully himself unless he's in his frame at Hogwarts, because the background magic there is so much stronger.'

Hermione raised her eyebrows. 'Interesting, that's good to know.'

Louisa began walking towards the reception hall. 'I'll leave you to your evening. Thank you for the opportunity, and I'm thrilled we were able to get you sorted.'

'Thanks again,' said Harry, shaking her hand. She left through the fireplace, leaving Hermione and Harry alone in the reception hall.

'So when are you going to give George and Lee the good news?' she asked.

'I need to go to Gringotts tomorrow after practice, so I'll bring the painting over then. I think I'll surprise them,' he said, grinning.

'Congratulations, Harry. I can't think of a better resolution to the problem.'

They returned to the entrance hall and interacted with Padfoot for a while, until Kreacher Apparated with a loud _crack. _He was carrying a pair of boxes, including one which was much too large for him.

'Master, Kreacher has just come from Diagon Alley with Master's purchases.'

'Here, let me take those from you,' said Harry, relieving Kreacher. 'Thank you, and you may go.' _Crack!_

'What are those?' asked Hermione.

'It's the first of the new robes I ordered, and a matching pair of shoes.'

'Robes, really? You never struck me as the robes type. You've always preferred Muggle clothes, given the choice.'

'Ture, but I never wore well-tailored robes until I got my Cannons uniform,' replied Harry. 'It turns out I rather like them.'

'Well, don't keep me waiting; let's see what you bought.'

He opened the box and revealed the robes Althea had selected for him.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'White?'

'They're ivory.'

She laughed and said, 'Sorry, my mistake. Let's see the shoes, then.' He opened the box to reveal ivory and brown wingtips. 'Did you choose these yourself?'

'No, the shop assistant advised me.'

'I insist you try them on for me—the whole outfit. I'll go entertain myself with the Grimoire while you change.'

'All right,' said Harry. He tried to affect nonchalance, but he was in fact quite eager to try everything on.

The two friends walked upstairs, and after Hermione peeled away to the library, Harry went up to his bedroom. He placed the two boxes on his bed and pulled out the robes and trousers.

As soon as he held them, he knew they were every bit as fine as his Quidditch robes. The fabric lay beautifully across his hands, and even the scent was agreeable. He noticed there were several more items in the box, and a closer look revealed undergarments and matching socks.

When he was fully dressed, including the shoes, he stood in front of the bathroom mirror and was very pleased indeed. These robes looked infinitely better on him than the store robes had, since Althea's tailoring charms had only been able to approximate a custom fit.

They were smarter even than his team robes, and not only because they weren't blindingly orange. Despite their sleekness, his Cannons robes were designed primarily for ease of movement, but these robes closely followed the shape of Harry's body. They framed his slim hips and abdomen and widened to accommodate his compactly muscled chest and shoulders.

He had never owned anything this nice before. Certainly not growing up, when he'd been forced to wear Dudley's enormous cast-offs. His classmates had always looked askance at him, and the neighbours regularly crossed the street to avoid the Dursleys' incurably criminal nephew. Harry still remembered the shame of it, and how he'd endeavoured to remain invisible even though he'd been forbidden from using his cloak.

But his current sensation was completely the opposite. He felt a strong desire to be _seen_—a wish that felt alien yet fundamental. Part of him wanted to Apparate directly to Penumbra and stroll languidly into the arena, where he could bask in the glow of admiring eyes.

He supposed he'd have to make do with Hermione. Harry felt a little bashful walking downstairs, but his pride and satisfaction spurred him onwards. Pushing open the library door, he stepped inside.

Hermione was predictably buried in the Grimoire and didn't look up right away. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and her eyes widened when she saw him.

She stood from her chair and looked at him from head to toe. 'Why, Harry, you're something of a dandy!'

His face fell. 'But the shopgirl assured me I wouldn't look foppish!' _I'm not even wearing the floral waistcoat,_ he thought glumly.

'I didn't say you were a fop, I said you were a dandy. They're entirely different things.' She looked him over again and said, 'You're definitely not a fop.'

'What's the difference?'

Hermione straightened as she always did before delivering an academic lecture. 'Historically speaking they're quite distinct. Fops were an eighteenth century phenomenon, wearing wigs and powder and flouncy clothes to cover up their otherwise poor state of cleanliness. Dandies, on the other hand, came a bit later—early nineteenth century—and were infinitely more elegant. The best known dandy was George Brummell, better known as Beau Brummell. We have him to thank for popularising daily bathing and dental hygiene.'

'Dental hygiene?' chuckled Harry. 'Is that why you've heard of him? Do your parents have his picture hanging in their office?'

'I'll admit it's come up, but no. Dandies are falsely remembered for dressing outlandishly, like fops, but the essence of dandy style was to be impeccable. Partly because they were such scathing wits—they were so busy scorning people that they took pains to make their appearance irreproachable, even if their behaviour wasn't.'

'They sound like arseholes. What exactly are you trying to say about me?'

'I'm saying you look impeccable, which has the added advantage of hiding a multitude of sins. Take Lucius Malfoy,' she said. 'The man's a monster, but his robes were always perfect.'

'You really know how to flatter a bloke. Do you want to save any of this for Ryan?'

She laughed. 'I've really dug myself in deep, haven't I? My point is you look fantastic in those robes, and the shoes as well. Flawless, really, as far as dress is concerned. It'll come as a surprise to a lot of people, but I'm sure they'll be impressed.'

'I suppose it will come as a surprise, but that's no reason not to make the change. I surprised a lot of people by quitting the Ministry and joining the Cannons.'

Hermione corrected him. 'Strictly speaking, the _Prophet_ surprised everyone by making the announcement before it had even crossed your mind.'

'That's true.' He looked down at his outfit again. 'I should probably change out of these for now.'

'Do you have plans to wear them soon?' she asked. 'In public, that is.'

'Yes, I'm taking someone out to dinner tomorrow night.'

Hermione lit up. 'You're letting her out of the house, then? Is it the woman you had over the weekend before last?'

'Er, no,' replied Harry. 'This is someone I met on Saturday, after the match.'

'I see,' said Hermione, her eyes dancing.

Harry felt the need to twit her in response. 'And do you have any plans? How was your evening with Ryan?'

'It was lovely. I'll be seeing him again tomorrow.'

'That's wonderful. I'm awfully happy for you.'

'Actually, could you do a bit of research for me?' she asked.

'I don't think I've ever heard you ask me that. It's always the other way around.'

'You're probably right. But I'm wondering if you could dig about to make sure Ryan is ... everything he seems.'

Harry frowned. 'I wouldn't know where to start. That sounds more like a job for a private investigator.'

'No, nothing like that. I just want to make sure he doesn't have an awful reputation with women.'

'I've never heard anything to that effect,' said Harry, 'but I can ask around.'

'Thanks. I'm not expecting anything to turn up, but I should make sure before I'm in too deep.'

'Really, you're that serious about him already?'

She closed her eyes and took a breath. 'I can't believe I'm saying this, but yes. And I'm confident he feels the same way ... assuming he's on the level.'

'Of course. I'll make a few enquiries.' He felt his stomach growl and realised it was past dinner time—he'd been distracted by the new robes. 'Shall I ask Kreacher to make us something to eat?'

'Yes, please. Some curries?'

'Sounds perfect. Kreacher!'

_Crack._ 'Yes, Master,' he said, before his enormous eyes grew even wider and he fell to his hands and knees.

'What's the matter, Kreacher?'

'Master is dressed like a proper wizard. And proper wizards expect their house-elves to behave properly. Does Master intend to punish Kreacher?' he asked, with an indecipherable expression.

'Of course not.' _Unless you want me to_, thought Harry with a shudder. 'I'm merely wearing new robes. I expect I'll be wearing robes more often from now on. But please, stand up if you prefer.'

Kreacher hesitated, and Harry was seized by fear that the elf would prefer crouching submissively, but he slowly returned to his feet.

'Master is most kind, and very properly attired. Kreacher eagerly awaits the opportunity to iron Master's robes.'

_Sweet Merlin, not the iron_, thought Harry, remembering Dobby's preferred self-punishment. 'Er, I was hoping you could prepare dinner for us. Several curries if you please.'

'Yes, Master, with pleasure. Is there anything else, Master?''

'No, thank you.' _Crack!_

Hermione giggled. 'The robes really complete the look. You're going to have trouble dissuading people from calling you "Lord Black," you know.'

'I've spoken with the Cannons publicity department and they're preparing an announcement on my behalf. I might also issue a statement to the _Prophet_ explaining in more detail why wizarding lordships are a load of rubbish.'

'That should be entertaining.'

Harry went back upstairs to change, leaving Hermione to the Grimoire. It was disappointing to remove the robes and change back into his old Muggle clothing, but he supposed a dandy wouldn't just perform freshening charms on the same outfit day after day. Not that he intended to be a dandy, of course—they sounded like tossers—but he liked the bit about dressing impeccably.

He hung his robes in the spacious walk-in wardrobe, which was largely empty, and placed his new shoes on one of the shelves. It had been a good day: the new Quidditch strategy was working, his first set of robes had arrived, and, most importantly, Walburga was no longer permanently stuck to the wall.

He smiled and walked downstairs to look at Padfoot again. The dog was chasing his tail, which was particularly amusing given his size. Harry was grateful for the first time that Walburga's canvas was so large, since it gave Padfoot plenty of room to run around.

Harry knew this wasn't Sirius, but it still warmed his heart to have an aspect of his godfather present. Padfoot seemed inclined to bark a lot, but that was a vast improvement over Walburga's tirades. Indeed, the barking made Grimmauld Place feel more than ever like a home, the kind he'd longed for as a child.

_Thank you, Sirius,_ thought Harry, and his heart swelled with affection for the only father he could remember.


	22. Chapter 22

When Harry went downstairs for breakfast the next morning, he automatically lightened his step as he approached the first-floor landing, for fear of waking Walburga. But then, to his delight, he realised it was no longer necessary. _I can barrel down the stairs as loud as I bloody well like!_

He deliberately stomped down the remaining stairs and leapt two-footed onto the landing with a satisfying_ thud_, which resulted in loud barking from the frame's new occupant. 'Good morning, Padfoot!' burst Harry, and the dog's front paws scraped exuberantly against the front of the canvas. 'We'll get you some proper treats today, or maybe Kreacher can make you something.'

Padfoot bared his teeth and started to growl menacingly. 'What, you don't like Kreacher?' asked Harry. 'No, I suppose you wouldn't, but with any luck we can break you of the habit.' He hoped Padfoot's lack of sentience wouldn't prove an obstacle. Walburga had certainly caught on to Harry's new private life, so hopefully Padfoot would be equally trainable.

Quidditch practice went smoothly that morning, and as usual the starters walked together to the pub for the lunch. But Harry made a point of approaching Renée before they left. 'Could we walk together?' he asked. 'There's something I need to ask you in private.'

'Of course, what's on your mind?'

'I understand you and Ryan attended the same school, is that right?'

'Yes, we both went to Widgington—he was a year ahead of me. We played Quidditch together his final year. Why do you ask?'

'He and my friend Hermione have started dating, and I'm wondering if you ... have a good opinion of him.'

'Very much so. He's terrific, as I'm sure you've noticed.'

'Right, but do you know anything about how he treats women? Hermione is like a sister to me, and I don't want him toying with her.'

'I can't imagine he'd do that,' said Renée. 'I've never heard that sort of thing about him. If anything he's a bit naïve.'

'What do you mean?' Harry was having trouble believing Ryan wasn't experienced.

'He's had girlfriends, of course,' she said, 'but not the quantity you'd expect. Half the girls at Widgington were mad for him—I even fancied him before I figured myself out—but he was fairly oblivious.'

'So he's not the type to go out pulling after a match?'

She laughed. 'No, not like some people I know.'

'Yes, very funny,' said Harry with mock indignation. 'I'll have you know I'm not misleading anyone.'

'Of course not. I don't imagine you would.'

He appreciated the vote of confidence. 'Anyway, it sounds like he's all right for Hermione—I'm glad to hear it.'

'You're very protective of her, aren't you?' observed Renée.

'I'm sure it's mutual. In fact, she's probably saved my life far more times than I saved hers, though we've never exactly made a tally.'

'Right, but I'm not talking about that kind of protectiveness. I mean the way you look after her emotional well-being.'

'I can't imagine not doing that, if I could help it,' said Harry. 'After all we've been through together, she's like a part of me.'

'That's really sweet. It's a shame the articles about you don't get that point across.'

'No, they're always trying to draw conclusions about us. But our relationship is much purer than that.'

'I don't think it has to be an either-or,' said Renée. 'But I understand what you're saying.'

They arrived at the pub, and over lunch the players discussed Tuttle's new strategy, and specifically the plan for Harry to attack his own teammates. 'In hindsight it seems obvious to use the Seeker as a disruptive force,' said Gary. 'I'm surprised it's not standard practice.'

'I'm not,' said Darren. 'It's the rare Seeker who can balance aggressive flying with effective spotting. And besides, most Seekers are delicate flowers who shy away from danger.'

'Oi!' cried Harry.

'Relax, Snitchbottom—I said, "Most Seekers." Same as I might say, "Most Seekers haven't slain a Basilisk and survived two Killing Curses."'

'It would be interesting if they had,' mused Janet. 'Imagine if all Seekers were deathless warriors, chosen by destiny and all that rot.'

'And raised by immortal warlocks,' added Ryan.

'Exactly! The rest of us would be playing Quidditch, but the Seekers would be shooting Dark curses at one another in the ultimate struggle between Good and Evil.'

'If they were good, they'd hardly be using Dark curses,' said Gary.

'Fair point,' said Janet. 'But maybe the good Seekers could wield the power of Merlin or something appropriately Light.'

Harry couldn't remain silent. 'That's not true, unfortunately.'

'You didn't wield the power of Merlin?' said Janet. 'How disappointing.'

'No, the bit about Dark curses,' said Harry. 'I hate to say it, and please don't spread the word, but by rights I should be in Azkaban.'

'Really?' asked Janet. 'Which ones?'

Ryan said, 'Janet, that's none of your concern. I'm certain Harry only did what he had to.'

'I wish that were true,' said Harry. 'I don't think there's any way I could have got around using the Imperius Curse—we needed that one at Gringotts—but there was no excuse for the others.'

'The others?' probed Janet. 'You mean you used all three?'

'No, not the Killing Curse. I was talking about another curse which might as well be Unforgivable,' said Harry, thinking of the _Sectumsempra_ he had used on Draco Malfoy and had later attempted on Snape.

'Yes, I've always found it absurd there are only three,' said Gary. 'Exactly how is casting Fiendfyre less egregious than the others?'

'And why aren't Love Potions punished as severely as the Imperius Curse?' asked Ryan.

'There you go again,' said Suresh, 'looking for logic in the wizarding justice system.'

'Hang on, we've got off topic,' said Janet. 'Who did Harry torture?'

'Can you lower your voice?' hissed Gary. 'I know it fits our cover story, but it's not exactly appropriate public conversation.'

'Amycus Carrow,' said Harry. 'Right before the final battle. I also tried it on Bellatrix Lestrange two years earlier but was unsuccessful. It worked just fine on Carrow though.'

'I'm glad to hear it, frankly,' said Darren. 'Not that I'm in favour of torture, but if one side is going to do it, you can't expect the other side to refrain.'

'I disagree,' said Harry. 'At least in part. On the one hand, our people needed to defend themselves and neutralise Death Eaters. But on the other hand, I didn't defeat Voldemort in a firefight, and there's no way I could have beaten him at his own game. In the end we had to go the higher way.'

'Hence the final _Expelliarmus?'_ asked Darren, referring to the Disarming spell Harry had used to finish off Voldemort.

Harry nodded, not mentioning the bit where he'd sacrificed his own life.

'But weren't you master of the Elder Wand?' said Suresh. 'Obviously that played a role.'

'Of course, it was essential,' said Harry, who couldn't quite believe he was discussing this so casually over lunch. 'But I'd got it by accident rather than force. Whereas Voldemort had stolen it from Dumbledore's tomb.'

Janet shook her head in amazement. 'I can't help wondering what the Appleby Arrows are talking about right now. Probably not this.'

Ryan seemed unconvinced. 'Harry, I think there's a vast difference between using Unforgivables to protect people and using them as the Death Eaters did. For example, I'm certain you didn't torture anyone for sport.'

'No, of course not,' said Harry. 'But how would you feel if you had to use one?'

Ryan was silent a moment. 'I can't say I'd like it, even if it had been necessary. I'm not even comfortable with what I've done to safeguard the Statute of Secrecy.'

'I can't believe you've tortured people just to preserve Secrecy,' said Janet. 'Clearly I've misjudged you.'

Ryan rolled his eyes at her. 'Harry, I appreciate that you're taking responsibility for some unfortunate actions, but these weren't exactly innocent victims.'

'I know they weren't,' said Harry. 'It's just disturbing to know what I'm capable of.' He looked up and added, 'I hope you realise how unusual it is for me to talk like this, particularly to people I've only known for a fortnight.'

Gary nodded. 'It's the team bond, I think. Not a magical bond per se, but strong nevertheless.'

'I reckon you're right,' said Harry. 'I've felt comfortable with all of you since my first day.'

'Except for Janet, of course,' said Darren. 'She's so standoffish. Prickly, really.'

Harry laughed, and he let the conversation drift to other topics. He felt inclined towards silence after the unprecedented amount of self-disclosure. _The world didn't explode,_ _just because I opened up a little,_ he thought_. _His teammates weren't going to run to the _Prophet_ and reveal his secrets, nor were they likely to talk amongst themselves behind his back.

As they walked back to the training facility, Harry approached Darren and said, 'May I ask you something?'

'Of course, go ahead.'

'My friend Hermione has started dating Ryan, and—being a bit over-protective—I'm wondering if there's anything I need to know about ... his intentions. I thought you might have some perspective on that.'

'You mean as the official team skirt-chaser? Until you turned up anyway.'

'I wasn't going to put it that plainly, but yeah. Does Ryan ever accompany you?'

Darren shook his head. 'Not since our first year on the team. We came on as reserves together, although he got promoted to starter before I did. Some of the other players took it upon themselves to "initiate" us, the same way Janet and I did with you, and Ryan joined us on a few occasions. But he didn't really get into the swing of it—I think he's the romantic type, sad to say.'

'That's good news for Hermione. And probably for Ryan as well—I don't know how I'd react if someone mistreated her.'

'Particularly now that we know what kind of curses you're capable of,' joked Darren.

'Exactly. I might disarm him.'

Darren laughed, but then he was quiet for a moment. 'I appreciate what you said earlier, about feeling comfortable around us. When you signed we honestly didn't know what to expect—whether you'd be standoffish, or full of yourself, or any number of things. It was easy to forget you were just another eighteen-year-old recruit, like the rest of us once were. It's a good thing Tuttle reminded us.'

'She did, didn't she? I don't know whether it was premeditated, but in hindsight it was a stroke of genius to come down so hard on me that first morning.'

'I've given up trying to understand how Tuttle's mind works. I still can't decide whether she's a terrible coach or a brilliant one,' said Darren. 'Our team standings would suggest one thing, but at the same time we've managed to stay in good spirits, and that doesn't happen by accident.'

'No, I suppose not.'

They walked a little longer and Darren said, 'It'll be fun having you practice with us after lunch. Trying to knock us off our brooms and such.'

'My apologies in advance.'

'No worries. The fans will love it, and we might even win.'

Afternoon practice was indeed fun—after some false starts, the Chasers were able to develop a recovery protocol for Harry's dive-bomb attacks. For the practice match, Tuttle had them play starters versus reserves, and Harry's feints were a smashing success. He was able to keep Owen guessing, to the point where the veteran Seeker was getting fatigued. Harry caught the Snitch and was enthusiastically cheered by both sides.

'I think we have a winning strategy,' said Owen, breathing hard. 'But Merlin, I'm glad I don't have to play against you for real.'

'The Arrows won't see it coming,' said Gary. 'I'm glad it's going to be at Chudley Stadium, not least because I'll have so many friends in the stands. I can't wait to see their reaction.'

Tuttle was enthusiastic during her notes and forgot to belittle them. 'You've all done a first-rate job adapting to a new strategy. We're going to keep honing it this week, and I don't want you getting complacent, but make no mistake, we're going to set the Quidditch world on fire this weekend!'

'I'm confused,' whispered Janet. 'Why isn't she insulting us?'

When Harry returned to the building afterwards he was intercepted by Darius. 'Great work, Harry. You're a one-of-a-kind flyer, and I thank my lucky stars we've got you on the Cannons!'

Harry smiled and said, 'Thanks, I'm quite happy about it as well.'

'I want to give you a heads-up … I've heard through the grapevine that Silver Arrow plans to approach you about an endorsement. They've already received far more advance orders for your broomstick than they anticipated, and they're ramping up production to meet the demand. You can expect an offer by the end of the week.'

'What would that entail?' asked Harry. 'I've never endorsed anything before.'

'Really? I'm sure I've seen your name on advertisements before.'

'No, those were unauthorised. The Ministry had to intervene on my behalf several times this past year, but now that I'm no longer working for them I should probably put Gringotts on the task.'

'Yes, that's what I'd suggest as well,' said Darius. 'As to what an endorsement would entail, it all depends. But with Silver Arrow I'd imagine they'd want to take photographs of you with the broomstick, get some personal statements they can use in their advertisements, and so on. I wouldn't be at all surprised if they wanted to rename it the Harry Potter edition, if you're willing.'

Harry shook his head emphatically. 'Definitely not. I'll put my name on team merchandise, but nothing besides that.'

'Are you sure? Endorsements are by far the best source of income for players, especially the big names. Quidditch isn't a long-term career, you know.'

'I know that,' said Harry. 'But my circumstances aren't … typical.'

'Oh, right,' said Darius, glancing at Harry's hand where the Black family ring should have been. 'In any case, we'll pass the offer along and you can decide.'

'Thanks,' said Harry awkwardly. 'I should go ... I need to visit Diagon Alley this afternoon.'

'Of course, don't let me keep you. Can't wait until Saturday!'

Harry showered and changed into clean clothes before returning to Grimmauld Place to retrieve Walburga's portrait, which he'd already wrapped in cloth. He used a Shrinking Spell to fit it into his expandable pouch before raising his Notice-Me-Not Charm and heading to the Leaky Cauldron.

He was able to quickly take care of matters at Gringotts—goblins were remarkably efficient—and he soon arrived at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, hidden underneath his Invisibility Cloak. The summer holidays meant the store was busy, and George, Lee, and a shop assistant were all assisting a group of teenagers with their purchases.

Harry waited for the knot of customers to leave, and while Lee and George were otherwise engaged he removed the portrait from his pouch and propped it on a display stand against the wall. Then he took off his Invisibility Cloak and pulled the cloth from the painting.

'_Exile most foul! Into what Babylon have I been abducted?' _cried Walburga. She looked around with wide eyes before shrieking, _'Horror upon horror, I am in the den of a blood traitor!'_

'Walburga!' exclaimed George, approaching her. 'You've come to me at last! We can finally live together, as we were always meant to!'

'_Stay back, blood traitor!'_

'You're really going to have to come up with another name for the likes of me …. "blood traitor" is going to get old pretty fast. I recommend working around the ginger angle, but I'm open to alternatives.'

'_You!'_ she cried, pointing at Harry. _'Born to a Mudblood solely to vex me.'_

'Sorry, Walburga,' said Harry earnestly. 'I tried to make it work, but you just weren't willing to compromise. It takes two, you know. I'll just have to build a new life without you.'

'_I know all about your new life, you unscrupulous rake!'_

'She's got your number, Potter,' said George. 'Glad to see you're getting over Ginny.'

Harry tapped the portrait with his wand, silencing her. He turned to Lee and George and said, 'Surprise!' with a flourish.

'You've done it! Walburga is ours!' said George, leaning in for a closer look. 'And I see she's redecorated.'

'Louisa, the portrait painter I engaged, gets all the credit. And you won't believe who's hanging in the entrance hall now.'

'Let me guess,' said Lee. 'Voldemort?'

Harry's heart rate momentarily spiked. 'Merlin, what a thought! No, quite the opposite: Padfoot.'

'Who's Padfoot?' asked Lee.

'Sirius Black's Animagus form,' explained George. 'Basically a Grim, only jollier. That's fantastic, Harry—congratulations.'

'Can you teach us that Silencing Charm?' asked Lee. 'I'm not sure I want to hear her commenting on my skin colour all the time.'

'Of course, and I suspect Louisa can teach you other tricks for handling her. She's not sentient—Walburga, that is—so feel free to _Incendio_ her if she ever gets to be too much.'

'I'd sooner _Incendio_ the moon than destroy this masterpiece,' said George reverently.

'This is perfect timing,' said Lee. 'I've just filed our application with the Ministry for a broadcasting license—Weasley's Wizard Wireless—so with any luck she'll be on the air before long.'

'Lee, congratulations,' said Harry. 'I can't wait for your first broadcast.'

'Actually, would you mind appearing on our first broadcast?' asked Lee. 'It's all right to say no ... I'd understand.'

'No, I'd love to participate, whenever you like,' replied Harry. 'It occurs to me this could be a good opportunity to speak for myself without the _Prophet_ or anyone else misrepresenting me.'

'So you'd misrepresent yourself instead?' asked George.

'Most likely.'

They talked a bit longer until Harry took his leave. 'I've got other plans tonight and need to get a move on. I can't tell you how happy I am to leave Walburga behind.'

'I'm glad we can give her a good home,' said George. 'Perhaps I'll bring her to Sunday dinner at the Burrow.'

Harry returned home to change clothes—Helena would arrive soon for their dinner date, and he was excited to wear his new robes in public. He'd told her to wear something nice but had otherwise kept their evening plans a surprise.

She emerged from the formal fireplace soon after and gasped when she saw him. 'Oh, Harry,' she exclaimed. 'I can't believe how dashing you look. You're a proper Death Eater now! Do you have a Dark Mark as well?'

'Very funny,' he said. 'But seriously, do you like them?'

She slowly looked him over before putting a hand on his chest. 'Definitely. Shockingly so. I don't think I ever realised how appealing wizard's robes could be.'

He placed his hands on her waist and drew her in for a kiss, which extended into several more. 'I suppose I should look at what you're wearing,' he murmured. 'I'm sure it's lovely.'

'Yes, it is,' she breathed, not pulling away.

'It certainly feels nice,' he replied, running his hands over her, until she finally pushed him forward.

'You should really let a girl step away from the hearth before pawing her. Haven't you any manners, Lord Black?'

'None at all,' he said, before letting go and having a proper look. She was very elegantly attired in a three-quarter length Muggle dress and high-heeled shoes. 'I see you're angling for another foot massage.'

'Yes, it's a requirement. But I'm also hoping you'll take me somewhere with chairs. I gather you've a wizarding restaurant in mind?'

'I do. In fact, we should probably leave now.'

'How are we travelling?'

'Apparition,' he said, taking her hand, and soon they were standing before a charming and exceedingly French-looking restaurant. The name was painted on the front window in curving letters: _Mistigri._

Helena's eyes lit up when she saw where he'd taken her. 'I've heard about Mistigri—it's very popular. I've never eaten here before. Have you?'

'No, this will be my first time as well—my teammate Darren recommended it.'

They entered and found themselves inside what Harry assumed was a typical French bistro, since that's how Darren had described it. There was a zinc bar in the front, and beyond it was an archway leading into the main restaurant. Harry escorted Helena past the bar to a podium, where the host was standing.

The host looked apologetic when he recognised Harry. 'Lord Black, we weren't expecting you, but do come in,' he said, ushering them into the main restaurant, which was full of patrons.

'Thank you, but please don't call me Lord Black,' said Harry. 'I have a reservation under the name Evans.'

'Of course, Mr Potter. But next time feel free to reserve under your own name, so we can set aside a more private table. I'm afraid we only have a regular table available, and as you can see we're full up. If you'd prefer to wait, however ...'

Harry looked at Helena. 'I'm sorry, I should have planned better. Will a regular table be all right?'

'Is it in the middle of things?' she asked.

'No, it's against the wall,' said the host, indicating a table near the back of the long and relatively narrow room.

'That's all right,' she said, and the host led them there.

Harry fixed his gaze on their destination, but he felt the other patrons' eyes upon him and heard their whispers, and he could tell they were evaluating Helena as well. He lightly placed his hand on her back as they walked.

When they were seated and the host had gone, she said, 'That was a bit of a gauntlet.'

'Yes—sorry about that.'

She smiled at him before looking out at the restaurant. 'But this is lovely.'

'So how are you?' he asked. 'I should have asked earlier, at the house, but I was distracted somehow.'

'I'm well, thanks. And you?'

'Brilliant, to be honest. I'm pleased to announce that Walburga Black, whom you met the other morning, has been evicted at last.'

'That awful portrait you mean? How did you manage that?'

He told her what Louisa had done, and she laughed when he described Padfoot. 'I'll have to meet him,' she said.

They eventually reviewed the menu and ordered. The waiter asked Harry which wine he'd like, but of course he hadn't any idea, so he allowed the waiter to recommend one.

'Only a glass?' asked Helena. 'You'll never be properly debauched at this rate.'

'Remember I play on a team, and they might be unhappy if I turn up tomorrow with bloodshot eyes.'

'Nonsense, there are charms for that. But I shan't teach you them ... you'll have to find your own way down the path of vice.'

'Have you been down that path yourself?' he asked suggestively.

'Yes, ever since I was seduced by a scoundrel at the weekend.'

'That's abominable. Shall I call him out, to defend your honour?'

'I don't know. Have you any experience duelling?'

'I've done a little here and there. Mostly at school,' he replied, and she laughed.

'Until I met you I never realised how witty you were,' she said. 'I knew you had a way with words, and a bit of temper, but you're surprisingly clever—more than I expected.'

'More than you expected? I'm not sure how to interpret that.'

'I don't know ... I'd somehow got the impression you were more of a weapon than anything. Single-minded about defeating Voldemort, but not necessarily the brains of the operation.'

'No, that was definitely Hermione.'

'And then you dropped out of school to become an Auror, and then quit a year later to play Quidditch. I suppose I came to the unfair conclusion you weren't much of a thinker.'

'I'm more of a brooder, to be honest.'

'So much the better. Are you sure you don't want to change your surname to Black? I think it would suit you, even without the title.'

'I couldn't change my name,' he said automatically.

'Why not? Women are generally expected to, when they marry.'

'My wife wouldn't have to, unless she wanted to, of course.'

'I thought we established that you're not a marrying man.'

'I'm eighteen,' he said irritably. 'What is it with wizards and marrying so young? Of course I'd like to marry when I'm older.'

'Don't let your admirers hear you say that, particularly the ones you've lured into bed. They'll assume that by "older" you mean on your nineteenth birthday.'

'That reminds me ... My friends have persuaded me to throw a large party on Saturday the thirty-first. I hope you'll come.'

'Is that your birthday? Are you planning to propose?' She made a show of fanning herself and asked, 'Whatever shall I wear?'

He laughed and leaned forward. 'Hopefully something that comes off easily. And please, bring a friend.' Her eyes shot open, and he said, 'Sorry, that came out wrong. I meant to say that you're welcome to invite a friend as well. The goal is to introduce my Hogwarts classmates to people who attended other schools.' He explained what Hermione had discovered about the Hogwarts wards and she was suitably appalled.

'But yes, I'd love to attend, and I've just the friend in mind. I know she'd enjoy meeting you, and she'll be good company for me while you're otherwise engaged.'

'Yes, I'm afraid I'll be busy most of the evening with other guests.'

Their wine and starters arrived, and it became apparent why the restaurant was so popular. 'Harry, this is wonderful. Thank you for bringing me here.'

'It's a pleasure,' he said. 'You're loads of fun—I hope you know that.'

They conversed throughout the meal and shared their desserts with each other. _She really is delightful_, he thought. When their plates were taken away, he reached across the table and gently stroked her hand, and her eyes sparkled enchantingly. Eventually her foot found his leg beneath the table, and he noticed she'd removed her shoe.

'Are you ready to leave?' he asked, after paying the bill.

'I am,' she replied, and he took her hand as they rose from the table.

They walked through the restaurant, past the still-crowded bar, and left through the front door. It was dark out, but they were suddenly blinded by the flash of a camera.

Thinking quickly, he turned on his heel and Apparated them to the sitting room at Grimmauld Place.

'I'm so sorry,' he said. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes,' she replied, after inspecting her hands and lower body. 'All present and accounted for.'

'That's good. I quite like the entire package,' he said, demonstrating his appreciation with roving hands.

'Not so fast, Black,' she said, pulling away. 'I insist you present me to your family first.' At his puzzled expression she added, 'Your godfather.'

'How could I forget?' He led her up the stairs to the entrance hall, where they were greeting by barking. 'Padfoot, I'd like you to meet Helena. Helena, this is Padfoot.'

'He's adorable!' she exclaimed, as he barked madly and ran around. 'But he's a bit wild, isn't he?'

'I suppose that's Padfoot for you. He's not sentient, and there's no trace of my godfather, so perhaps he's less tame than he was in real life.'

'Do you suppose he's trainable? I mean, he's fine as he is, and clearly he's not going to destroy the furniture, but if he's attached to the wall until the end of time it might be worth training him up a bit,' said Helena over the loud barking.

'That's a good idea. Who do you think I should contact about that? An artist or a dog trainer?'

'I don't know ... I think dog trainers need to give rewards and punishments, and I can't imagine how that would work with a portrait.'

'Hang on,' said Harry, reaching into his pouch and pulling out a box of dog treats he'd purchased that afternoon. 'Watch this.' He opened the box and removed a biscuit, which he held up before Padfoot.

'Sit,' he commanded. Padfoot jumped at Harry's hand and bumped his snout against the front of the canvas. 'Sit,' repeated Harry several times, to no avail.

'That seems a bit cruel, taunting him with a treat he can't have,' chided Helena. 'Do I need to send you a Howler?'

'No, I was just seeing if he'd behave first.' He tossed the dog biscuit towards Padfoot, who caught it in his mouth and gobbled it.

'That's brilliant!' said Helena, who threw another treat straight into Padfoot's open mouth. 'I reckon a dog trainer could work with that.' Padfoot was wagging his tail happily.

'He likes you,' said Harry, smiling.

'Flatterer. You're just saying that to get me into bed.'

'Will it work?'

'Not without a foot massage. We had a deal.'

'Of course, you're right. Shall we return to the drawing room, then?'

She assented, and their evening continued along the same pattern as Saturday night, minus the interrupting owl. They ended up in Harry's bedroom, where they eventually fell asleep entwined.

'Harry,' she said, prodding him. 'Harry, wake up.'

He opened his eyes and saw her facing him in the dim light. His heart was racing and his jaw ached.

'Are you all right?' she asked. 'I think you were having a nightmare.'

She'd awakened him from an indistinct but familiar dream that involved Voldemort torturing a Death Eater. It was unclear whether Harry had been Voldemort or his victim.

'Yes, thanks for waking me. I didn't kick you, did I?' he asked. Ginny had often complained about that.

'You did, but that's all right. I know it wasn't on purpose.'

'I'm sorry. I wish I knew how to stop them.'

'Does it happen often then?'

'Yeah, fairly regularly.'

She looked at him but didn't say anything, instead running her hand over his arm and shoulder. It wasn't a provocative touch, but rather the tender comfort he imagined a mother would provide. He instinctively turned away, allowing her to spoon him.

Helena stroked him gently for a while before saying, 'I don't think I ever thanked you.'

'I disagree. You've thanked me rather nicely.'

'No, but more than that. Really thanked you … for everything. My mother may have been relatively safe, because of her trunk, and I wasn't in particular danger as a half-blood, but it was still awful. My family was considering leaving England, which none of us wanted to do, but what option did we have? My grandparents fled Austria during Grindelwald's War, and they didn't want to have to start over again. But England had become a nightmare—what on earth possessed the Death Eaters to ruin their own country, their own way of life?'

Harry was astonished to hear her talking so much—she had revealed next to nothing about herself before this. He was silent and allowed her to continue.

'Nobody knew for sure whether you were even helping us. Potterwatch assured us you were, but the Ministry contradicted itself from one day to the next, alternately claiming you were a dangerous threat or that you'd saved yourself and left England entirely. We didn't know for certain until you exploded from Gringotts on the back of a dragon, and even though we were terrified, it was more hope than we'd experienced in Merlin knows how long.

'I don't think anyone in wizarding Britain slept that night,' she continued. 'There wasn't any information on the radio, since it was controlled by the Ministry. I must have spent hours trying to tune Potterwatch, but they weren't broadcasting. Rumours kept arriving from Hogwarts, and at dawn we heard the awful news that you'd died. If we hadn't been so exhausted, my family would probably have started packing there and then.

'But then we heard you hadn't died after all, and that you'd defeated Voldemort, and we cried and hugged and cried again until we finally collapsed. I don't know how many people passed through our fireplace that day, but it was overwhelming. My uncle wanted to smash his trunk into bits, but my aunt wouldn't let him, since it was a perfectly good trunk.

'And then your story came out, and we learnt what you'd done and all the sacrifices you and your friends had made, and how you'd never wavered at all, and how you'd even offered your own life to protect everyone. I've been giving you a hard time—about Lord Black and house-elves and all the rest—but it's partly to keep myself from embarrassing both of us with expressions of gratitude, which I'm certain you're sick of hearing because it's impossible to convey in words just how grateful we are. How grateful I am.'

She was holding him tight, and he felt her tears on the back of his neck. He rolled over to face her and wrapped his arm over hers. 'Helena, you've already thanked me more than enough, and I'm not talking about sex. You've made me feel like a normal eighteen year-old, a normal person for practically the first time in my life. My life before Hogwarts was awful—there's a reason I never talk about it—and then as soon as I found out I was a wizard, I was manipulated and lied to by people who meant well, and thrust into battle with a madman who'd set his sights on me literally the day I was born.

'That's why I quit the Ministry and joined the Cannons, to have some fun for the first time in my sodding life, without worrying about Dark wizards or any of the rest of it. And as crass as it sounds, it's really bloody fun to go to a bar and meet a gorgeous witch like yourself and take her home with me.'

She pressed her body to his and they continued nonverbally for a while longer, after which he collapsed into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

When they woke again it was light out, and Harry was pleased to discover they still had time for breakfast in bed. He didn't see the point in offering to cook for her just to prove he could do it.

As on Sunday, their breakfast arrived seamlessly on floating trays, but unlike Sunday there were a half dozen additional trays, each laden with multiple vases of flowers.

'My word, aren't you romantic!' said Helena. 'Is there an engagement ring hiding in here somewhere? I thought your birthday wasn't until the thirty-first.'

Harry shook his head in amused exasperation. 'I should have expected this. I opened an account with a wizarding florist on Sunday, giving Kreacher a legitimate source for flowers, but he seems to have gone overboard.'

'Oh dear. Will you need to punish him?'

He laughed. 'Yes—do you have any Howler stationery?'

They loaded their plates and began eating, exchanging banter all the while. Helena finished first and emerged from bed to to look more closely at all the flowers. 'I'm not seeing any engagement ring, you bastard, but here's the _Prophet_. Do you suppose they put you on the front cover for eating dinner in public? Surely that's more important than yesterday's Wizengamot session.' She unrolled the paper.

Helena was wrong—the main headline was indeed about the Wizengamot. But at the bottom of the front page was the photograph taken outside the restaurant, which showed Harry wearing his new robes, along with a partially-hidden Helena. The headline simply read, _'The Light Lord.'_

The article said:

_Lord Harry Black, formerly known as Harry Potter, dazzled his fellow patrons at popular restaurant Mistigri last night both with his ravishing, unnamed companion and his daringly stylish bespoke robes. _

Daily Prophet_ fashion editor Xanthippe Codmopple immediately declared Lord Black's outfit the fashion statement of the century. 'What could be more symbolic than the world's most famous Light wizard—bearing the name and title of one of Britain's most notoriously Dark families—wearing white robes that so thoroughly marry wizarding traditions with fashion-forward styling?'_

_Lord Black's outfit was particularly surprising given his presumed lack of interest in fashion; the young hero has previously eschewed wizarding robes for Muggle attire on all but the most formal occasions. Industry observer Reginald Hem said, 'After the war, there was hope that [Lord Black] would emerge as a trendsetter, but from what I could tell he only had one tolerably smart Muggle outfit and two sets of non-Auror robes. But seeing him in boldly styled robes—white no less—gives me hope he'll rekindle interest in traditional wizarding wear.'_

_For insight into Lord Black's unexpected change of appearance, the _Prophet_ consulted noted Mind Healer Cassia Dexter, author of _Be Your Own Niffler: Finding the Treasure Within_. 'I can think of multiple reasons why [Lord Black] would make such a radical change. First there's the white colour, signalling his longing for the innocence stolen from him the day his parents died. Then there's the fact that they're wizarding robes rather than Muggle attire, indicating his beseeching return to a world that unfairly scorned him for so long. And finally the close fit and borderline outré styling, which boldly announce his sexual maturity to a world that still calls him the Boy Who Lived. Make no mistake, this outfit is a loud and clear statement from a young man still very much in pain.'_

_Little is known about Lord Black's dinner companion, who is only partly visible in the photograph accompanying this article. Restaurant patrons described her as 'exceptionally lovely' and reported undeniable alchemy between her and Lord Black. This would appear to confirm the rumours that Lord Black is no longer romantically involved with Ginevra Weasley, 17, younger sister to Ronald Weasley, Order of Merlin, First Class. It is yet unknown who initiated the split, but the _Prophet_ hereby pledges to apprise readers of this crucial intelligence._

They both stared dumbstruck at the article and photo for a long while. 'What in Merlin's name did I just read?' exclaimed Helena.

'Apparently I'm yearning for my lost innocence,' replied Harry in a dazed voice.

'Whilst simultaneously announcing your sexual maturity? Isn't that contradictory?'

'I don't feel qualified to answer that. Clearly I'm not an expert.'

'Yes, what would possibly know about your own motivations?'

'And here I thought I just liked robes,' said Harry. 'I was impressed by the quality and cut of my team robes and decided to see what else the tailor might have.'

Helena looked at him with mock intensity. 'But white robes? Why, Harry? Why?'

'They're plainly ivory,' he protested.

'Oh, ivory! That changes everything. The _Prophet_ should really print a retraction.'

He smiled. 'At least they described you accurately. _"Exceptionally lovely,"'_ he quoted, looking at her admiringly.

'Thank heaven I'm not identifiable in the photograph.' The version of Helena in the picture was turning away from the camera and had raised her free hand to cover her face.

'Good reflexes,' he said. 'You'll make an excellent Seeker.'

Her expression softened. 'Are you all right? I suppose you're used to intrusive reporting, but still ...'

'I'll be fine. My teammates are undoubtedly preparing to take the piss, and I'll probably have some of this thrown back at me during the match on Saturday, but I've certainly had worse things printed about me.'

'That's true. And you do look rather fit in that photograph. I'm certain any number of people will Spellotape it on their wall next to that Man Who Lived photo a few weeks ago.' She smirked and added, 'I wonder how many adolescent girls, or boys for that matter, will have "initiatory experiences" from your photographs.'

'Do I even want to know what that means?' he asked.

'It means their first sexual arousal.'

'Oh dear. That feels like a big responsibility.'

'Yes, you'd better keep wearing flattering clothing. The next generation of witches and wizards are counting on you. The future of British wizardkind, in fact.'

'It's a good thing I ordered more robes.'

'Really? What other colours do I have to look forward to?'

'You'll have to wait and see,' he teased.

She was looking around the room. 'I seem to have left my dress in the drawing room, as well as my stockings. May I borrow your dressing gown?'

He pulled on his workout clothes and accompanied her downstairs, where her dress and his robes lay in a sinful heap. She dressed and they walked together to the formal reception hall, interacting briefly with the barking Padfoot.

In front of the fireplace, he said, 'I'd love to see you on Saturday evening, after the match. I'm sorry I don't have a ticket for you—I'd have enjoyed seeing you on the pitch at the end.'

'That's quite all right. I'd just as soon not be photographed. But yes, Saturday evening sounds lovely.'

'I hope you'll at least listen to the broadcast,' he said. 'We're unveiling a new strategy, and I think it'll be entertaining, even on the radio.'

'I will. And good luck.' She kissed him before disappearing into the fireplace.

Harry definitely liked her—he hadn't felt this way about a witch since Ginny. But he knew their affair wouldn't be lasting. As much as he was attracted to Helena and enjoyed her company, a part of him longed to sample other women as well. He was only eighteen, after all.


	23. Chapter 23

Harry deliberately didn't arrive at practice until just before nine o'clock. He was still savouring the experience with Helena, and he wanted to postpone the inevitable mockery from his teammates.

Even so, when he opened his locker he found a copy of _Be Your Own Niffler: Finding The Treasure Within_, with a note tucked inside that said,

'_I hope you find this as helpful as I did. XOXO, Janet.'_

He ran to the benches and had just enough time to raise two fingers at Janet before Tuttle began her lecture. 'Potter,' she barked, 'it's good of you to take time away from your primary career as a fashion model. Are you deliberately trying to sabotage what I thought was a winning strategy, or does it just come naturally?'

Harry remained silent but didn't lower his gaze, and she continued. 'We've got a winning team here, but premature celebration is the perfect way to bollocks that up. I've seen more than one league player get sucked into a celebrity lifestyle and ruin their career, and I'll be buggered if I let that happen to you, Potter—or any of the rest of you.'

'Oh for Merlin's sake,' snapped Harry. 'I went out to dinner. I had exactly one glass of wine. I got plenty of sleep.' That last one was an exaggeration, but it wasn't his fault he'd had a nightmare. 'I joined the Cannons, not a bloody monastery. If my team performance slips, then by all means let me have it. But until then, trust me to manage my own leisure time.'

Tuttle narrowed her eyes at him. 'Fine. But your flying today had better knock my socks off.' Harry glared back at her and nodded.

He began his laps with a sprint to ensure he'd be far enough ahead of his teammates to avoid conversation. The exchange with Tuttle had irritated him, and he needed a lap or two to cool down. Harry didn't enjoy being treated like a child, particularly after having been forced to take care of himself for so many years. He was sick and tired of adults thinking they knew more about his own life than he did.

He'd been disingenuous when Helena had asked if the article had upset him. If he'd been frank, he would have said something like, _'What gives some cow Mind Healer who's never even met me the right to pull some bollocks theory from her arse and shout it from the bloody rooftops?'_ But he and Helena had shared plenty of genuine emotions overnight, and he didn't want to wreck her morning with a tirade.

Harry felt his irritation fade when he remembered their late-night conversation. He'd heard any number of expressions of gratitude in the previous year, but none had moved him as Helena's had. Perhaps it was because she'd been wrapped around his naked body as she spoke, but he'd felt her emotions as plainly as if they'd been his own. She'd described her family's anxious vigil the night of the battle, and even though it was nothing like his own experience, he could feel how they'd been deeply linked nonetheless.

Hearing a story like Helena's somehow reduced the feelings of loneliness he'd experienced that last year of the war. It even changed how he remembered that final walk to the forest, when he knew he was about to die. At the time he'd felt completely separate from those still living, not stopping even to acknowledge Hermione and Ron, but now he could see how fundamentally connected they'd all been the entire time. And he'd been no less connected to Helena and her family—and to anyone who shared their common purpose.

Perhaps Helena hadn't been wrong in her assessment that Harry was merely the weapon. The movement to defeat Voldemort was far larger than Harry, Ron, and Hermione—or even Dumbledore, the Order of the Phoenix, and those who'd fought at Hogwarts. Voldemort was ultimately defeated by every individual who'd defied him, whether by finding and destroying Horcruxes, or by giving away magical trunks, or simply by listening to Potterwatch and allowing themselves to hope. Harry had been the instrument of Voldemort's defeat, but many thousands of people had been the agents.

Harry felt a wave of acceptance rise through him as he continued to run. He really needn't have let Tuttle irritate him like that. She was just being Tuttle, and it would have been against her nature not to respond to the photo and article that way. And it was the same for Janet—of course she'd find a creative way to take the piss.

He only had one lap remaining, and he slowed his pace to join her. 'Thanks ever so much for the book,' he said. 'I reckon I'll stay home this Saturday night just reading it, perhaps with a tall glass of pumpkin juice.'

'That sounds very therapeutic,' she replied. 'I'm certain you'll be back to wearing your usual Muggle outfit in no time. But seriously, those robes were fantastic—did you buy them from Thimble?'

'Yes, on Sunday, along with some others. I'll probably wear robes more often from now on.'

'That's good—they suit you. I reckon you'll start a trend. And then if you want to mess with people, you'll stop wearing them just as abruptly about six months from now.'

'I wonder what Doctor Niffler would say about that,' he mused. 'Did you actually read that book?'

'Merlin, no! I nicked it from my mum—she has an entire bookcase full of twaddle like that. When I was thirteen I discovered the hidden section, with all the naughty self-help books, so let me know if you need any tips on navigating your "sexual maturity."'

'You've been plenty of help already, cheers.'

'Please tell me your "unnamed companion" was with you when you saw the _Prophet_ this morning,' urged Janet.

'I will neither confirm nor deny her whereabouts.'

'Too late, Snitchbottom—you just did.'

Harry had reached the end of his laps and returned to the building to collect his broomstick. He was no longer upset about what Tuttle had said, but he was stubbornly determined to fly his arse off, just to prove he wasn't slacking.

Owen caught up with him. 'Hi, Harry. Are you all right?'

'I assume you're referring to my outburst this morning?'

'Among other things.'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, I'm all right. I could have done without that _Prophet_ article, but that's nothing new.'

'It was a good photograph at least. Which is more than I can say about my sole appearance on the front page of the _Prophet_.'

'When was that?'

'Three years ago—I had a particularly spectacular Bludger injury, which someone very kindly captured on film. I don't think even my grandmum clipped that one.'

'That was you?' gasped Harry. 'Ron showed me the photograph at the time ... He was practically in mourning. I can't believe I forgot about it. You'd caught the Snitch three games in a row before that, right? But then you were out for the season.'

'Yes, and that was the last time I started. I've been a reserve ever since.'

Harry shook his head slowly. 'I'm sorry, Owen, that's awful. And here I taunt you about your injuries five days a week.'

'I taunt you about your dead parents and anything else I can think of, so don't worry about it.'

'At least the _Prophet_ keeps providing more fodder. The parent jokes are getting old.'

'Unlike your parents,' rejoined Owen, and Harry laughed. 'But yes, the _Prophet_ is a goldmine as far as I'm concerned. I've already got some ideas involving the secret meaning of white robes.'

'I can hardly wait.'

The morning flying drills were very aggressive again, which suited Harry—it was a good chance to show Tuttle he was at full strength. He flew almost recklessly but never actually lost control, and the other players clearly benefited from Harry's frenetic energy.

Even Tuttle was impressed. 'You win this round, Potter,' she said, 'but I'll have my eye on you.'

Darren accompanied him back to the lockers afterwards. 'I don't know who you're shagging this week, but she's a good influence. Try to keep her around at least until after we play Puddlemere on the thirty-first.' Puddlemere United was in first place, and beating them would be a real coup for the Cannons.

'I've invited her to the party, so I'm committed until then. And I rather like her, so hopefully a bit longer than that.'

Darren turned towards Harry with a stricken expression. 'You aren't going monogamous on me already? I thought I could depend on you, Potter.'

'Don't worry, she knows it's just a fling. And she seems to be averse to publicity, which suggests we're doomed in the long term, or even the short term. But for now it's a lot of fun.'

'You scared me for a moment there, but carry on.'

Lunch was predictably filled with jokes about the latest _Prophet_ article. 'What did we even talk about before Harry joined the team?' asked Janet.

'I'm pretty sure we had to come up with our own conversation topics,' said Ryan, 'instead of relying on the _Prophet_ to feed us lines.'

'That sounds tedious,' drawled Janet. 'No wonder I can't remember.'

After lunch, Tuttle once again oversaw Harry's Seeker training. 'We need to fine-tune your attacks to make sure you don't commit a foul, particularly Blatching.' Blatching was flying with the intent to collide with another player, which was almost but not quite what Harry was doing. 'But I think we'll have an edge.'

'What's that?' asked Harry.

'I can't recall a single instance of a Seeker being charged with Blatching, since Seekers are usually preoccupied with finding the Snitch and are notoriously skittish about injuries. I suspect it won't even cross the referees' minds to call you on it. Seekers are more likely to get called on something else, like Blagging or Cobbing.'

'So you're thinking the referees will let it pass as a legitimate feint?'

'As long as you don't actually crash into anyone, yes.'

'What if they don't see it that way? I can't afford to be penalised.' A foul in Harry's case would be disastrous, because he'd be forced to sit out for a specified period, and the other Seeker would have no competition finding the Snitch.

'I think we'll just have to see which way the referees lean. In the meantime, let's work on near-fouling, to reinforce what you need to avoid. Having your elbow cocked the wrong way during a feint could be the difference between committing a foul or not.'

Harry had a surprisingly good time flying one-on-one with Tuttle, who showed him some subtle near-fouls he'd never seen before. He was impressed—she was still one hell of a flyer, and unlike her former teammate Ludo Bagman she hadn't got out of shape.

After they landed, she unexpectedly looked at him and said, 'I'm hard on you, Potter. There's a reason for it.'

Harry was taken aback. He just waited until she continued.

'Obviously your overall situation is unique ... Two Killing Curses, for Merlin's sake. But as far as Quidditch goes, I've seen players just like you. Talented, made starter their first year. Landed in the spotlight as naturally as if they'd been born to it. And they could pull witches like grapes off a vine.'

He frowned, unsure where she was going with all this.

'Some of them did just fine. They settled down, had great careers, played for England even. But a couple of them got increasingly out of control. They'd both had difficult childhoods, and no family to speak of. When they fell, they fell hard.'

Harry felt two separate reactions forming inside him. One was the urge to tell Tuttle to mind her own fucking business, but the other appreciated her concern. He instinctively expanded into awareness, the way Owen had taught him, and allowed her to continue.

'It's possible I've got nothing to worry about, in which case you should tell me to mind my own fucking business, like you did this morning. If you can handle it, then by all means have some fun, and more power to you. But make sure you've got an anchor in there—someone or something to keep you steady. Maybe it's your mates, Weasley and Granger. Maybe it's some other adult in your life, like an old professor.

'But don't forget you have the team as well. The Cannons may not be much good at winning, at least until you turned up, but you won't find a better group of people. I'm glad we kept Barrowmaker around, even though he's mostly Skele-Gro at this point. You need people like that—we all do.

'I want you to have a long Quidditch career. I want you to stick it to You-Know-Who and those bloody Death Eaters by having a better life than any of them could have imagined. I'm going to be hard on you, and you should push back, and I'll do the same.' Harry remained silent, and she added sharply, 'Are you listening, or did you tune me out on account of your long night shagging?'

'I'm listening. And yes, part of me wants to tell you off, but I appreciate the rest. You're right, I don't have any real family. But I have terrific mates, and their families too. And you're right about Owen ... He's like no one I've met before. And the rest of the Cannons as well.'

Tuttle nodded. 'Well, there's no point in beating a dead horse. I'm sure we'll go plenty more rounds—I suspect the _Prophet_ hasn't even got started on you yet.'

'There's an alarming thought. But you're probably right.'

She pulled out her whistle and blew it. 'Practice match, ten minutes, same teams and colours as yesterday.'

Harry felt a fresh surge of determination after Tuttle's lecture. He also remembered what Alistair had said, that he was a powerful wizard, in spite of his middling magical strength. He'd resisted a Horcrux after all. That was surely an anchor as well—not a substitute for the others, but part of the larger picture.

And then there was Quidditch, and flying itself. It was ironic to call flying an anchor, since it was literally the opposite, but the expanded sense of self he experienced on a broomstick was surely a protection against what Tuttle was describing.

The practice match began, and Harry kicked off into the air. He began his circling and broadened fully into awareness.

Owen wasted no time approaching him. 'Even your date last night didn't want to be seen with you, Potter. Which seems contradictory, since she's probably only with you because you're famous.'

Harry was in no mood to taunt. He wasn't perturbed by what Owen was saying—it just felt irrelevant. He accelerated to the far side of the pitch and continued circling.

Owen found him again. 'The shopgirl must have been a real looker, to talk you into those robes. You realise you were just a commission to her, right?'

Harry ignored him and continued circling, resetting his intention to let the Snitch appear within his field of awareness.

'Are you going to make an appointment with that Mind Healer? You could probably employ her full time, with all the shit that happens to you. Have you ever asked yourself whether it's all your fault?'

Harry felt his irritation rise, but he relaxed his eyes and let spaciousness overtake him. And then he spied a golden pinpoint near the ground and shot towards it.

Owen followed. The Snitch zig-zagged sharply, remaining a few feet above the pitch, and Harry did the same. One of the opposing Beaters, Suresh, was flying near the ground in an attempt to gain control of one of the Bludgers, which was approaching. Harry zoomed towards him, forcing Owen to follow, and Suresh lined up his bat to make the strike.

Harry angled steeply upwards, and Owen found himself in the Bludger's path. He turned sharply to the right but his balance was off and he slammed into the ground. Meanwhile, Harry was far above and completely exhilarated from the daredevil flying. He'd momentarily lost sight of the Snitch, but he reset his intention for it to appear, and there it was.

Harry had his hand around the Snitch before he noticed Owen was on the ground. 'Potter's got the Snitch!' cried Tuttle. 'Score is 150-0.' Harry landed near Owen just as the Healer arrived.

'Are you all right?' he asked in a panic.

'Yes,' gasped Owen. 'Knocked the wind out of me but otherwise I'm just banged up a bit.'

'A Bludger?' Harry hadn't seen what had happened.

'No, just the ground.'

Healer MacAlister had already started performing diagnostic charms. 'It's nothing,' he said. 'A few minor tweaks and you'll be back to your previous condition.'

'Can't you do any better than that?' groaned Owen. 'Some Healer you are.'

The entire team gathered, and once they saw that Owen was all right, they rained congratulations on Harry. 'What was that, five minutes?' asked Darren.

'Is Tuttle going to make us play another match?' said Janet. 'It seems a bit early to go home.'

Tuttle didn't bother gathering them at the benches, since she had hardly any notes. 'Nice work, Potter, but the fans will be disappointed if you catch the Snitch that fast on Saturday. Not that you should pass it up, of course.'

'Get a clock,' coughed Darren.

'What's that, Rogers?' asked Tuttle.

'Quidditch needs a bloody clock. Or an hourglass, if they want to be all traditional about it.'

'Are you talking heresy again?' asked Suresh. 'Next you'll want the Snitch to be worth only fifty points.'

'I'm not going to argue with you,' said Tuttle, 'but that's not my department.'

'No,' said Ryan. 'It's a job for Harry and Viktor Krum.'

'Leave me out of this,' said Harry. 'I'm not your bloody Quidditch reformer.'

'Give him time, Bellamy,' said Janet. 'We'll wear him down eventually.'

The trainers led them through stretches, and within ten minutes the players were heading towards the building to shower and change into clean clothes.

'It really is ironic,' said Titus, 'that the best-played Quidditch game is so deeply unsatisfying to the spectators.'

'Hold on, did I hear you correctly?' said Darren. 'If we can convince a pure-blood like Titus, that's half the battle.'

'Nah, he's a blood-traitor,' said Lyle. 'Doesn't have a Dark Mark or anything.'

Harry struggled with mixed feelings as he showered. He felt awful for endangering Owen but relieved he was all right. And even though catching the Snitch was always satisfying, he was disappointed he hadn't been able to practice any feints, and that the Chasers hadn't even had the opportunity to score.

The good news, however, was that Harry had a few free hours he hadn't expected. He started with a visit to the Cannons publicity department. Susanna saw him enter and said, 'Good afternoon, Harry. Is everything all right? Why aren't you flying?'

'The practice match is over already—the Snitch appeared almost immediately,' replied Harry.

'Who caught it?' asked Thaddeus.

'I did.'

There were cheers from several staff members. 'Brilliant work, Harry,' said Thaddeus. 'Can't wait to see you out there on Saturday.'

Susanna cleared her throat and said, 'Is there anything I can help you with?'

'Yes ... I'm curious whether you released that statement about my name. I notice the _Prophet_ referred to me as Lord Black this morning, and I was hoping to nip that in the bud.'

Susanna nodded and said, 'Yes, we released it to the _Prophet_ and every other major publication on Tuesday morning.'

Harry sighed. 'So they completely ignored it.'

'That's not true,' said Thaddeus. 'You were in the sports news this morning, and they referred to you as Harry Potter.'

'I didn't see that—did they say anything I should be concerned about?'

'No, it was just standard mid-week Quidditch ruminations.'

Susanna looked at Harry and said, 'If you're wondering what to do next, you should probably issue a personal statement. It's likely to get more attention if it comes from you and not from the team.'

'I suppose you're right. Can you help me with that?'

'Of course,' she said.

Thaddeus interjected, 'Do you still want to make a political statement about wizarding lordships?'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'I feel that's essential to my point.'

'If you say so,' said Thaddeus. 'But are you confident in your research? You don't want to insult the leading families without at least getting your facts straight.'

'You're right—I'll ask my friend Hermione when I see her this evening. There's no one I trust more when it comes to research.'

'Very good,' said Susanna. 'And once you have your facts in order, we can help you with the wording and get it into the right hands at the _Prophet_.'

'Much appreciated, thanks.'

Harry's next stop was Diagon Alley, starting with the shoemaker. On Sunday he'd been helped by the shop assistant, but this time the proprietor was there and insisted on attending Harry personally.

'By any chance are you interested in a raised shoe?' he asked.

'No, thank you. I've no interest in a raised heel,' replied Harry, concealing his irritation.

'I didn't say a raised heel, Mr Potter—I said a raised shoe. The heel and sole would appear normal to the onlooker, but I can add up to three inches of height.'

_That would bring me up to five foot ten_, thought a small part of Harry's mind. _Five eleven if you count the visible heel._

The larger part of Harry's mind protested. _You're a Seeker—that means you're short. Just accept it, Snitchbottom._ He also realised how pathetic it would look to take off his shoes in front of a woman, just prior to removing his trousers, and immediately drop three inches in height.

'Thank you but no, I'm not interested.'

'As you wish.'

In the end, Harry ordered not only a selection of dress shoes—suitable for his various robes—but also a charmed pair of Doc Martens, which Harry knew would be ideal for Muggle settings. And unlike standard Doc Martens, these would be comfortable the first time he wore them, and also feather light. He asked the shoemaker to complete those first.

Harry went next to the florist, where the shopkeeper looked startled to see him. 'We didn't expect to hear back from you so soon, Mr Potter, and certainly not in person, but I'm grateful you've come. I assume this in response to our owl?'

'No, did you send me one? I've come straight from practice and haven't been home since morning.'

'Yes, we sent you an owl just after nine o'clock, but it must have arrived after you'd gone. But I see you've anticipated the problem.'

'Let me guess ... Did my house-elf completely clean you out?'

'I'm afraid so. House-elves, as you may have noticed, don't naturally have a sense of proportion, but usually their training is sufficient to curb those tendencies. Is your elf particularly young, or newly bonded perhaps?'

'No, quite the opposite. I honestly have no idea how old he is, but I'd guess upwards of several centuries.'

'How odd,' said the shopkeeper. 'Was he the property of the Black family? Or did he come into your possession some other way?'

Harry was relieved Hermione wasn't present to hear Kreacher referred to as property. 'He's bound to House Black, and I believe you've identified the problem. He was left to his own devices for years while my godfather was in Azkaban, and his previous owner was, to put it mildly, off her rocker.'

'That explains it. I'm afraid we'll need to put restrictions on his access for a while. Unless, of course, you wish to establish a standing order for larger quantities of flowers,' added the shopkeeper hopefully.

'No, that won't be necessary. But I'll be hosting a large party on the thirty-first, and I suspect flowers would brighten the place up a bit. May I order those in advance?'

'Yes, of course,' said the shopkeeper, pulling out an order form. 'Do you have anything specific in mind?'

Harry actually knew a lot about flowers, thanks to his years of servitude in Aunt Petunia's garden. He listed his favourites and specifically requested nothing too funereal. Too many of the wrong sort of flowers would make Grimmauld Place look like a mausoleum.

His final stop was Benedict Thimble's shop, to tell them how pleased he was with the robes and the other items he'd received so far. Expecting to find the shop empty, as it had been on Sunday, he lowered his Notice-Me-Not Charm before entering, but he immediately backed outside when he saw how crowded it was.

He raised his privacy wards again and opened the door. Normally he didn't enter a store that way, since it often puzzled the shopkeeper and had once resulted in a painful Stinging Hex, but the staff was so busy that they barely looked up. Harry saw Althea helping a young wizard, perhaps a few years older than himself.

Eventually the wizard disappeared into a dressing room, and Harry approached Althea and lowered his wards. 'Good afternoon, Althea,' he said, and she jumped in surprise.

'Harry, you startled me!'

'I'm sorry, I just wanted to stop in and thank you again.'

Her expression softened. 'We should be thanking you! Today we've had more young wizards asking for robes than we normally see in a week. You appear to have launched a mania—well done!'

'The tailor gets the credit, surely. I was thrilled with the finished product.'

'I'm so glad. And I know you'll like the rest as well.' She leaned towards him and said, 'Mr Thimble gave us orders this morning not to sell exact duplicates of the robes we sold you. The last thing you need is a bunch of copycats.'

'Cheers, I appreciate it.'

'Nonsense, it's the least we can do. There's my customer—I should be going. But please come back if you need anything else. And if you make an appointment, we'll be glad to close the shop for you.'

He let her go and slipped out the door, unseen. Mischief managed, he Apparated to Grimmauld Place in anticipation of the meeting with Minerva, Bill Weasley, and Hermione.

Bill arrived first. 'Good to see you, Harry. Or should I call you Lord Black?'

'I think you know the answer to that,' said Harry, scowling.

'I reckon I do—I just couldn't resist.'

They exchanged news, and Bill thanked him for the Cannons tickets. 'You were very thoughtful to include one for Gabrielle.'

'I was glad to—Hermione mentioned she was arriving this week.'

'Yes, but be careful around her. She's just turned fourteen, and that's probably the most dangerous time to be around anyone with Veela blood. She looks fully grown—no hint of an awkward stage—but she can't control her allure very well. At all, really.'

'Oh dear. Do you know if Fleur went through something similar?'

'She claims she didn't, but her father told me she was just as bad. Apparently it's a standard phase—I think he was warning me in case we ever have a daughter.'

'Thanks for the heads-up. Fortunately I've never been over-susceptible to Veela charms, so I should be all right.'

'I'm not concerned about you—you're obviously not lacking for witches your own age. But Gabrielle has been asking after you, and she's got herself convinced you're her destiny. You saved her during the Triwizard Tournament, after all.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'She was never in any danger.'

'Yes, but you didn't know that at the time. Anyway, just treat her like a little sister, and hopefully she'll get the hint.'

Hermione was next to appear. 'I'm sorry I'm late—I lost track of time. Has Minerva arrived yet?'

'Not for several more minutes,' said Bill. 'Remember we gave her a different meeting time, so we could reconnoiter first.'

'Yes, of course,' replied Hermione. 'Have you briefed Harry?'

'Not yet. Harry, the short version is that Minerva won't remember a thing about our previous meetings or the existence of other wizarding schools. We'll have to remind her, and of course she'll be very upset, but after that we can proceed with the portrait of Sirius's ancestor. Have you tried subduing him yet?'

'I haven't,' said Harry. 'Was I supposed to?'

'I didn't see much point, so I didn't say anything,' said Hermione. 'I think we'll have better luck if we retain the element of surprise. Otherwise Phineas Nigellus might flee his frame entirely.'

'Good thinking,' said Bill.

The kitchen fireplace flared green again, and Minerva stepped out, looking slightly bewildered. Before she could say anything Bill said, 'Sit down, we'll explain everything.'

They gathered at the table and Hermione began. 'Do you know why we've invited you here?'

'No' said Minerva. 'Though it's certainly nice to see all of you.'

Bill looked at her carefully. 'Have you been preparing all your own food?'

'Yes, since Sunday. We seemed quite insistent about it in that Pensieve memory, but I honestly have no idea why.'

Bill and Hermione looked at each other with concern, and Hermione said, 'We've invited you here to discuss the other wizarding schools.'

'Beauxbatons and Durmstrang? Whatever for?'

'No, the other wizarding schools in Britain.'

'There aren't any,' said Minerva matter-of-factly.

Bill turned to Hermione and said, 'There has to be a second factor, and it's not the food. Otherwise she'd remember by now.'

'Remember what?' asked Minerva, a trifle irritated.

'There are in fact several dozen wizarding schools in Great Britain, and more in Ireland,' said Hermione, showing Minerva the list.

'Great Godric! Why haven't I heard about them before?'

'You have,' said Bill. 'This is the third time, in fact. We're certain there are wards on Hogwarts causing you to forget, and an additional factor we haven't yet identified.'

They brought her up to speed on everything from their previous meeting, and Hermione said, 'Our next step is to talk to Phineas Nigellus Black. I brought his portrait into the library on Tuesday—we should probably go up there.'

'Oh hooray,' said Bill dryly. 'We get to say hello to Walburga.'

Harry and Hermione smiled. 'Actually, her frame has a new occupant,' he said. 'Come have a look.'

They walked upstairs to the entrance hall and, to Harry's surprise, they were not greeted by barking. Unfortunately, the reason for Padfoot's silence was that he was enthusiastically licking his privates.

'Oh dear,' said Hermione. 'He's really all dog, isn't he?'

'Is that Sirius?' asked Bill.

'No, it's Padfoot,' replied Harry. 'I engaged a portrait artist, and she was able to dislodge Walburga by having Padfoot chase her out. Mrs Black is now the unwilling patroness of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.'

Bill and Minerva laughed out loud. 'That's brilliant,' exclaimed Bill. 'Best news I've heard all week, and that includes you catching the Snitch. Congratulations, by the way.'

'It was a splendid match,' said Minerva. 'I had the pleasure of seeing it in person, thanks to Harry.'

'I'll see him play in Chudley this weekend with the entire family, including Charlie.'

Harry said, 'I'm sorry I couldn't offer you another ticket, Minerva. There are really an immoderate number of Weasleys.'

'Not to worry, Harry. I ordered tickets for nearly every game this season.'

'Won't that interfere with your duties as headmistress?' asked Hermione.

Minerva smiled mischievously. 'I may or may not have scheduled the Gryffindor Quidditch matches for the Cannons' weeks off.'

They proceeded to the library, but before waking Phineas Nigellus, Hermione showed Bill and Minerva the Grimoire.

'Blimey, that looks even older than the Weasley Grimoire,' said Bill. 'Did you find any likely candidates?'

'Hard to say,' said Hermione. 'The only wards I could find were aimed against the likes of me. I didn't see anything about memory modification.'

'What about Potions?' asked Minerva.

'I identified one candidate, but I can't imagine how to distribute it without the house-elves or someone else on the inside.'

'What does it do?' asked Bill, leaning towards the page Hermione had opened.

Harry pulled him back. 'Hands off, blood traitor. The book is liable to hurt you.'

'Rightly so, thanks,' replied Bill.

Hermione said, 'The description is vague but, from what I can tell, the potion perpetuates a separately administered charm, even after the caster is long gone. I get the impression it was designed to reinforce the Imperius Curse and other Dark magic.'

Bill shook his head in disgust. 'What a hideous misuse of magic! There are probably a million beneficial applications for a potion like that, but Dark wizards like the Blacks used it for harmful purposes instead.' He looked at Harry and asked, 'Are you sure you want to be affiliated with them?'

'Yes, I do. Sirius specifically urged me to remake House Black as a Light family.'

'That's a tall order,' said Bill. 'You'll have an easier time turning the Cannons around.'

Minerva turned to Hermione and said, 'About that potion ... What is it made from?'

Hermione looked closely at the instructions and said, 'It seems to be entirely botanical. Nothing from magical creatures.'

'Do any of the ingredients need to be imported? Perhaps we could trace them that way,' said Bill.

'That seems like a stretch,' said Minerva, 'considering we don't know if this potion is involved, nor how it's being delivered.'

Hermione said, 'All the ingredients are either native to Great Britain or can be cultivated here.'

'So scratch that,' grumbled Bill. 'Do you suppose it's time to interrogate the portrait?'

'I think so,' replied Hermione. 'And I'm sure Harry is keen to make himself useful.'

'Thanks a lot,' said Harry acidly, fetching the portrait and propping it at eye level against one of the bookcases. Phineas was still sleeping. 'What should I do, exactly?'

Everyone looked expectantly at Minerva. 'I have some experience with headmaster portraits,' she said. 'Theoretically I should have complete power over them, as the current headmistress, but in practice they're more wilful than that.'

Hermione thought for a moment and said, 'I wonder if that's because they're maximally sentient at Hogwarts. Louisa—the painter Harry engaged to unseat Walburga—told us that headmaster portraits are most fully themselves at Hogwarts, due to the background magic. So perhaps this instance of Phineas Nigellus will be more tractable.'

'Let's try it,' said Bill. 'Harry, reveal the ring, and then demand the portrait's obeisance.'

Harry nodded and removed the concealment charm on the ring, which prompted snorts of laughter from both Bill and Minerva. 'That illustration in the _Prophet_ didn't do it justice,' said Bill.

Harry tapped the portrait with his wand and said, 'Phineas Nigellus Black, I require your attention.' He held the ring in plain view.

Phineas stirred from his slumber but didn't open his eyes. 'What is it now? Can't you let a wizard have his hard-earned rest?' he groaned.

'As your Head of House, I command you to speak with us and remain present in your current frame'

The portrait's eyes shot open, and they protruded slightly when he recognised the Black family ring on Harry's hand. 'You?' he exclaimed in horror. 'My great-great-grandson named you his heir? I knew he left you the house, of course, but I never dreamed he'd go so far as to make you head of family. Oh, the shame of it!'

'What's wrong with Harry?' said Hermione indignantly. 'He's related to the Blacks.'

'On his father's side, yes,' said Phineas. 'But nothing can remove the disgrace of his maternal lineage.'

'I'll have no more of your cheek!' cried Harry in a voice he hardly recognised. 'The ring accepted me, and I am unquestionably head of House Black. Do you deny this?'

Everyone looked at him in surprise, including Phineas. 'No, my lord. You are indeed the true heir.'

'I command you then to remain in your frame and answer our questions.' He turned to the others and cocked his head to indicate they should speak.

Bill straightened and asked, 'Do you know anything about wards at Hogwarts that would interfere with the inhabitants' knowledge of other wizarding schools in Great Britain?'

Phineas defiantly pressed his lips together until Harry said, 'Answer him.'

'Yes, I am aware of such wards.'

'Did you create them?' asked Harry.

Phineas looked like he was trying to hold his breath to keep from answering.

'You will speak,' ordered Harry.

'Yes,' blurted Phineas, 'but I beg you, don't ask me any more.'

'You are in no position to make demands! What other means did you use to enforce the memory modifications?'

Phineas started squirming within his canvas, as if to leave. Harry grasped the sides of the frame and boomed, 'You will stay and answer me!'

'A potion, my lord,' said Phineas resignedly.

'How is it administered?' asked Minerva. 'And who's brewing it after all these years?'

Phineas surprised them by smiling. 'They said I couldn't do it,' he said wickedly. _'"You can't perpetuate a memory ward,"_ they said. But I proved them wrong. What year is it anyway?'

'It's 1999,' said Hermione.

'Ha!' cried Phineas. 'It's lasted more than eighty years. And you've only just discovered it? Clearly, Phineas Nigellus Black is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has known.'

'Really, you're talking about yourself in the third person?' said Hermione. 'That's a bit of a Muggle cinema cliché. But back to the main point, which potion are you using? Is it the one in the Grimoire, for perpetuating charms?'

Phineas looked positively ill. 'Don't tell me you of all people read the family Grimoire! It should have removed your skin from your body the instant you touched it.'

Hermione blanched, but Harry said, 'Sorry to disappoint you, Gramps, but the Grimoire thinks Hermione and I are married. She's already spent hours poring over it. And by the way, it turns out she's a phenomenally powerful witch.'

'Impossible! I charmed it myself against Mudbloods!'

'Nice try,' said Harry, 'but even the Grimoire knows blood purity is a load of bollocks.'

Minerva cleared her throat. 'Can we get back to the potion?'

'Yes, of course,' said Harry. 'Did you use the potion from the Grimoire?'

'I did.'

'And how is it distributed?'

'In the water, at Hogwarts.'

His words struck them like a jolt. 'Of course!' cried Bill. 'That's why the house-elves didn't know about it. Tufty was telling the truth.'

'I told you so,' said Hermione.

'How is the potion being renewed after all these years?' asked Minerva. 'Is someone still brewing it?'

'No,' said Phineas. 'I was far cleverer than that. I planted a Founders Tree.'

Minerva, Bill, and Hermione all inhaled sharply. 'What's a Founder's Tree?' asked Harry.

To his surprise, Phineas answered. 'It's a magical tree that can perpetually perform specified magic, given the proper conditions.'

Unable to contain herself, Hermione interrupted him. 'It's drawing the ingredients from the Forbidden Forest,' she exclaimed. 'And it has to be brewing the potion within its own trunk and root system.'

'Well spotted,' sneered Phineas. 'Ten points to Gryffindor.'

'But how is the potion reaching the water supply? The Founders' Grove is nowhere near the lake,' said Minerva.

Phineas was silent until Harry shoved the ring in front of the canvas. 'Answer her.'

'Pipes.'

'You laid a pipe all the way from the Founders' Grove to the lake? How would you even make a potion strong enough?' asked Minerva.

'It doesn't go to the lake, it goes to the castle,' said Phineas. His tone contained a distressing note of triumph.

'You're delivering the potion straight into the castle plumbing?' asked Bill. 'Where's the tree? We'll need to cut it off at the source.'

'You won't find it,' gloated Phineas.

'Tell us where it is,' ordered Harry.

'I couldn't if I wanted to, not from memory.'

'Then we'll bring you to Hogwarts and you can point it out,' declared Harry.

Phineas shook his head smugly. 'I wouldn't obey you there. I'd be strong enough to resist you on the castle grounds.'

'Damn it, he's right,' said Bill. 'Minerva, is there any way for us to identify the tree ourselves?'

'No. The Founders' Grove is extensive, and we couldn't risk harming the wrong tree. The grove produces a good many of the charms that keep Hogwarts functioning.'

'Then what about the intake?' asked Hermione. 'Where does it come into the castle.'

'I can tell you that,' replied Phineas, 'but it won't help you. I've spelled it invulnerable from the outside.'

'Where is it, then?' asked Harry.

'It's in the Slytherin dungeons, next to the lake.'

'Of course it is,' muttered Bill.

'Can't we get at it from the inside?' asked Hermione.

'Not unless you can fit inside a pipe,' smirked Phineas. 'And if you're thinking about using a Shrinking Spell on yourself or an Enlargement Charm on the pipes, it won't work.'

The three living humans just looked at each other for a minute. 'He certainly safeguarded his work,' said Bill.

'What about the wards?' asked Minerva. 'Even if we can't get rid of the potion, surely we can remove the wards. Are they inscribed on the anchor stones?'

'The main wards are, yes,' said Phineas. 'But not the secondary wards.'

'Secondary wards? Where are they?' asked Harry.

'Inside the pipes,' said Phineas. 'You'll never find all of them without tearing the castle apart.'

'Harry, couldn't you send a snake through the pipes?' said Minerva.

'No, I can't speak Parseltongue anymore. That died with Voldemort.'

They all sighed. 'We could at least remove the central ward from the anchor stones. That ought to weaken the effect,' said Bill.

'But not remove it entirely,' taunted Phineas.

'Are you holding back on us?' asked Harry menacingly. 'I command you to tell me how to remove the potion inlet and the secondary wards.'

'Sorry, my lord. I couldn't do it if I wanted. Which I don't of course.' Phineas leaned back in his frame, wearing an insufferable smile.

'I don't think we'll get anything else out of him,' said Bill. 'We might as well let him go.'

'I agree,' said Minerva. 'We'll need to work the rest out on our own.'

'Good luck with that,' said Phineas. 'I'll enjoy watching you fail. I might even ask you about North Squiffing every now and again, just to see you scratch your head in confusion.'

'Get out of my sight,' ordered Harry, and Phineas darted from his frame.

Everyone was quiet for a while after he'd gone. Harry charmed the ring invisible again.

'What's our next step?' asked Hermione.

'Remove the central ward,' said Bill. 'We'll have to use the Pensieve to walk ourselves through it.'

Minerva nodded. 'That's a start. And once the main ward is gone, we might have enough presence of mind to work out the next steps from inside the castle.'

'Will you keep preparing your own food?' asked Hermione.

'For now. I'm glad it's summer—I have more free time than during the school term. I'll conjure my own water as well.'

Bill nodded. 'Are there any castle plans or schematics that would give us a better idea where his potion meets the water supply?'

'Yes, we unearthed a lot of plans during the rebuilding last summer.'

'Good, I'll have a look at them,' said Bill.

'Is there anything I can do?' asked Harry.

'You're already doing the most important thing: introducing people from different schools to one another,' said Minerva. 'I heard about your upcoming party—it's a wonderful idea.'

'I'm glad you think so. Speaking of which, might I borrow several house-elves? Kreacher would like some help.'

'Of course. They're at loose ends during the summer anyway. Just let me know when and how many.'

Hermione scowled but didn't say anything.

'I still can't believe you're throwing open Grimmauld Place to the hoi polloi, Lord Black,' said Bill. 'All your predecessors save Sirius must be spinning in their graves.'

'Ugh, you've reminded me, I need to send a statement to the _Prophet_ telling them not to call me that. The team sent instructions but only the sport section complied.'

'"_The Light Lord,"'_ quoted Hermione. 'I thought that was rather clever.'

'Hermione, would you mind researching the lordship business for me? I want to expose what a load of rubbish it is, but the Cannons publicity team urged me to verify my facts first.'

'I already checked. When you told me what Andromeda said, I looked in the Ministry archives, and it turns out she's right.'

'Right about what?' asked Bill.

'It turns out wizarding lordships are meaningless,' said Harry. 'They were sold to the highest bidders in 1707 when the Ministry was built.'

'Are you serious? 1707?' asked Bill, laughing. 'We have broomsticks at the Burrow that date back farther than that.'

Minerva was smirking as well. 'Harry, I should probably caution you against upsetting a lot of pure-bloods, but 1707? That's downright embarrassing. Do you want help drafting it?'

The four of them worked together to create a statement. 'This is good,' said Harry, looking at the final product. 'I'll give this to the publicity staff first thing tomorrow, and they can send it to the _Prophet_ straight away. The Lord Black business is already getting out of hand.'

'I doubt your statement will stop it,' said Bill, 'but you'll at least upset the apple cart. About damned time.'

Their business concluded, they ate together in the dining room. 'I must say, Kreacher's cooking has improved immeasurably since I first met him,' said Minerva.

Hermione looked up. 'Do you suppose he could deliver your meals until we find a solution to the potion problem? That would save you the trouble of preparing your own food.'

Everyone looked at Harry. 'I've no objection, certainly. Let's see how he feels about it. Kreacher!'

_Crack!_ 'Yes, Master.'

'Would you be willing to deliver meals several times a day to Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts for the foreseeable future?'

'Does Master wish for Kreacher to prepare the food in the Hogwarts kitchens?'

'No, definitely not. It's essential that you cook everything here.'

Kreacher bowed. 'Kreacher would be delighted to serve the Hogwarts headmistress. Kreacher is far superior to the Hogwarts elves.'

'This has nothing to do with the Hogwarts elves,' said Hermione. 'I ate at Hogwarts for seven years and they're highly capable.'

'Yes, Miss Hermione,' said Kreacher dubiously. Arrangements for food delivery were made, and Harry dismissed him.

There was eventually a lull in their dinner conversation, and Harry noticed Minerva was observing him. 'I can't believe how much you've changed, Harry,' she said.

'That sounds ominous.'

'No, not in a bad way. You've simply lost the downtrodden quality that defined you for so many years.'

Bill nodded in agreement. 'She's right. I think you even had it the last time I saw you, maybe two months ago, when you last came to the Burrow for Sunday dinner.'

'Has it been that long?' asked Harry. 'I'm sorry about that.'

'No, it's understandable. But I'm glad to see how you've improved. It's like the yoke is finally off your neck.'

'Honestly, I think it's all the flying. It does me a world of good to spend so much time on a broomstick every day.'

'It seems to be doing the Cannons a world of good as well. Can you tell us anything about the upcoming match?'

Harry smiled. 'We're unveiling a new strategy. It should be highly entertaining.'

'Brilliant,' said Bill. 'Charlie in particular is eager to see you fly—he couldn't stop talking about your performance against the Horntail during the Triwizard Tournament, and he's a tough audience. I still don't know why he never pursued Quidditch professionally.'

'I've often wondered that myself,' said Minerva. 'Perhaps I should have encouraged him more, as I should have done with Harry. Luckily Harry figured it out without me.'

After dinner they gathered around the formal fireplace. 'I know we encountered more obstacles,' said Bill, 'but we've made considerable progress, all things considered. I can't believe this has been happening for more than eighty years.'

'I'm determined to find a solution,' said Hermione. 'This is at the heart of my goal to make wizarding society more equitable.'

'We can't fail with Hermione on the task,' said Minerva, and Bill and Harry nodded in agreement.

Everyone departed through the fireplace, and Harry walked up to his bedroom. He remembered what Tuttle had said that afternoon, about his need for an anchor in the absence of a family. But between Hermione, Minerva, and the Weasleys, Harry knew he was well anchored indeed.


	24. Chapter 24

Harry was less anxious on Saturday morning than he'd been a week earlier, but he was still relieved when Ron arrived to keep him company.

'I'm glad we established this tradition from the start,' said Harry. 'Otherwise I'd have to take up smoking just to settle my nerves, and I suspect Tuttle wouldn't approve.'

'I need to see her in action one of these days,' said Ron. 'I've heard bits and pieces from you, and Janet gave me an earful last night.'

'I'm not surprised ... Our practice match dragged on for hours—in the pouring rain, mind you—and then Tuttle kept us on the benches afterwards with copious notes. Janet was not pleased.'

'I know—she literally had smoke coming out of her ears.'

'Yes, but that was partly because they gave up Pepper-Up Potion as a preventive measure.'

'Are you feeling all right, for today's match?' asked Ron.

'I'm feeling great. How was Janet this morning?'

'I wouldn't know ... She kicked me out at half ten. She has strict rules about the night before a match, apparently.'

'I suppose I do as well,' said Harry. 'So far, anyway … I had a quiet evening with Kreacher.'

'How romantic. Does your "ravishing, unnamed companion" know?'

'She knows all about Kreacher ... Hermione sent me a Howler when she heard I'd locked him in the cupboard, and it arrived at a highly inconvenient moment.' Harry's description of the incident left Ron in hysterics, gasping for breath.

When Ron calmed down he asked, 'What on earth did you do in a past life to have such a completely mental one this time around?'

'I've often wondered. Do you have any theories?'

Ron thought for a moment. 'My best guess is that you pulled a Fred and George with some dungbombs at a Seers' Convention, and they vowed eternal revenge.'

'That would explain a lot.'

'But clearly the Howler didn't wreck everything, otherwise your "exceptionally lovely" witch wouldn't have come back for seconds. Will you be seeing her again, or has she already grown tired of your long-suffering Boy-Who-Lived act?'

'I don't have an act!'

'You don't need one,' said Ron, laughing. 'Just like I don't need one either—not anymore. I should send a thank-you owl to the Order of Merlin committee. Do you reckon Dumbledore made the most of his? I'm sure Lockhart did.'

'I have no interest in following this train of thought,' said Harry. 'In answer to your previous question—yes, I'm seeing Helena tonight, and I've invited her to the party as well.'

'Really? Are you that serious with her already?'

'No, not at all. She knows it's just a fling, and I get the impression that suits her. She has a strong aversion to publicity, as you might have gathered from that photograph in the _Prophet.'_

'You know, you would have done the same a few years ago,' said Ron. 'I think you're finally comfortable in the spotlight.'

Harry sighed. 'I can't believe it, but I have to agree. And it's a bit mortifying … I feel like I'm proving Snape right.'

'What, that you're an attention-seeking glory-hound after all?'

'For example.'

'It took me years to understand why you didn't want attention,' said Ron. 'Merlin knows I wanted it. Still do, truth be told.'

'Right, but you're getting attention for your accomplishments. I got attention for having a psychopath after me, and for the not at all unique status of having dead parents.'

'Yes, but you were also the Boy Who Lived.'

'Which was a load of bollocks. All I did the first time Voldemort attacked me was probably shit my nappies.'

'"The Boy Who Shat" doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?' mused Ron.

Harry laughed. 'No, it really doesn't. I should be grateful it never caught on.'

Kreacher served their breakfast, which Harry had allowed him to prepare, and they continued the conversation whilst eating.

'I can't remember if I've apologised before,' said Ron, 'but I'm sorry I was such a jealous twat all those years.'

'You have apologised, and stop worrying about it.'

'It still weighs on me though,' admitted Ron. 'Like during the Triwizard Tournament, when I was daft enough to believe for weeks that you'd put your own name in the goblet.'

'That really was daft. You knew how mediocre I was at Charms.'

'Hermione tried pointing that out—in those exact words—and the twins did as well. But I couldn't hear it. All I could think was that you'd somehow taken the slot away from me.'

'No, I'm fairly certain Neville was next in line,' said Harry, and Ron chuckled. 'But you're right,' he added in a more sober voice. 'It was hard when you didn't believe me. Though I suppose it was good practice for fifth year, when nobody believed me.'

'At least I had your back then, even though you were a tetchy bastard the entire time.'

'That's true—I definitely had my revenge.'

'Amazing how we can laugh about it now,' said Ron.

'I suppose it is, to the extent you can call this laughing and not just gallows humour.'

'It certainly helps to have the last laugh. Unless you consider all the people who didn't, of course.'

'You just had to bring them up, didn't you?' said Harry with a bittersweet smile.

'They turn up on their own somehow, haven't you noticed?'

'Yeah. But at least they don't need Cannons tickets. Your family alone nearly used up my entire allotment. It's just as well Fred isn't around anymore.'

'Nah, you could have just skipped Percy,' said Ron, and Harry laughed.

'I'd hoped to offer tickets to everyone from Auror training, but I can't see when I'll ever have enough. Apparently the home games have all sold out this season, and most of the away games as well.'

Ron was impressed. 'The team owners must be raising their glasses to you. Perhaps they'll send you a fruit basket.'

'I'd rather they sent me some bloody tickets,' grumbled Harry. 'How's the Auror crowd anyway? I'm sorry I scarpered without saying goodbye—apparently I needed a clean break.'

'Yeah, that wasn't your most diplomatic move,' said Ron. 'But you never really got to know them in the first place, so I don't think anyone was surprised.'

'Are you getting to know them now?'

'I am, actually. Harper and I are usually paired up, and I tend to eat lunch with his group. They're a lot of fun.'

'It occurs to me they almost certainly went to schools other than Hogwarts. I can't imagine why it never came up in conversation.'

Ron looked at Harry. 'You don't suppose there are memory wards at the Ministry too?'

'Oh, bloody hell. There probably are. Can you mention it to Bill next time you see him? I'll pass it along to Hermione and Minerva.'

'I can't believe you're on a first-name basis with Professor McGonagall,' smirked Ron. 'Do you think if Snape were still alive you'd be calling him Severus? I'm guessing yes.'

'Not possible. Sirius probably charmed the ring to force me to call him "Snivellus."'

'There's a thought ... Do you suppose the ring is compelling you to wear robes now as well? That's the most likely explanation, really.'

'What, I can't decide I like robes on my own?'

'You look like Lucius bloody Malfoy,' said Ron, and Harry scowled. 'Relax, I'm just taking the piss. I thought they looked good.'

'Cheers ... Oh, there's the owl with the _Prophet_. I wonder if they printed my statement.' Harry walked to the window to collect the newspaper.

'You sent them a statement?'

'Yeah, about how lordships are complete bollocks,' said Harry, unrolling the newspaper. The front headline blared:

'_Potter: Lordships Are "Complete Bollocks."'_

'Blimey,' exclaimed Ron. 'You really said that?'

'The original version said "nonsense" but I changed it. I didn't see the point in mincing words.'

The article read:

_In a written statement laced with his trademark vulgarity, Harry Potter, 18, denounced wizarding lordships just days after his own title became public. _

_Potter's statement, sent to the _Prophet_ by express owl on Friday morning, is printed without omission below:_

'_I, Harry James Potter, hereby request not to be addressed or referred to as Lord Black. Although I readily accept the role of head of House Black, having been so named by my late godfather, Sirius Orion Black, I have no wish to embody or perpetuate the system of wizarding peerage. Bluntly stated, it is my decided opinion that wizarding lordships are complete bollocks._

'_Unlike Muggle titles, which have for centuries been granted by the monarch in recognition of service to the Crown, wizarding lordships were sold—yes, sold—in 1707 to a handful of families who contributed funds towards the construction of the Ministry of Magic. The Blacks were one such family, and it is absurd that I be called "Lord" above nearly every other witch and wizard for a mere monetary transaction. I should note that the monies donated were probably stolen from Muggles in the first place._

'_As we strive to rebuild wizarding Britain along more egalitarian lines, I invite a frank discussion of the value of lordships and other "traditions" which, in my opinion, make a mockery of the noble traditions shared by all magical peoples, irrespective of how rich or pretentious their ancestors were.'_

Ron was flabbergasted. 'Holy shit, I can't believe you sent that. Were you drunk or something?'

'I was not drunk! In fact, Hermione, Minerva, and Bill helped me write it.'

'The final version?' asked Ron pointedly.

Harry twisted his mouth in contrition. 'I may have tweaked it a bit.'

'Let me guess. Clearly the "bollocks" part. I gather "rubbish" wouldn't have been strong enough?'

'Everyone would have known what I'd really meant. I figured profanity would make a stronger impression.'

'I reckon you're right.' Ron continued scanning the text and said, 'You probably added the part about how the money was stolen in the first place.'

'No, that was Hermione.'

'Yeah, that makes sense. But you had to have added the last bit: _"irrespective of how rich or pretentious their ancestors were."'_

'Guilty as charged. But I think it adds a real punch.'

'That it does,' said Ron, before continuing to read the article:

_The _Prophet_ has been unable to verify the truth of Potter's claims regarding the origin of wizarding lordships, but Delenda Lidwick, editor of Lidwick's Social Gazette, offered the following response:_

'_Potter is surely mistaken in his assertion that lordships date only to the founding of the Ministry. It has long been my understanding that they predate the Wizengamot and were, in fact, granted by Merlin himself to his most trusted acolytes. Personally, I'm sorry to see young Potter scorn such an essential aspect of wizarding culture, and I'm certain his forebears would feel the same. The Potters, although an old wizarding family with distinguished strains such as the Peverell line, have never risen above what might be called the prosperous middle class, and in renouncing the title Harry is guaranteeing that the Potters remain thus.'_

'What gives that Lidwick cow special insight into what my "forebears" would have thought?' grumbled Harry. 'Did it occur to her that the Potters simply weren't a bunch of prats?'

'There had to have been at least a few prats,' said Ron. 'My family has Percy, for example.'

'Fair point, but I don't think even Percy would want a lordship. He'd much rather earn his honours.'

'That's true,' said Ron.

The article continued:

_Lord Romulus Wynter, 91, offered the following perspective. 'Whilst I commend young Potter's passion, he clearly doesn't understand the true significance of a wizarding lordship. He appears to think they only indicate status and demand deference, when in fact a wizarding lordship confers sacred duties upon its holder. These would be evident were Potter to attend a Wizengamot session, which is now his right as Lord Black, regardless of how he asks people to address him.'_

'Do you know what he's talking about?' asked Harry. 'Andromeda didn't mention any Wizengamot duties other than voting. And I can't say I noticed the lords doing anything special during the war trials last summer.'

'No, but they all wore those funny hats,' said Ron. 'And one of them kept striking a gong.'

Harry grinned mischievously. 'Oh please tell me that's what he's referring to. I'm sure I'll find out soon enough.'

The article concluded:

_The _Prophet_ hereby pledges to respect Potter's request to be called by his birth name, unless he should change his mind and choose to honour what was clearly his godfather's dying wish. We also invite further response from the Lords and Ladies amongst our readers, who can only want to correct Potter's misapprehension, which surely originates in his Muggle upbringing._

'My godfather's dying wish?' blurted Harry. 'In Sirius's last letter to me he specifically mentioned what a load of bollocks the title was and encouraged me to ignore it. I can't believe he'd disagree with anything I wrote in that statement.'

'Calm down—of course Sirius would agree with you. In fact, wherever he is, he's probably laughing his arse off.'

'Not probably—definitely. In fact, I'm starting to wonder whether my entire life isn't an elaborate prank cooked up by the Marauders. All four of them.'

'You're sounding a bit paranoid, mate,' said Ron.

'I suppose you're right. We should probably go back to your "angry Seers" theory.' Harry looked again at the _Prophet_ and said, 'I wonder if the Silver Arrow people are regretting their offer ... They contacted me this week about an endorsement.'

'Are you serious? That's brilliant!'

Harry shook his head. 'No, I'm not interested.'

'Why not? I thought you loved your new broomstick. You told me it's the best you've ever ridden.'

'Yes, but that's irrelevant. They want me to appear in their advertisements and store displays, including a life-sized animated cardboard cutout. Can you imagine?'

Ron grimaced. 'I see your point. Quidditch supply shops are heavily trafficked by teenage boys ... You'd have a cock and balls drawn on your cheek within the first hour. But couldn't you negotiate that part out?'

'No, they also want to name the broomstick after me, and I can't do it. It's too Lockhart.'

'You'd make a shit-ton of Galleons,' persisted Ron.

Harry sighed. 'I know. But I'm already likely to clean up on team merchandise—Lara told me they're getting flooded with advance requests, even though nothing's been available yet.'

'Surely they'll have items for sale today.'

'Yes, heaps of them.'

Ron laughed. 'We'll have to send something to Professor McGonagall so she can display it in plain sight of Snape's portrait.'

'Oh dear, she might actually do that, on behalf of Gryffindor House.'

Ron was silent a moment before saying, 'It's a good thing I also got over my jealousy regarding money. My younger self would be grinding his teeth right about now.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry. 'I wish I'd known how to handle it better.'

'You did nothing wrong. It's not your fault the Potters had gold and the Weasleys didn't.'

'You realise I'd have traded it all for a family, right? Other than the Dursleys, of course.'

'I know that now. I think it took losing Fred to make me appreciate what I have.' After a pause he asked. 'Are you still in touch with them?'

'No, but I ran into Dudley last week, with Hermione. He asked me for her telephone number.'

Ron burst out laughing. 'That's even harder to picture than her and Ryan Bellamy.'

'You'll see for yourself today, since he invited her to the match. And if we win he'll be joining us at the Spyglass—Renée made him promise.'

'Hermione at the Cracked Spyglass? That I have to see, from a safe distance, of course.'

'Are you worried about a confrontation? That seems unlikely.'

'No, of course not. I'm more concerned about Janet. If she's in high spirits she might want to, I dunno, compare notes or something.'

'You're right—I could definitely see her doing that. Best to prevent it.'

'By the way, thanks again for introducing us. She's a firecracker all right,' said Ron with a gleam in his eye. 'And you've actually got George dating as well—he's seeing Rebecca again tonight.'

'I'm glad to hear it. George doesn't believe me, but he had it in the bag as soon as she learnt he'd invented Canary Creams.'

'I suppose you're developing an instinct for that sort of thing … Do you reckon you can help Charlie while he's visiting? I don't think he's ever brought a witch home.'

'Are you sure he fancies witches?'

'Good question, and I've no idea. He's definitely the quiet Weasley. I still don't know why he never went out for professional Quidditch. Several teams recruited him, you know.'

'Really? I can't believe you never told me that before.'

'I didn't know until recently. Dad let it slip at Sunday dinner after you joined the Cannons. But apparently Charlie wasn't interested—he caught the first portkey to the Continent instead.'

'And to think, you mightn't have been the most famous Weasley.'

'I'm not so sure about that. I expect Order of Merlin, First Class, outranks league Seeker.'

'I couldn't say … I've got both,' drawled Harry.

'Harry!' cried Ron, aghast. 'Where the hell did that come from?'

Mortified, Harry said, 'I'm so sorry, it just popped out. I reckon all the taunting during practice is creating a monster.'

'Or unleashing one. Merlin! Don't let your detractors hear you talking like that!'

'I'll try, but it's not easy to shut off.'

'Try harder then. Blimey!'

They talked Quidditch for the next few hours, punctuated by a lively visit with Padfoot. 'I've engaged a dog trainer,' said Harry. 'She'll be working with him intensively this week ... My hope is that he'll be a bit more presentable for the party on Saturday.'

'That's good,' said Ron. 'There's a lot of mingling space here in the entrance hall, but nobody's going to want to hang around if he's barking at full volume.'

'She's hopeful he'll train up tolerably. It's not clear what breed he is—apparently he's a mongrel, which seems appropriate for Sirius's alter-ego—but she said he ought to be fairly intelligent, for a dog anyway. She's also going to consult a Charms expert to see if there's any way to draw on the overall magic in the house. She seemed to consider it a challenge.'

The time arrived for Harry to leave for the Cannons training grounds. 'Good luck, mate,' said Ron. 'I can't wait to see the new strategy ... I haven't breathed a word to the rest of the family, so they should be suitably gobsmacked.'

'Thanks—it should be a lot of fun, assuming I don't collapse from exhaustion.'

'I'd tell you to conserve some strength for Helena, but as far as I'm concerned you can lie in a coma all week as long as the Cannons win at the weekend.'

'I'm glad you're looking out for me. You're a true friend.'

Ron departed through the fireplace, and after a few last-minute preparations Harry Apparated to join the rest of the team.

Janet greeted him. 'Have you just seen Ron, then?'

'I have,' replied Harry. 'He seemed rather put out to have been chucked to the kerb last night.'

'I did no such thing! I chucked him into the fireplace, like any good wizard.'

'You'll have to make it up to him tonight, then.'

'Believe me, that's what I have in mind.'

'Focus, Lindhurst ... mind the hoops instead.'

'You and your stupid priorities.'

The weather was still lousy but not as bad the day before had been. But the sky looked threatening, and the ground was saturated. 'Do you know if the weather is similar at the stadium?' asked Harry.

Gary said, 'Yes, I stopped by my parents' house this morning and watched the weather forecast. We can definitely expect rain during the match.'

'Brilliant,' groaned Harry. 'Spotting's not so easy in low light.'

'At least the fans won't be disappointed by a short match. Just pace yourself with the feints ... You don't want to burn out too early.'

'I know. Learnt that one yesterday.'

'I suppose you did. Nice work, by the way.'

The trainers led the team through warm-up exercises, and the flying drills were more fun than strenuous. It started to rain, so the players ate lunch inside the building.

'Second helpings, Potter,' ordered Tuttle, shoving another box of food at him. 'You've got a long afternoon ahead of you, and I don't want you running out of steam.'

They arrived at Chudley Stadium by Floo, and Harry felt much more at home than he had at the Falcons stadium. The arrival hall was festooned what looked like centuries worth of Cannons flags and banners, and there were hundreds of team portraits and photographs on the walls, including the most recent ones.

Harry hadn't been able to closely examine the new photographs when the publicity department had shown them to him, so he was glad for the opportunity. He particularly liked the full team photo, in which Owen and Harry were kneeling together in front.

Owen approached and said, 'I'd like a copy of that one.'

'So would I,' said Harry, who kept his eyes on the photo to conceal his emotions. 'I couldn't possibly do any of this without you. There's no way I could feint like I'm expected to without the techniques you've taught me.'

'I wouldn't have been able to feint like that even before my injuries,' said Owen. 'Normally it's a bit disappointing watching a Cannons match from the skybenches, but I reckon I'll have the best seat in the house. And I can't wait to see how the crowd reacts.'

'Don't get too comfortable. You might have to substitute for me when they carry me out on a stretcher.'

'Your Muggle upbringing is showing—wizards don't use stretchers. Some lord you are,' he said, and Harry laughed.

Owen showed him to the dressing room, which was much nicer than the one at Falcons stadium. Each player had a changing area with their name painted above it, and their team robes, boots, and accessories were waiting for them.

'This is surprisingly posh,' said Harry. 'I was expecting something more like the lockers at the training grounds.'

'The Cannons might not win very often, but the fans are loyal, which means there's always money for equipment and stadium improvements.'

'Impressive. Are the visitor locker rooms also this grand?'

'Not quite, but definitely better than what we had in Falmouth.'

They changed and gathered in the arrival hall, where the referee began checking them for illegal enhancements. 'Are you going to reveal the ring in advance, Potter, or do you want to reenact last weekend's drama?' asked Suresh.

'I'll reveal it now,' said Harry, doing so. 'The cat's certainly out of the bag.'

'And then some,' said Suresh. 'That was quite a statement you released to the _Prophet_.'

'Oh? What did you think.'

'It mostly reinforced my previous opinion of you—that you're simultaneously brilliant and fucking insane.'

'I can live with that.'

Titus said, 'I received three separate Floo calls this morning from various family members asking whether you're on the level. Specifically they wanted to know whether that bit about 1707 was true.'

'It is. My friend Hermione looked it up in the Ministry archives.'

'Fantastic,' said Titus. 'My granddad will be delighted to hear it. After a lifetime of being lorded over—literally—by one of his colleagues, he's dying to take him down a couple dozen pegs.'

'That's a relief ... I assumed most pure-bloods would be up in arms about it.'

'No, it'll just be the actual lords, and the wankers who get off on that kind of rubbish. Most pure-bloods are more like I suspect your father's people were. Couldn't care less about it, and might even have a poor opinion of the system. You were spot on about how the money was likely stolen from Muggles.'

'That was Hermione's suggestion.'

'Good for her,' said Titus, and Harry saw Ryan beaming nearby.

The referee came around to Harry and immediately started scanning the ring. 'Sorry, we need to check whether you've added anything since last week.'

'Of course. Have at it.'

Harry was soon cleared, and after concealing the ring he waited with the other players until Tuttle arrived. When she entered she was wearing her team robes, and her hood was raised and had water clinging to it. 'It's definitely raining out there. I'm glad you had a good long test run yesterday.'

'Is it expected to rain all afternoon?' asked Darren.

'No, it might clear up in a couple of hours.' She called one of the referees to oversee the players as they used the Impervius Charm to protect their robes. Harry was grateful he no longer had eyeglasses to worry about.

It was time for Tuttle's final pep talk. 'Cannons, the stadium out there might be completely soaked, but we're about to set it on fire. The most they're expecting from us is another win like last week's. But instead we're coming out with the most fucked-up strategy since ... well, since they sent a scrawny, half-blind teenager after You-Know-Who.

'And similarly, we're going to fly over that pitch and blow the Appleby Arrows into pieces. They won't even see it coming. And it'll be all of you doing it—you worked like crazy all week and this is a group effort, just like everything we do. So get out there and show everyone what the best team in the league looks like!'

Everyone cheered, and Janet turned to Harry and asked, 'Did she just compare the Appleby Arrows to You-Know-Who?'

'Yes. Yes she did.'

'Did Albus Dumbledore ever give you a pep talk like that?' asked Darren.

Harry laughed out loud, trying to imagine it. 'No, he preferred maddeningly cryptic hints.'

A Cannons staff member entered the room and said, 'It's time,' prompting the players to march down the corridor, broomsticks in hand.

One by one the starters flew into the stadium to enormous cheers. Janet preceded Harry, and then a hush fell over the crowd. 'It's the moment you've been waiting for,' began the announcer. 'We're proud to introduce ... in his Chudley Stadium debut ... the Cannons' _undefeated_ Seeker ... wearing number three ... Harry Potter!'

It may have been raining, but Harry hardly knew it as he flew into the blindingly orange stadium and was buoyed by the roar of several thousand fans. He was dazzled not only by the colour but by dozens of signs bearing his name, many of them animated magically. Some of them referenced recent headlines, which should have bothered him, but he could only feel cheered by the signs extolling 'The Light Lord' and depicting orange beams shooting from his wand.

As soon as he surveyed the stadium, Harry mindfully expanded into strong awareness and set his intentions for the match. He no longer limited his intention to allowing the Snitch to appear and avoiding Bludgers—he invited himself to remain in open awareness the entire time, to feint unerringly, and even to taunt with lightning precision. The colossal noise from the spectators fit perfectly into his conscious experience, providing the backdrop for everything that would unfold.

The balls were released and Harry began his circling pattern. His plan was to circle for a while before feinting—longer perhaps than Tuttle would have liked, but he felt it necessary because the rain made it less likely he'd spot the Snitch right away.

Perhaps fifteen minutes into the match the Arrows' Seeker, Julian Barnwistle, approached him. 'I see you've taken a break from your social life to play Quidditch,' he said archly.

'Yes,' drawled Harry. 'I've nothing scheduled until teatime and decided to take a turn about the pitch. What brings you here?'

'I've come to end your so-called winning streak, Potter. Or should I say Lord Black?'

'Are you trying to rattle me? You'll have to do better than that—I duelled Voldemort, you know.'

'Wow, you're every bit as arrogant as I've heard, and then some.'

'At least I did something during the war other than playing Quidditch for a bunch of Death Eaters,' he retorted, and Barnwistle flinched. Harry knew he'd struck a nerve, but he didn't persist—the plan was to topple Barnwistle with flying rather than taunts. He zipped away to continue circling.

Barnwistle flew towards him a few minutes later. 'Those white robes were a bold choice. Did you tip off the photographers in advance?' Harry ignored him and he continued, 'It's a shame you didn't warn your girlfriend—apparently she's not as addicted to attention as you are, Black.'

Harry deliberately kept his gaze open but then he fixed his pupils on a spot near the Cannons' goalposts. He feinted downwards with Barnwistle close behind, nearly plowed into two of the Arrows' Chasers—forcing a turnover—and then looped sharply around one of the posts before resuming his circling pattern. The crowd screamed in excitement, and the announcer temporarily caught Harry's attention by marvelling over 'the most astonishing feint he'd ever witnessed.'

'Holy shit, Potter. Are you some kind of maniac?' exclaimed a red-faced Barnwistle.

'No, I'm just a competent flyer.'

'That wasn't flying, that was a broom-enhanced death wish.'

Harry accelerated away and resumed circling. The rain was heavier than before, and he needed to pace himself. He cleared his head with some leisure flying and allowed the crowd's energy to recharge his conscious power.

The Snitch remained hidden, and after a while Harry felt it was time for another feint. In a calculated move he aimed for Gary, who had just slammed one of the Bludgers towards the Appleby Chasers. If Barnwistle followed Harry's feint, he would fly straight into the Bludger's path unless he took evasive action.

The plan worked—Barnwistle accelerated towards Harry's apparent target and suddenly found himself coming between his own Chasers and an incoming Bludger. He was forced to turn and nearly crashed into one of his teammates.

When he caught up with Harry he was breathing hard. 'What the bloody hell was that? Are you trying to kill me?'

'No, I'm trying to catch the Snitch. You were just collateral damage.'

'You are seriously fucking insane,' said Barnwistle, more for his own benefit than for Harry's. He was clearly rattled by the Cannons' new strategy.

The match continued for a long while along these lines. Harry would circle, and Barnwistle would either track him or search for the Snitch independently. Then Harry would feint in some new and disruptive way, forcing a turnover more often than not, and resume circling.

Barnwistle took the bait every single time. He couldn't afford not to, since Harry already had a reputation as a good spotter, so he was forced to follow whatever erratic path Harry flew. He'd given up taunting and instead expressed ongoing alarm over Harry's mental state.

'No wonder You-Know-Who tried to snuff you as a baby! He'd clearly been warned.'

'You know, that's exactly what happened,' said Harry. It wasn't even bluster—Barnwistle had landed on the truth.

Harry's candour disarmed the rival Seeker. 'Are you actually impossible to kill?' he asked with apparent sincerity. 'That's how you're flying. Or did the war fuck you up?'

'I was fucked up long before the war. Voldemort killed my parents after all.' Harry was surprised to hear himself replying so candidly, but he wanted to reassure Barnwistle he was still human. Furthermore, the calm conversation was helping him expand back into awareness and reset his intention for the Snitch to appear.

'It's a good thing you don't have parents in the stands watching ... They'd be shitting their pants.'

_The Boy Who Shat,_ mused Harry, but he didn't say anything.

Harry checked the score and was pleased to see the Cannons had a solid lead. His feints had undermined the Arrows' Chasers, whereas the Cannons had recovered quickly from Harry's attacks. The rain had finally stopped, but the ground was soaked and he assumed the fans were as well. But the crowd hadn't thinned at all.

He finally spotted the Snitch, low to the ground and heading towards Darren and Renée. He zoomed towards it and Barnwistle followed, but Harry was closer. Just as he wrapped his hand around the Snitch, he came perilously close to crashing into his own Chasers and had to angle downwards to avoid a collision. But he slid painlessly along the ground, his impact cushioned by the saturated earth.

'Potter's got the Snitch!' cried the announcer. 'Cannons win 310-70!' The crowd exploded into a frenzy and Harry, who was covered with mud, joined his teammates in a victory lap.

'Holy shit, it worked!' cried Darren, wrapping his arm around Harry as they flew. 'We actually did it!'

'Bloody amazing!' said Gary. 'Can you believe this crowd?'

The spectators' frenzied shouts eventually resolved into a chant, 'Potter! Potter!' which continued until Janet gave Harry a shove and shouted, 'They want you to take a victory lap on your own.'

Harry held the Snitch up high and raced around the stadium, feeling the mud harden on his face. He was beyond words, completely elated.

The players finally landed and were greeted on the pitch by the reserves. Owen threw his arms around Harry, heedless of the mud. 'Absolutely brilliant flying, Harry. That was fucking legendary.'

'Thanks, and I know I'm a broken record but I couldn't have done it without you.'

'Tell it to the reporters,' said Owen. 'I'm sure my grandmum will enjoy reading it.' There was a group of reporters and photographers at the edge of the pitch—they were cordoned behind wards but would be unleashed in short order.

The two sides lined up to shake hands, and Harry made a point of wearing his mildest expression to reassure everyone who was terrified of him. 'Barnwistle,' he called. 'Good match—sorry to spring that on you!'

'Merlin, that was the wildest flying I've ever done. I can't believe I'm not lying in pieces somewhere.'

'You're a great opponent,' said Harry. 'Will you be part of the group on Monday?'

'Yes, I never miss it. You'll join us, then?'

'Definitely, I'm looking forward to it.'

Next he was congratulated by Darius and Tuttle, and then the reporters were allowed onto the pitch. Harry was still caked in mud, and he made a point of standing near Owen who was more than a little muddy as well.

The reporters had loads of questions for Harry and his teammates. The Chasers received considerable attention, having profited from many of the turnovers, and Harry was happy to share the spotlight.

Everyone congratulated him on his flying, but Harry deliberately brought the conversation around to Owen. 'There's no way I could have flown like that without Owen's training. That is, I could have flown aggressively, but I never would have spotted the Snitch—not without everything he's taught me. He's a brilliant Seeker and it's a crying shame the world didn't get to see more of him.'

One of the reporters actually applauded, and several approached Owen with questions. Harry was pulled into a separate interview, pleased to see his mentor getting the attention he deserved.

Eventually the reporters dispersed and guests were allowed onto the pitch. Harry was immediately surrounded by Weasleys.

Mrs Weasley was the first to approach him. 'Harry, you scared the living daylights out of me! Whatever possessed you to fly like that? I had my wand out the entire time, ready to cast a Cushioning Charm, and I made Arthur do the same. Promise me you'll never fly like that again!'

'Don't listen to her,' said Bill. 'That was spectacular—better than the World Cup even—and you looked like you were having a grand time as well.'

'I was,' said Harry. 'Scared the pants off Barnwistle.'

Ron was next. 'I thought I knew what to expect, but I had no idea you were capable of flying like that! That was beyond mental ... Flying into your own Beaters? I reckon they'll name that one after you.'

'He's right,' said George. 'Perhaps they could call it the Harry Potter "I Survived Two Killing Curses And Am Therefore Invulnerable" Feint? I don't know—seems a little cumbersome.'

'My teammate Owen has started calling it the Potter Kamikaze Feint,' said Harry. 'Ask one of your more Muggle-aware mates to explain it.'

Charlie was hanging back, so Harry greeted him. 'Charlie, thanks so much for coming all this way ... I'm so glad you're here. Will you join us at the pub later on?'

'I'd love to, Harry. That was a fantastic match, definitely worth the trip! Congratulations, and thanks for inviting me.'

'Great, I'll see you there.'

Mr Weasley and Percy were next to congratulate him—Arthur clapped Harry on the back and said how proud he was, and Percy shook Harry's hand with his usual stuffed-shirt aplomb. 'Well done, Harry. That was admirable flying indeed! I trust you're pleased with your performance?'

'Yes,' replied Harry, trying not to smirk. 'We put a lot of effort into today's strategy, and I'm overjoyed it worked out so well.'

Percy was about to continue when Harry's attention was captured by Gabrielle. He'd last seen her two years earlier at Bill and Fleur's wedding, when she'd still been a little girl. But now she appeared fully grown, and a small part of Harry's brain realised he wasn't as invulnerable to Veelas as he'd thought.

'Hello, Harry,' she murmured, placing her hand on the part of his arm that wasn't covered in mud. '_Félicitations_, your flying was _merveilleux_. Thank you for inviting me.'

'My pleasure,' he replied in a low voice, gazing into her sea-blue eyes. 'I'm so glad you could attend.' _She's fourteen!_ screamed his mind, and he summoned memories of Helena to bring him back to reality. 'Are you enjoying your visit so far?'

'Yes, very much. I hope I will see more of you—I am looking forward to your party next weekend.'

_Oh dear, Bill and Fleur must have told her. I guess we'll just have to keep her contained_, thought Harry, who was once again master of himself. 'It'll be great to see you then.' _And not before._

Luckily he was saved by Hagrid. 'Harry!' cried the half-giant. 'I've never seen flyin' like that in my life—yeh're summat else on a broom, that's fer certain! I musta' bellowed like a mountain troll when yeh caugh' the Snitch!'

Harry hoped Hagrid hadn't deafened anyone with his shouts. 'Thanks for coming, Hagrid—I'm so glad you could attend.'

'Wouldn'a missed it fer the world, Harry. I kep' thinkin' how proud your parents woulda' bin, especially yer dad. Yeh don't look so much like him withou' yer glasses, but yer still a chip off the ol' block.'

Harry was touched, but also a little ashamed. He'd imagined having Sirius and Remus in the stands, but his own parents had been absent from his fantasy. 'Thanks, Hagrid—I'm glad you still remember them,' he said sincerely.

'I always will, Harry. Yeh know tha'.'

The only remaining Weasley was Ginny, who had been standing a little back from the group. Harry hadn't seen her in nearly two months, since she'd broken up with him at Hogwarts. He looked in her direction and she approached.

'Harry, that was wonderful, congratulations!'

'Thanks, Ginny. I'm really glad you could attend.' _Merlin, she's pretty_, _even wearing a bright orange jersey_. 'I see you've dressed for the occasion.'

'Yes, Ron gave it to me. And you've dressed for it as well,' she said, indicating the mud covering his face and robes. 'But you look terrific—I can't believe you don't wear glasses anymore. I'm not used to seeing this version of you in public.'

Harry's heart skipped a beat, remembering her old refrain: _Everyone else gets Eyeglasses Harry, but this one is all mine. _'Yes, I suppose everyone gets this version now.'

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence and she added, 'So much has happened since we last saw each other. You quit the Ministry, joined the Cannons ... became a lord.' She sniggered at the last one, and Harry rolled his eyes. 'I know,' she said, 'it's ridiculous, and I'm certain Sirius would have thought so as well. May I see the ring?'

He revealed it for her but it was covered in mud, along with the rest of his left hand, so he performed a cleaning charm on it. 'Oh my god, that thing's ghastly,' she said, laughing. 'No wonder you hide it.'

He concealed it again, ignoring the part of him that wanted to say, _'You would have been Lady Black.' _Harry missed her so much it hurt. 'How are you doing?' he asked.

'I'm well, thanks,' she said automatically before adding, 'I've just signed with the Holyhead Harpies ... I start next week as a reserve Chaser.'

'Congratulations, that's fantastic! I suppose we'll be playing each other before long.'

'Not anytime soon, I hope. I saw what you did to the Chasers this afternoon, both sides! That really was brilliant flying, Harry.'

'Thanks.' He kept looking at her, hoping she wouldn't leave.

'I should go now,' she said awkwardly. 'Thanks again for the ticket, and ... good luck.'

'Thanks, Ginny. Good luck to you as well.'

She walked away and he was alone for a moment until Hermione approached him—he supposed she'd greeted Ryan first. 'Harry, congratulations—that was unbelievable! Thank goodness Ryan warned me what to expect, or I'd have been terrified for the both of you.'

'Did you meet his parents, then?'

'Yes, they're remarkable, his mother in particular ... I'll tell you more about them later. It seems I'll be accompanying you to the Cracked Spyglass.'

'Brilliant, I can't wait.' He looked around and noticed his teammates had gone. 'I suppose I should shower and change—everyone's stuck here until Tuttle finishes lecturing us.'

'I'm sure she'll have nothing but praise,' said Hermione warmly, and Harry laughed.

'Be sure to tell Ryan you said that—I'm sure he'll find it as hilarious as I did.'

He returned to the locker room, where he took a long shower and scrubbed away all the mud, including a significant quantity in his hair. After putting on new robes—dark and less formal than the white ones but still closely cut—he joined his teammates in the arrival hall.

Nobody seemed annoyed he'd kept them waiting, since they were all still celebrating the victory. 'Look at you,' said Janet, admiring his robes. 'The conquering hero. Brilliant!'

'Cheers,' replied Harry, before taking a seat to listen to Tuttle's notes. There was plenty of praise, and criticisms as well—not surprising, given the length of the match. But she kept her notes brief, probably aware that no one was paying much attention anyway.

'To the Spyglass?' asked Darren, and Harry nodded. 'If you thought last week was raucous, just you wait—this afternoon it'll be mayhem. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the fans covered themselves in mud as a tribute.'

Harry looked incredulous but Gary said, 'He's not exaggerating ... Cannons fans are in a class of their own. If they've been this loyal all the years we've been losing, there's no telling how they'll react if we start winning.'

'I suppose I'll see for myself,' replied Harry as he grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and stepped purposefully into the flames.


	25. Chapter 25

As Harry arrived at the Cracked Spyglass, it occurred to him that the fans might be considerably more intoxicated than they'd been the previous weekend. The match had lasted nearly three hours, and the beer and mead vendors had undoubtedly kept pace.

He was the first of the Cannons to emerge from the fireplace, and the reaction was so swift he almost thought he'd triggered a monitoring charm. 'It's Potter!' came the cry, and crowded pub exploded with cheers. Most of Harry's teammates emerged immediately afterwards, and the fans withdrew to give them room.

Janet was quick to spot Ron, whose head rose above the crowd, and Harry saw that Charlie was with him as well. A table was quickly vacated for them and for the other players who'd arrived.

'Where's Bellamy?' someone shouted, and a number of fans chanted his name as if that would somehow summon him. He soon emerged from the fireplace with Hermione in tow, and they found seats with Owen, Renée, and several others.

The crowd was somewhat less organised than last time. Harry scanned for the older wizard who had toasted them the previous week and saw him a few tables over, covered in mud and drinking beer straight from a pitcher. Numerous other fans were also covered in mud, prompting Darren to say, 'Told you so!'

The older wizard's mates eventually helped him to the top of his table, and after an initial failed attempt he cast an amplifying charm on his own throat. 'On behalf of the Chudley Cannons Official Fan Club,' he announced, 'it is my huge fucking honour to congratulate the best fucking Quidditch team in the whole bloody universe!'

The fans roared their approval and began chanting, 'Potter! Potter!' until the older wizard shot sparks from his wand to get their attention. 'And let's have a huge shout for the man of the fucking hour ... sorry, three hours ... Harry fucking Potter!'

The room shook as the crowd stomped their feet and banged their glasses in appreciation. The older wizard shot sparks again and continued. 'I don't know about you, but that had to've been the best bloody Quidditch match I've ever witnessed in my entire fucking life!' The crowd roared in agreement.

After an unsuccessful attempt to grab a fresh pint glass from one of his mates, the older wizard found his way down from the table and the room returned to its prior ear-splitting din. Darren cast a charm to reduce the noise level around their table so they could talk.

'I think they enjoyed the match,' he said matter-of-factly.

'You don't say,' replied Janet. 'Fancy that.'

'It was bloody brilliant,' exclaimed Ron. 'And you kept them to seven goals in three hours ... unbelievable!'

'I had some help from Snitchbottom over there,' she said. 'It's easy to keep the Chasers from scoring when someone keeps forcing turnovers.'

'Snitchbottom?' asked Charlie, and Darren and Janet practically fought over who got to tell the story.

'Blimey, Harry, your life has really changed in the time I've known you,' said Charlie. 'I'm glad to see things are finally looking up. Merlin knows you deserve it … That was some amazing flying, and then to catch the Snitch on top of it. Truly fantastic.'

'Cheers, that means a lot coming from you. I wish I'd had the opportunity to see you play at Hogwarts.'

Charlie started to reply but they were interrupted by an autograph seeker, which opened the floodgates. Harry was relieved that nobody gave him a photograph from the _Prophet _or _Witch Weekly_ to sign, but instead gave him official team merchandise and photographs, or, in one case, his Chocolate Frog Card.

'Way to stick it to them lords, Potter. I'm glad you're still one of us,' said one of the fans, and Harry was touched.

After a while, however, he was impatient to resume his conversation with Charlie. During a temporary lull in demand, Harry apologised to his teammates and said, 'I know I'm shirking in my duty to the fans, but I'm going to cast a privacy charm for a bit. Merlin knows when I'll have the chance to talk with Charlie next.'

'That's fine,' said Darren. 'You caught the bleeding Snitch—I'm sure they'll cope.'

Harry cast the charm and turned back to Charlie. 'I'm sorry about that. We were talking about your own Quidditch career, and how I wish I'd seen you play. You were a legend when I arrived at Hogwarts—the highest praise I could receive was that I might be the next Charlie Weasley.'

'That's kind of you to say, but I was nowhere near the flyer you are.'

'That's not what I've heard. Apparently several teams tried to recruit you after you finished school.'

'There was interest, yeah, but I never attended any trials, so I've no way of knowing whether they'd actually have signed me.'

'Why didn't you try out? I assume you loved Quidditch, otherwise you wouldn't have played all through school.' Harry knew he was being pushy, but Charlie didn't look uncomfortable—he was probably just unaccustomed to being the main topic of conversation.

'You're not the first person to ask me that, particularly at the time. But you might understand my reasons better than most. Playing league Quidditch is more than just flying and teamwork—it's an entire way of life. I'm sure you're used to public attention, but I could never have been comfortable with it.'

Harry nodded. 'I can certainly understand the wish to remain anonymous, given the choice.'

'I'm sure you do. You never had the choice, I suppose, so in that respect there was nothing to stop you from flying professionally. If I'd been in your shoes I'd probably have done the same.'

Harry found it hard to imagine he'd ever let his fear of attention keep him from playing Quidditch, but then he realised he'd almost done just that. _It hadn't even crossed my mind to fly professionally until that Prophet article came out_, he thought. Why hadn't it crossed his mind? Furthermore, what other decisions hadn't he considered, for reasons unknown?

He glanced at the fireplace and caught sight of Hermione and Ryan preparing to leave. Looking at his pocket watch, he saw they'd been at the pub nearly half an hour, which he supposed must have felt like an eternity to Hermione. She was looking up at Ryan adoringly, and it was clear he felt the same way.

Ron had noticed them as well and leaned over to Harry. 'That's a weird sight. I hardly know what to make of it.'

'Are you all right?' asked Harry.

'Yeah, I'm fine. I'm glad she's moved on. I can't say I expected it to happen this quickly, but I'm in no position to judge.'

Harry wasn't convinced Ron was as comfortable as he claimed, but he didn't press the issue. Seeing Ginny on the pitch had shown Harry just how little progress he'd made getting over her, in spite of everything. It wasn't that he didn't like Helena—quite the opposite, in fact—but he was disappointed there was no future between them.

_No long-term future,_ he corrected himself. They had a very promising short-term future ... He was to see her in little more than an hour, and he'd planned a Muggle night on the town.

He talked a while longer with Charlie and the others, and he even dropped his privacy wards towards the end to permit more fan interaction. More than a few of the fans were wearing jerseys with his name and number, which they'd purchased at the stadium, and others were wearing t-shirts bearing the lightning bolt emblem Luna had designed. It was odd seeing his own name on somebody else's back, or the shape of his scar across the front.

'Look at this,' said Ron, pulling a small parcel from his pocket. 'I meant to show you earlier—it's a figurine, just like the Viktor Krum I bought at the World Cup.' The small figure of Harry was walking around the table, taking care to avoid stray crisps and a pool of spilt beer.

'Why don't I have a figurine?' said Janet indignantly. 'I need to talk to Darius straight away. Girls need role models too, you know.'

Darren laughed. 'You, a role model? More like a cautionary tale.'

'What do you mean? I'm a Keeper on a two-game winning streak, I'm dating a decorated war hero, and above all I'm a sparkling wit. They should bring me around to primary schools to inspire the next generation.'

'Wizards don't have primary schools,' said Harry. 'Do you mean Muggle primary schools?'

'Why not? I'm sure Muggles could benefit from my influence as well.'

'It wouldn't be much of an influence if someone had to Obliviate them afterwards,' said Darren.

'It would be subconscious,' she replied. 'They'd be inspired without even knowing why.'

'I think it's a brilliant idea,' said Ron, and she kissed him on the cheek.

'You're a shameless flatterer, Ron Weasley, and you shall have your reward. In private, mind you.' He stood from the table and pulled at her hand. 'What, now?' she asked.

'You brought it up,' he said, with another tug.

'Fine,' she said, rising. 'But I'm only doing my civic duty as a grateful Briton.' They made haste towards the fireplace and the others rose as well.

'Thanks again for inviting me,' said Charlie. 'I should head back to the Burrow ... I promised Mum and Dad a proper visit, through Sunday dinner anyway.' He looked at Harry and added, 'I'm sorry you won't be there. We were all hoping you'd be part of the family one day. Officially, that is.'

'I was too,' said Harry. 'But life had different plans.' _Or vengeful Seers do_, he thought.

They went their separate ways through the fireplace, and Harry returned to Grimmauld Place to prepare for his evening with Helena. It was a little disappointing to change out of his robes, but his new Muggle outfit—jeans and a fitted button-down shirt—was smart in a subdued way, and he'd be wearing his Doc Martens.

It was good to relax on the sofa prior to Helena's arrival. He'd flown like a maniac for three hours, and even though he'd paced himself it had still been demanding. But his stamina had increased in the last three weeks, and he was certain he could summon whatever energy he needed for the night ahead.

The appointed time arrived and he went to the formal fireplace to greet her. She was a couple of minutes late, but his patience was rewarded when she emerged.

'Oh my fucking god,' he said when he saw her. She was wearing a knee-length skirt, tall slim boots, and a very tight cropped shirt that would have been indecent if she weren't petite. But it wasn't her clothing that caught his attention. Helena was wearing makeup—Muggle makeup, which was far less demure than the cosmetic charms used by witches—and his entire being responded as she'd surely intended.

'Do I look all right?' she asked. 'I've never gone out like this before.'

'Do you look all right?' he said uncomprehendingly.

Truth be told, it didn't suit her. She was normally angelic looking, with strawberry-blond hair and wide-set grey-green eyes, and the dramatic makeup didn't really fit. But his animal nature didn't care—it just saw sultry eyes and wine-red lips, and he wanted nothing more than to ravish her on the spot.

'You look gorgeous,' he said, pressing her against the wall and kissing her hungrily. 'Oh my god, Helena, what did I do to deserve this?'

'You caught the Snitch, for one thing,' she breathed. 'Congratulations.' They continued kissing and during the next break she said, 'But I can't think of anything else.'

When they pulled apart he frowned and pressed his finger to his own lips. 'What is that? Did it come off on me? It felt sticky.'

'Lip gloss, and no, it's not on you. I had my makeup done at a salon, and they insisted shiny lips are all the rage.'

'I can see why,' he said admiringly. 'But it feels weird.'

'It does. The reason I was late was so I could charm it to stay put. It took a few tries to find the right spell.'

'You clearly found it. But we've another problem ... How can I possibly go out in public with you looking like that?'

She looked down at him. 'Yes, I see what you mean. That might be unwelcome at respectable establishments, assuming that's where you intend to bring me. But there are charms to take care of that.' She pulled out her wand.

'Slow down there, woman!' he exclaimed, staying her hand. 'There are rules when it comes to hexing a man's bits.'

'I'm not planning on hexing your bits, just your trousers. Didn't they teach you that at school?'

'No,' he grumbled. 'I suppose the other boys learnt it from their fathers.' He shook an imaginary fist at both Sirius and Remus but felt a twinge of relief that neither Minerva nor Madam Pomfrey had ever said anything. Or—Merlin forbid—Dumbledore.

She twitched her wand. 'Do you trust me?'

'I do,' he said. 'But perhaps you should teach it to me instead. _"Give a man a fish,"_ you know.'

'Yes, yes. But teach a man to fish and he can hide his erections forever.'

Once Harry was sorted, he looked again at her boots. 'Hang on, I distinctly recall telling you to wear sensible shoes. What are those, four-inch heels?'

'They're platforms, not stilettos. I can walk for miles in these.'

'Hmph. You're almost as tall as I am now.'

'That's not saying much,' she said, and when he scowled she laughed at him. 'I'm not with you for your height, Harry.'

'Then why are you with me?' he asked, with a gleam in his eye.

She looked at him appraisingly. 'Because you're pure power.' She traced his scar. 'Lightning ... it suits you.'

'I'm not a powerful wizard,' he confessed. 'Magically speaking I'm barely above average.'

She raised her eyebrows. 'Maybe so, but that's not what I'm talking about. When you enter the room, everyone turns. When you talk, people listen. When you look at me, everything else falls away. You have that effect.'

He shrugged. 'That's just celebrity.'

'I don't think so, but I suppose we'll find out tonight. Where are we going anyway? Can we walk from here, or take the Underground?' She looked through the front window.

'We could, but the neighbourhood's a bit dodgy. It's improved a lot since we cleared the Dark magic from the house, but it's not what you'd call nice. No, I was thinking we could Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and walk from there.'

She frowned. 'I'm not sure I want to be seen there. Couldn't we Apparate somewhere directly?'

'You're clearly unaware I'm an expert with concealment charms. Or we can use my Invisibility Cloak—I'm sure we could both fit under it.'

'Can we travel by Floo inside the Cloak? Together?'

'Good point, no. But you can wear it, and I'll charm myself, and then I can slip under it with you when I arrive.'

'I like the sound of that.' She extended her arm. 'All right, Black, hand it over.'

'No, the Cloak is all Potter, as am I. Didn't you read the _Prophet_ this morning?'

'I did, and I nearly spit out my porridge laughing. Though I probably shouldn't have told you that—it wasn't at all ladylike.'

'Yes, and I'm such a gentleman.'

'You most certainly aren't, and now the wizarding lords of Britain are cross with you. But my family had a good laugh over it—you're completely right of course, but they think you have a screw loose.'

'Oh dear, what do they think about the fact we're dating?'

'Er, I haven't told them.'

'Ah.' He felt disappointed somehow.

'It's nothing personal. It's just they'd have a million questions and make a big fuss over it and worry I'll wind up in the newspapers and start receiving Howlers and all the rest. It's easier not saying anything.'

'Then where do they think you're going at night?'

'Oh, they don't mind if I have a social life. My mother's Muggle-born, after all, and my father's side is European,' she said. 'Intelligentsia, which is a fancy way of saying they're not hung up about sex.'

'I'm glad you're not sneaking around ... That's a bit tawdry even for me. But have you told anyone?'

'Enough questions, Potter. Hand over the Cloak.' He pulled it from his pouch, which was concealed inside a special pocket in his jeans. 'Oh, this is nice,' she said, examining it. 'I've seen Invisibility Cloaks before, but this is extraordinary. Did you buy it recently? Who made it?'

He mumbled, 'It's a family heirloom.'

Her eyes grew wide and she exclaimed, 'Oh, right! How could I forget! Are you sure you trust me with it?'

'I wouldn't let you hex my bits, admittedly, but I can trust you with my Cloak between here and the Leaky Cauldron.'

'All right,' she said, pulling it on, and he Disillusioned himself. They each went through the fireplace and emerged in the pub.

He held out his arm to find her, and she whispered from several feet away, 'I'm over here.' He stepped towards her, away from the hearth, and reached for where her hand should have been. 'You cheeky bastard, not now!'

'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I was aiming for your hand.' Her hand found his, and together they were hidden.

'I wish you could climb under here with me, but I'd be visible during the process. It would almost be worth it, though, just to say I've snogged someone in the Leaky Cauldron under a Deathly Hallow.'

'I think it's worth the risk,' he said. 'I can't say I took full advantage of the Cloak back in school.'

'What, were you using it to fight Voldemort instead?'

'Yeah, mostly.'

'That's just sad,' she whispered. 'Let's try to make up for it now.'

They crept together, hand in hand, to a shadowy alcove in the pub, and when nobody was looking she lifted the Cloak to allow him entry. He pressed his body to hers and said, 'Why have I never done this before?'

'I don't know, because it's brilliant. Can we move somewhere more visible? It hardly counts if we're hiding in an alcove.'

'Good point. What about that wall over there, next to the coat rack?'

'Perfect, let's go.' Their path was unobstructed, and in short order Helena's back was to the wall and Harry was up against her. She wrapped her arms around him and said, 'Position acquired. Commence snogging.'

They did, and the noise and clatter of the Leaky Cauldron made it all the more delicious. Until someone said, 'Oi, what's that pair of shoes? By the coat rack?'

'What, those Doc Martens? They look new ... They must belong to someone.'

'They're weird though. Kind of wavering at the top. Do you think they're defective? Oh wait, now they're gone again. Must have found their owner.'

Harry and Helena started laughing as soon as they were outside. 'Apparently you're taller than you thought,' she said.

'Or together we're fatter.'

'You really know how to romance a girl, Lord Black. How do we make ourselves visible again without starting a panic?'

'Easy ... the first foot or two in front of the Leaky Cauldron is hidden from Muggles. Just give me back the Cloak and I'll end my Disillusionment Charm.' They took care of matters and were soon walking towards the restaurant.

'You like Indian food, right?' he asked.

'Of course I do. I may be a witch, but I'm still English.'

'That's good, but if you'd prefer something else just say so.'

'No, Indian's perfect. What could be more classically English than listening to my paramour's Quidditch match on the wireless all afternoon whilst charming TARDIS-like trunks, and then following it up with a proper curry, just like the Elizabethans ate?'

'I'm sure you've got something muddled in there, but I can't say what.'

'Nonsense. I never make mistakes.'

Walking to the restaurant was an interesting experience for Harry. He was accustomed to moving through the Muggle world incognito, but Helena drew stares from all directions, and the only glances at him seemed to be in reference to her. As in, _'Now there's a fit bird ... What's she doing with that tosser?' _He'd experienced this to a much lesser extent with Hermione, who was very pretty, but she didn't exude sexuality the way Helena was doing.

'I'd say you're more powerful than I am right now,' he observed. 'You could snap your fingers and any one of these men would fall at your four-inch heels.'

'It's just paint. I could be invisible just as easily, no Cloak required.'

'I find that hard to believe. I noticed you last weekend, after all.'

'You were looking for a beddable pair of witches so your mate wouldn't feel left out,' she said. 'Rebecca and I fit the bill.'

'Am I that transparent?'

'Of course you are. You didn't wave us over because of our clever repartee. That was just a nice bonus.'

'It certainly is. You're really remarkably fun—I'm going to miss you when you get sick of me,' he said.

'And why would I do that?'

'For all the reasons you haven't told your parents about us. The papers in particular.'

'Perhaps, but if I recall correctly, you were the one who said this was a fling. Did you really expect me to tell my parents I'm the latest notch on Harry Potter's bedpost?'

'Is my reputation that bad already? You're only the third, you know.'

'Really? That's surprising. I'd have thought all the girls at Hogwarts would have wanted a turn. Or were they all pure-bloods?'

_Ginny was a pure-blood_, he thought, but he knew that wasn't her point. 'No, I suppose there were girls interested, but you're forgetting the part where I was being hunted by Voldemort. It rendered me a bit oblivious.'

'You heartbreaker ... I weep for them. Pining for the Boy Who Lived, who wasn't aware they existed because he was too busy trying not to die.'

'That about sums it up. Sorry, I know I sound arrogant talking like this, but I need to bolster my ego right now, since everyone's looking at us like you're a goddess and I'm not fit to massage your feet.'

'You most certainly are fit to massage my feet. I thought we'd established that. But returning to our earlier topic, you have an appallingly short back-catalogue. And then that would make me your only casual partner, after Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger.'

He shook his head. 'Hermione's like a sister to me. There's never been anything like that between us.'

'I'm sorry to hear it. I'd assumed you'd been together during the war. Mutual comfort and all that.'

'No, that was pure fiction from Rita Skeeter.'

'I'm not talking about Rita Skeeter. I was just using common sense. How on earth did you never give in, not even once?'

'Ron liked her. And she liked him. It took them ages to realise it themselves, but it was clear to everyone who knew them.'

'Fair enough. I gather they figured it out that winter?'

_No, _he thought, _we had a Horcrux. Two if you include me. _'No, not until the final battle.'

'Are you serious? That's what I read in the _Prophet,_ but I assumed it was up to their usual standard. But I'm prying, and that's not my intention. I'm just sorry you didn't have ... companionship during the war. You were denied every other comfort, after all.'

He was touched by her compassion. 'I think it was part of the larger picture, to be honest. I shouldn't tell you this, but a big piece of Dumbledore's plan was to keep me ... downtrodden.' Harry deliberately chose the word Minerva had used to describe him.

She stopped walking and turned to him. 'Oh my god, really?'

'I think so. Otherwise I mightn't have done what was necessary.'

'Offer your own life, you mean?'

'Yeah.'

This time she was the one to push him against a wall—or a storefront, to be precise. She kissed him passionately, and a passing stranger shouted, 'Get a room!'

'Piss off,' she muttered under her breath. 'He saved all your lives.'

Harry was overwhelmed. Part of him wanted to cry, and another part of him wanted to continue what they were doing. He was glad he'd charmed his trousers.

'Are you wearing false eyelashes?' he finally asked.

'Now there's an unexpected question. Yes, they applied them at the salon. They're a bit weird, no?'

'They are,' he said. 'And they tickle a bit. But they're sexy as hell.'

'Where's this restaurant anyway? The sooner we eat, the sooner we can proceed with our evening. Why couldn't your house-elf have cooked for us?'

'I promised you a night on the town—we're going dancing later. But the restaurant is just around the corner.'

'Good, my boots are killing me.'

'You said you could walk for miles in them!'

'Wizarding miles. That's about five hundred yards.'

'You'd better recover, because we're going to a nightclub after this. I did my homework and everything.'

'You mean you bought a copy of _Time Out London?'_

'Exactly. Which is more than most wizards know how to do.'

They arrived at the restaurant, which was chic and very crowded, and the host didn't acknowledge them until he saw Helena. 'I have a reservation, under the name Potter.'

'Yes,' said the host. 'But we're running a little behind. Do you mind waiting at the bar—we'll call you when your table's ready.'

'Of course,' he said, and they found a lone barstool for Helena.

'How did you make the reservation? Do you even have a telephone?'

'No, I used the phone at Hermione's house. I have a standing invitation, so I just pop in as needed, which is almost never.'

'Aren't you resourceful!'

'Perhaps, but they haven't actually seated us. So much for my overwhelming power.'

'The night is young. And besides, the host was male. If it had been a hostess, she'd have seated you straight away and pushed me down a staircase.'

'You really know how to paint a picture,' he laughed, reaching over and twirling a bit of her hair around his finger. 'My god, you're sexy ... I suspect I'll have to fight duels over you tonight.'

'In a pinch we can always Disapparate and allow the Obliviators to clean up after us. They've had a real lie-in since the war ended.'

'Not entirely,' he said. 'My Muggle cousin told me they turned up out of nowhere when he tried to impress some woman with stories about magic.'

'It's odd to hear you refer to your cousin ... You're always depicted as not having any family, but that's not actually true.'

'No, it's true,' he said soberly. 'I grew up with them, but they didn't treat me like family.'

'Oh dear, now I'm prying again. Please just change the topic if you prefer.'

'You're not prying at all. I'm the one who mentioned him. He's the same age as me, but we didn't exactly grow up mates. His parents—my mum's sister and her husband—spoilt him badly, and for years he was a real monster.'

'That's awful. Does he look like you? It's strange to imagine your spoilt Muggle doppelgänger running around somewhere.'

'No, we don't look at all alike. Hermione met him for the first time last week, when we bumped into him at a Muggle pub, and she couldn't believe we were related.'

'Then I suppose you are unique,' she said tenderly. 'I suspected as much.'

The host appeared and led them to their table, which was cramped and near the toilets. 'It's obvious what he's doing,' said Harry. 'He wants you to realise I'm not good enough for you, and that you can do much better. With him undoubtedly.'

'Yes, I'm certain he doesn't mistreat his house-elf. And perhaps he's a duke.'

'If you like, I can give him a chance with you by disappearing into the loo. It's right here, you know.'

'No, I require my suitors to be enterprising, like you were.'

'You mean by Vanishing all the chairs from the bar last weekend?'

'Exactly.'

They eventually placed their orders, and although the service was indifferent the food was good. 'Well done, Potter. You did a fine job reading the _Time Out_ restaurant listings.'

'I take pride in my literacy,' he said. 'But I still haven't discerned a pattern in when you call me Potter, Black, or worse.'

'You mean Lord Black? Or have you other nicknames as well?'

'I meant Lord Black, but I suppose I do have another nickname. I'd hoped not to reveal it, but you seem to be drawing confidences from me.'

'What is it? I must know!'

He told her the Snitchbottom story, feeling embarrassed but also pleased to share it with her.

'Lord Snitchbottom? That is absolutely priceless. I can't believe you were foolish enough to tell me about it.'

'What can I say? I'm losing my wits around you.'

'It's the lip gloss,' she replied. 'I put a Mesmerising Charm on it.'

'That explains it,' he said, gazing longingly at the lips in question. 'When can we leave here? I want to be pressed against you in a dark and noisy nightclub.'

'You'll have to pay first, if the waiter ever arrives.'

The waiter finally did arrive, and although Helena made noises about contributing, Harry insisted on treating her. He paid in cash without waiting for change, just so they could leave more quickly.

'That was a scandalously large tip for such poor service,' she said as they walked out.

'Worth every penny,' he said, grabbing her arse.

'Unhand me, scoundrel! Or at least wait until we're at the nightclub.'

'It's just down the road, so we needn't wait long.'

They arrived at the nightclub, but there was unfortunately a long queue, so they took their places at the end of it. 'This wouldn't have happened at a wizarding nightclub,' he said.

'True, but then we'd have to dance to songs like "Do The Hippogriff," which is patently unacceptable.'

They waited for a while, and the queue was advancing, but they weren't yet near the front. 'Are your feet all right?' he asked.

'I'll survive, but I may have to resort to desperate measures once we're inside.'

'Hovering Charms, you mean?'

'No, I might have to remove the boots and tuck them in my handbag, and then charm my feet uncrushable.'

'That would restore my height advantage at least.'

She smiled wickedly. 'Bad luck, Snitchbottom—you've just given me a good reason not to. Maybe I can try a minor extension charm instead. If I can enlarge the inside of a trunk, I can surely add a little room inside my boots. I'll pop into the loo as soon as we're admitted.'

The queue continued to advance, and the doorman approached them and said, 'Miss, you're welcome to go in now if you like. No charge.'

'What about my date?' asked Helena.

'No, we've too many blokes already.'

She shook her head. 'I'll wait, thanks.'

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. 'You're clearly more powerful than I am. I'm sure you'll chuck me now you've seen what a fraud I am. Really, I'm no better than Gilderoy Lockhart.'

'Who's that?'

He laughed and explained, and they eventually reached the head of the queue. The doorman seemed to have forgotten his offer to give Helena free admission, so Harry paid for both of them to enter.

'I can see I won't be allowed to pay for anything with you,' she said as they walked through the doorway and up some stairs.

'No, my godfather encouraged me to squander at least some of his family's stolen assets, and this seems a perfect opportunity.'

'Shall we order champagne then? I'm not some cheap trollop.'

'If we can find a table,' he said, looking around. It didn't seem promising—the club was packed and every table had at least one other party hovering nearby. There was a less crowded VIP section, but Harry knew he'd no hope of being admitted there.

'No, it looks like we'll have to stand,' she replied. 'Would you excuse me, then? I need to duck into the loo and charm my boots.'

'Yes, of course. Can I get you something to drink?'

'I distinctly requested champagne, Snitchbottom. Aren't you listening?'

'I'm sorry, I got distracted again by your shiny lips. If you can invent a charm to duplicate that, they'll either award you the Order of Merlin or sentence you to Azkaban.'

'Interesting. This might be my ticket to getting on a Chocolate Frog Card. I hear you have one now.'

'Yes, I saw it last week, and it was shockingly accurate. I owled the confectioner my thanks and they sent me a whole case in appreciation.'

'Of Chocolate Frogs, you mean? What are you going to do with them?'

'I suppose I'll put them out at the party. I'll never get through them on my own, and Kreacher would be beside himself if I served them to dinner guests instead of whatever he's prepared.'

'That's a good idea—people can swap cards for old time's sake. Or perhaps you could unbox them all at once and force everyone to chase after them. It might serve as an icebreaker.'

Harry shook his head. 'No, I don't need to invite mayhem—it seems to happen on its own.'

'I imagine you're right. But go fetch my champagne ... I'm off to charm my boots.'

'Excellent. You can find me at the bar, where the bartender will surely ignore me.'

Harry's prediction was correct—the two male bartenders repeatedly ignored him in favour of voluptuous women and taller men. He was starting to feel invisible when he realised he was still wearing the non-magical equivalent to his Notice-Me-Not Charm. It had long been his habit to transmit a 'Leave me alone' vibe, ever since he'd first arrived at Hogwarts.

He mindfully lowered his boundaries and allowed some of the coiled energy in his abdomen to flow upwards into his chest and head. He felt himself expand, and something more powerful than magic began to radiate from him.

'This bar is impossible,' said the young woman to his left. 'Do you reckon we'd have a better chance if you lifted me up?'

'I'm willing to try anything,' said Harry. 'I think I've been waiting even longer than you have.'

The bartender approached him. 'What can I get you?'

'Please help her first,' he said, indicating his neighbour. 'But then I'll have two glasses of champagne.'

She ordered, and while the bartender was mixing her cocktail, she turned to Harry and said, 'Thanks, I owe you one.'

'Don't mention it, glad to help.'

When she opened her wallet to pay, she pulled out a card and handed it to him. 'I like champagne as well. Ring me sometime.'

He smiled at her, and she looked suggestively at him before leaving. Reading the card, he knew there was no chance he'd contact her—he didn't have a telephone, let alone an e-mail address—but he was flattered anyway. It was the first time he'd been hit on by a Muggle.

Helena returned just as the bartender was handing Harry their drinks. 'I see you made a friend whilst I was away,' she said, with a playful gleam in her eye. 'Are you going to invite her to your next Quidditch match? Or perhaps to meet your godfather?'

'Yes, I gave her my Floo address and everything. Kreacher is preparing a guest room as we speak.'

'That's a shame—your bed is shockingly large already. Did you choose it yourself?'

'No, it came with the house. I shudder to imagine its history, but at least we cleared the Dark magic from it.'

They found a place to stand that was far enough from the dance floor to allow conversation. She looked around as they sipped their champagne and said, 'I was right.'

'I'm sorry?'

'You're getting more attention than I am now. The club is crawling with painted tarts like myself, so I'm no longer interesting. But even the men are staring at you,' she said, indicating one.

'They're not staring at me, they're looking daggers at me in the hope I'll disappear.'

'We're about to find out,' she said. 'He's approaching.'

The young man she'd pointed out walked up to them and looked at Helena appraisingly. 'I haven't seen you here before. I'm sure I'd remember you.'

Harry looked up at him—the man was at least six inches taller than he was—and said, 'She's here with me.'

'Nobody asked you,' said the man before turning back to Helena. 'A girl like you can do a lot better than nancy boy over here. Come on, let's have a dance. Or I'll buy you another drink if you like.'

'Believe me, she's not interested,' said Harry. He consciously allowed more of the powerful energy to fill his chest.

'I want to hear what she thinks,' said the man. 'What do you say, love?'

She put an arm around Harry and laid her free hand on his chest. 'He's ten times the man you are. You have no idea.'

The man narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to Harry, who could smell the alcohol on his breath. 'What makes you so special? Are you paying her or something? She certainly looks like she's for hire.'

'Apologise to her now,' ordered Harry. The man didn't reply and Harry said, 'You heard me. Apologise.'

The man gave Harry a shove and said, 'I don't like your attitude.'

Harry stood his ground. 'I'm not frightened of you. So apologise and then piss off.' He set his jaw and glared at the man.

After a brief staring contest the man turned away. 'Fine. I'm sorry,' he said to Helena. 'Whore.'

Harry's hand was at his throat. 'Wrong. Try again.'

Even though the man was much larger than Harry, he didn't resist or fight back. 'Sorry,' he mumbled and quickly walked away.

After the man had gone, a panicked Helena said, 'Harry, are you all right?'

'You're asking if I'm all right? I'm not the one he insulted—are you all right? You've gone pale.'

'I'm fine, that was nothing. But I'm glad it's over—I was scared he was going to hurt you. He might have had a knife.'

'I wasn't concerned,' said Harry, running his hand along her back.

'You should have been. You can't use magic here, after all.'

'I know, but they taught us hand-to-hand combat in Auror training, and I can do a wandless Shield Charm in a pinch, as long as I'm not running laps simultaneously. I could have managed things long enough for us to get away.'

'Oh right, I'd forgotten,' she said, and he felt her relax. After a moment, she added, 'That's what I was talking about, you know. Power. He was about twice your size and yet he ran off.'

'I've dealt with bullies before. That's the only thing that works. Mind you, I had to learn it the hard way.'

She looked at him, and her eyes—already sultry from the makeup and false eyelashes—grew darker still. 'I want to dance with you,' she said, straddling one of his legs. 'I want to go to the dance floor and do everything we can do in public, and then I want to Apparate to your enormous bed and do everything we can't.'

He could scarcely breathe but managed to ask, 'Are your feet all right?'

'Yes,' she murmured, pressing into his leg. 'They're brilliant. I added Cushioning Charms and everything.'

'Good.' He led her to the dance floor, where it was dark and loud, and together they were lost to the driving rhythms.


	26. Chapter 26

Hermione arrived at Chudley Stadium well before the match was to begin. Now that the two most important people in her life were Cannons, she wanted to explore what she'd come to think of as their native habitat.

She was astonished by the amount of team merchandise for sale, and also by her reaction to it. She'd previously associated Cannons posters with Ron, but now that they featured both Ryan and Harry they had a completely different flavour. The poster of Ryan was particularly affecting—the wind ruffled his hair as he flew, and she could imagine his muscles flexing as he hurled the Quaffle. It was strange to realise that he'd probably been among the many players flying across the walls of Ron's bedroom.

A pair of young witches, aged fifteen perhaps, stood in front of the display of team posters. 'Which one should I buy, do you think?' asked one of them. 'I can't decide between Harry Potter and Ryan Bellamy.'

'Can't you get both?' replied her friend.

'No, I also want a jersey.'

'Well, whose number would you rather wear, and whose picture would you rather have?'

'That's a hard one. I suppose I should get Ryan Bellamy's poster, since Harry Potter's in the _Prophet_ several times a week.'

'True, but everyone's going to be wearing Potter's number.'

'I don't care—I want one anyway.'

Hermione had a similar dilemma about whether to purchase Ryan's or Harry's miniature figurine. She remembered the Viktor Krum figurine Ron had purchased years earlier and found it odd to consider that Hermione Granger—buck-toothed, bushy-haired swot—had now dated two Quidditch stars and was best friends with a third.

She decided to get Harry's figurine, since it seemed friendlier somehow. Not that Ryan's was surly, as Viktor's had been, but her experience of Ryan was very physical and life-sized, and she didn't fancy a tiny, emasculated version of him padding about her bookcase. By contrast, she could look at Harry for hours without needing to run her hands all over him.

The emblem Luna had designed was everywhere, and from what Hermione could tell it was going to be hugely popular. It had been a stroke of genius to design Cannons merchandise without orange as its primary colour. Casual fans who wouldn't be caught dead in Cannons orange would be much more willing to wear midnight blue with an orange lightning bolt across it.

She smiled at the irony of turning Voldemort's Horcrux—the one he'd never intended to create—into a symbol that glorified the young man who'd defeated him. In theory, Luna hadn't known the true significance of Harry's scar, but Hermione now realised that Luna was far more knowledgeable than she appeared. Had Luna designed the emblem with that in mind, or was this just the unfathomable universe expressing itself through her? It didn't really matter, Hermione supposed.

Eventually she took her seat, knowing Ryan's parents would soon arrive. She wasn't exactly nervous about meeting them, but she was immensely curious about the two people who'd produced her boyfriend. His mother sounded formidable—a witch who'd married a Muggle not in spite of his lack of magic, but out of admiration for his distinctly Muggle qualities. And his father was a highly-educated engineer who'd been confident enough to marry a witch without forcing her to live like a Muggle, as she'd heard was sadly common in mixed marriages.

It had begun to rain, which she instinctively feared as a woman with curly hair, but she was enjoying the physicality of it. If she got cold later she could use warming or drying charms, but for the moment it was pleasant. She knew Ryan would be soaked by the end of the match, and she liked the solidarity of getting drenched as well.

A group of Ryan's friends arrived and introduced themselves to her. She would have enjoyed asking them for stories about him, but she knew how annoying it was when people pressed her for information about Harry, so she refrained. Ryan had told her he particularly hoped she'd hit it off with his friend Annie, so she was pleased when Annie sat next to her.

'It's great to finally meet you,' said Annie. 'Ryan's told us a bit about you, but it devolved pretty quickly into vague statements like "She's brilliant" and "I've never met anyone like her," which are sweet but not very informative.'

Hermione laughed. 'I think he's said similar things about you, to the effect of "She's terrific" and "You and Annie will get on wonderfully," without providing details. I assume you attended Widgington together?'

'Yes—we became friends a couple of months into our first term.'

'It was the same for Harry and me,' she said. 'Hallowe'en, in fact. He's been like a brother ever since.'

'I can't say it was quite the same trajectory for Ryan and me ... I had a horrible crush on him for a couple of years, but I got over it when I was fifteen and now he's just like family. It's amazing how much things change—I can't see him any other way now.'

Hermione wasn't sure how to respond to Annie's confession, but she supposed it was good his best friend was no longer pining for him. She finally said, 'I'm glad you were able to maintain a friendship.'

'Oh, definitely. Nearly all the good qualities that caused me to fancy him in the first place are still available to me as a friend, but without any of the drama.'

'Is he dramatic?' asked Hermione, concerned. 'I'm not sure I've noticed that.'

'Heavens, not at all! No, I'm the dramatic one—Ryan's as solid as the earth.'

'You scared me for a moment there,' said Hermione.

'Have you met his parents yet?'

'No, but they should be arriving presently.'

'You mean he's just thrown you together without running interference?'

'You've scared me again,' said Hermione. 'What are they likely to do to me?'

'It's not his father you need to worry about, particularly if you're used to Muggles. It's his mum. She's what you might call ... intense.'

'Oh dear. Though I suppose I've been described that way myself.'

Annie laughed and said, 'That's true. If anyone can handle Lucinda Spoonwocket, it's Hermione Granger.'

'Does she still use her maiden name?'

'Merlin, no! She dropped it the second she got married. But we're all in the habit of referring to her that way. You'll see why.' She looked past Hermione and said, 'And behold, there they are.'

Hermione turned around and saw a couple in their forties passing in front of other spectators to take their seats. 'Annie!' called the man Hermione assumed was Ryan's father. 'Good to see you. You're looking well.'

'Thanks. Did you enjoy your trip to France?'

'Yes. We hired bicycles and toured through Provence. It was a workout for my French, which was fairly rusty, but Lucinda didn't want to sign up with a tour group so we did it independently.'

'You didn't like that tour either, Walter,' said a woman who could only be Ryan's mother. 'We took a bicycle tour through Brittany several years ago with one of those groups, but we were always held back by people who had never climbed a hill before or learnt to shift gears.'

Lucinda and Walter Bellamy were both tall like their son, but Ryan had inherited his commanding presence from his mother. She was nearly six feet tall with short, fair hair and a square jaw. Hermione was reminded of the woman who'd attempted to teach her horseback riding when she was nine.

'You must be Hermione,' said Lucinda, extending her hand. 'I'm Lucinda Bellamy, and this is my husband Walter.'

Hermione shook their hands and said, 'It's lovely to meet you. Ryan's told me so much about you.' Lucinda took the seat next to Hermione, and Walter sat next to his wife.

'We haven't heard much about you from him yet,' said Walter, 'but he can't be blamed since we only came home two nights ago.'

'It's not as if we don't know a lot about her already,' said Lucinda. 'We don't need to worry whether you have Death Eater sympathies, for example, like that other girl Ryan brought home.'

Hermione was shocked—Ryan hadn't told her about that. 'No, certainly not. I can't imagine there are any Muggle-borns matching that description.'

'No,' said Lucinda, 'but there are a surprising amount of half-bloods who do, particularly those who are only a generation or two removed from Muggles. Dolores Umbridge, for example—her mother was a Muggle, you know.'

'Yes, I heard that,' said Hermione, astonished to be talking about Umbridge within five minutes of meeting Ryan's parents.

The stadium announcer had been droning on for a while and Hermione had tuned him out, but he got her attention by saying, 'And now, we proudly present ... the Chudley Cannons!' He announced the players one by one, starting with Ryan. Naturally there were loud shrieks from his school mates, and Hermione did the same, but she was surprised to see his parents only clapping politely. She supposed they were accustomed to seeing him fly.

The cheers were deafening when Harry was announced, and Hermione felt a swell of pride for him. When the applause finally died down, Lucinda said, 'Well there he is, in the flesh.'

'Harry, you mean?' asked Hermione.

'Who else? The Saviour of the Wizarding World. What does that make you, then? The Saviour of the Saviour of the Wizarding World? From what I hear, he couldn't have done it without you.'

'And we couldn't have done it without Harry,' said Hermione, feeling compelled to defend him.

'No, of course not. It's tremendous what he pulled off, and with so many obstacles. No, the thing that gets me is how thoroughly the adults in his life failed him.'

Hermione could hardly disagree. 'Yes, that's been hard for my parents to accept as well. They still don't understand why Harry had to rely on Ron and me ever since our first year at Hogwarts.'

'You've identified half the problem right there: Hogwarts. A new Defence instructor every year? A ghost teaching History? A Potions Master who had to abuse the students in order to maintain his cover as a spy? Widgington might not have Hogwarts' reputation, but I'll take the education I received there over a Hogwarts diploma any day of the week.'

Hermione was torn. She agreed with everything Lucinda was saying, but she also felt loyalty towards Hogwarts, and to Minerva in particular. 'It's actually improved tremendously in the last year,' she said. 'I returned after the war to finish my studies, and it's like an entirely different school. Minerva McGonagall, the new headmistress, forcibly retired Professor Binns—the ghost—and his successor is terrific. And the Defence professor is engaged to return in September.'

Lucinda gave a crisp nod and said, 'I'm glad to hear it. But that doesn't erase the fact that Albus Dumbledore was grossly negligent as headmaster, amongst other things.'

Again, Hermione couldn't argue. 'You're right, of course. But it's hard for me to imagine the alternative, since that's the hand we were dealt. I realise now there were probably better schools for me than Hogwarts but that's where I wound up, by random chance I suppose.'

'Random chance had nothing to do with it,' said Lucinda. 'The Department of Mysteries decides which schools Muggle-borns attend.'

'I'm sorry, what?'

'No one ever told you that? Yes, it's an open secret that the DOM assigns schools to Muggle-borns and anyone else without a family history.'

Hermione was dumbstruck. How had she never heard about this before? _You didn't know there were other schools until a fortnight ago,_ came the answer.

But why was she assigned to Hogwarts, when the odds vastly favoured her being sent to one of the other schools? Had she been destined to assist Harry? Could there even have been a prophecy? There was no way to find out—they'd destroyed most of the prophecies back in '96—so it would probably remain a mystery.

In a kinder voice than before, Lucinda said, 'I can see I've upset you. I'm sorry—it must be overwhelming to learn something like that, particularly in the stands at a Quidditch match. Walter is always telling me I'm too blunt.'

'No,' said Walter, 'I've given up telling you. It doesn't seem to have any effect.' Lucinda laughed, and Walter continued. 'Hermione, you mustn't let Lucinda browbeat you. She missed her calling as a barrister and takes it out on the rest of us.'

'I wasn't browbeating her—she's clearly made of sterner stuff than that. And certainly Ryan has no use for a pushover.'

_This really is an extraordinary conversation,_ thought Hermione. 'I should congratulate you on Ryan,' she said. 'He's like no other wizard I've met, particularly when it comes to interacting with Muggles. I wish I'd maintained the balance as well as he has.'

'It hasn't been easy, as I'm sure he's told you,' said Lucinda. 'But yes, I'm proud that he embodies the best of both cultures. I detest how idle and intellectually sloppy most wizards are. That's part of why I had to look farther afield for a husband,' she added, with an admiring look at Walter.

'How did that even come about? Where did you two meet?'

'I participated in a co-ed football club, and we met through that,' said Lucinda. 'I refuse to accept that Quidditch is a proper sport, when they're sitting on brooms the entire time. Chasers and Beaters aren't so bad, but Seekers might as well be sitting on a sofa holding a remote control.'

Hermione noticed several other fans glaring at Lucinda. This was not the best setting to malign Quidditch, and the implied insult towards Harry seemed particularly unwelcome—two of the fans were wearing jerseys with his number.

Lucinda continued. 'Walter was still finishing his studies at Trinity College, which impressed me already, and he was a marvel on the football pitch. I told myself it was enough to date him casually—enjoy a bit of forbidden fruit before settling down with a proper wizard. But before I knew it I was hooked.'

'Walter, how did you react when you found out she was a witch?'

'She didn't tell me for a long time, not until we were fairly serious.'

'I waited until we were in too deep for him to back out,' admitted Lucinda. 'I told him I had a terrible secret—made it sound like I was dying of cancer or something—and then I sprang it on him. He was furious of course.'

'Furious you were a witch?' asked Hermione, appalled.

'No, I was furious at how magic completely upended the laws of nature,' said Walter. 'With a flick of her wand, she threw conservation of mass completely out the window!'

Hermione laughed. 'My parents had the same reaction to Professor McGonagall's demonstration, when I first received my Hogwarts letter.'

'I showed Walter some wizarding currency,' continued Lucinda, 'and he immediately crafted a diabolical plan to exchange pounds for Galleons and then exchange the gold for pounds, ad infinitum. But apparently the goblins have protections against that sort of thing.'

'Bloody goblins,' grumbled Walter. 'Thwarting my ambitions to become a Bond villain. I'd have made a good one, you know.'

Hermione wasn't sure how to ask her next question—whether Lucinda had worried their children wouldn't be magical—when they were deafened by a roar from the crowd.

Annie gripped Hermione's arm. 'What in Merlin's name is Harry doing?' Harry was flying like a Bludger through a knot of Chasers and then did a hairpin turn around one of the goalposts.

The announcer's voice rose about an octave in pitch when he said, 'And Potter forces a turnover—Rogers takes the Quaffle! By Merlin, that has to be the most astonishing feint I've ever witnessed!'

'Now that was impressive,' said Lucinda. 'He certainly put down the remote control for that one.'

Hermione felt vindicated—Harry wasn't just another idle wizard. From then on they were too riveted by the match for serious conversation. The Cannons Chasers did a magnificent job, led once again by Ryan, and every five or ten minutes Harry dazzled the spectators with a death-defying feint.

'Is your Harry all right in the head?' asked Lucinda. 'That's not how a sane person flies.'

'No, he's fine. Ryan warned me about this—it's a new strategy they've been working on all week. Apparently Harry is the rare Seeker who can fly like a maniac but still manage to find the Snitch, so they're making the most of it.'

Hermione allowed herself to enjoy the match as she'd done the week before, partaking in the crowd's energy and the sheer adrenaline of the flying. She was tempted to have Ryan take her up on a broom again later, but the weather was dreary and he'd probably be exhausted anyway.

'I must say, he's made Quidditch a good deal more exciting,' said Walter. 'Once you get past the "flying on broomsticks" aspect, the game has more than its share of flaws. But this is surprisingly entertaining.'

'Yes, but it's all for naught if Harry doesn't catch the Snitch,' said Lucinda. 'What a ludicrous sport.'

'Don't you approve of Ryan's career?' asked Hermione. She knew she was prying, but Lucinda seemed capable of telling her to mind her own business.

'It's fine for a while,' said Lucinda. 'Thank heaven it's not long-term, and I'll let him have it if he ever turns into one of those washed-up ex-flyers who stuff themselves into their old robes to attend Quidditch conventions.'

Hermione chuckled, thinking of Ludo Bagman. 'I really can't picture that. He told me he's keen to resume his studies.'

'Yes,' said Walter. 'He's a chip off the old Spoonwocket in that respect. Lucinda actually received a letter from one of his Charms examiners, praising his ability.'

'They didn't address it to you as well?' asked Hermione.

'No, I'm a trained monkey as far as the Ministry of Magic is concerned. One of these days I might hurl faeces at them, just to prove their point.'

Hermione laughed and said, 'My dad will enjoy meeting you. He's had the same complaint about how wizards treat him, although I think he compared himself to an exhibition at the World's Fair.'

'Wizards really are shockingly arrogant,' said Lucinda, 'especially considering how helpless we are without a wand. It's the goblins and house-elves we should admire.'

People were glaring at Ryan's mother again, but Hermione was delighted. 'Thank you! It's my dream to improve the status of house-elves. The whole reason we won the war was because of a free elf named Dobby who sacrificed his life to rescue us.'

'Really?' said Lucinda. 'Why wasn't that in the _Prophet?'_

'Not for lack of trying on my part—I described the incident in detail during every interview. But nobody seems to care.'

'Well keep trying, if only to make wizards ashamed of themselves for being bested by a house-elf.'

Hermione found herself admiring Ryan's outspoken mother. 'What kind of work do you do, Lucinda? The Ministry could use people with your convictions.'

'The Ministry?' she scoffed. 'I doubt I'd survive a week there ... That's the last place for anyone with a backbone.'

Walter cleared his throat. 'Lucinda dear, I believe Hermione works for the Ministry.'

'Yes, I'm part of a task force to explore moving inter-species diplomacy to the DMLE from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.'

'A task force to explore it?' said Lucinda. 'Why do they need a task force? It should be a no-brainer. Which, come to think of it, makes it a perfect project for the Ministry.'

'Lucinda has a bit of a grudge against the Ministry, over the war,' explained Walter.

'Nonsense, my grudge long predates the war. Remember how they gave us trouble about hooking up to the Floo network when we were first married? Or how they didn't want to register Ryan's birth until he'd proven himself magical? Or when he did turn out magical, and they sent a sort of social worker to advise us on severing ties with your family?'

'Are you serious?' asked Hermione.

'Dead serious. The Ministry can go hang themselves as far as I'm concerned. No offence.'

If the match hadn't been so riveting, Hermione suspected people would have just sat around listening to Lucinda. She was starting to understand why Ryan was nonplussed by her own occasionally terrifying behaviour.

It had finally stopped raining, and she noticed Lucinda using a Drying Charm on her husband. Hermione liked that he wasn't stubbornly proud about that sort of thing, as her parents sometimes were.

She was amazed that the crowd hadn't thinned at all, in spite of the weather. But it was the most exciting Quidditch match she'd ever seen, and both Harry and Ryan deserved a lot of the credit. During one feint, Harry nearly knocked Ryan off his broom, but Ryan performed an exceptionally agile Sloth Grip Roll and still managed to catch the Quaffle and score a goal afterwards. Even his parents were impressed with that one.

But still no Snitch. 'Come on, people,' said Lucinda. 'Wrap it up. A game with a proper clock would have ended by now.'

More glares from their neighbours, and Annie leaned over and whispered, 'Lucinda is something of a legend among Cannons followers—the Official Fan Club newsletter regularly prints her overheard comments. And during a match last year I was convinced the fans behind us devised a drinking game around her.'

Hermione smiled, wondering if there were some way to introduce her to Walburga. 'I'm glad you gave me a heads-up,' she said quietly. 'She's truly unique.'

Yet another feint from Harry drew loud cheers from the crowd. He zoomed low to the ground, and Hermione flinched when he nearly crashed into Ryan again, but then he slid to a halt across the wet earth and triumphantly raised his closed fist.

'Potter's got the Snitch!' cried the announcer. 'Cannons win 310-70!'

Everyone screamed in excitement, and even Lucinda looked impressed. 'Well there's something you don't often see,' she shouted over the din.

'A Cannons victory, you mean?'

'Exactly. Well done, Potter,' she said with grudging admiration. 'It appears you're not just a one-trick pony.'

Hermione wasn't sure she'd describe Harry's defeat of Voldemort as 'one trick,' but she appreciated Lucinda's praise. 'He's an incredibly hard worker,' she said, 'and a gifted flyer of course. Joining the Cannons has made such a difference to his life.'

'I suppose it would,' said Lucinda, speaking loudly to be heard above the crowd's victory chants. 'He deserves a holiday more than anyone. You probably do too, but hopefully Ryan can help with that.'

Hermione's eyes shot open but she quickly regained her composure—surely Lucinda hadn't meant what Hermione had inferred. She joined the crowd's raucous chanting to avoid further conversation, and eventually they filed from their seats to the stairs.

'Will you come down to the pitch?' Hermione asked them.

'No,' said Lucinda. 'It's always a long wait with the reporters. We can congratulate him tomorrow when he picks up the car. Will you accompany him?'

'Yes, I'm to show him the way to Harry's house. We're transporting Ryan's stereo for a party next weekend.'

'So I hear,' replied Walter. 'My first concern was that he couldn't go a week without it, but he assured me he has another one in his bedroom.'

Hermione smiled; she had plans involving Ryan's bedroom that night, and music would surely enhance the experience.

Before leaving the stadium, Lucinda turned to Hermione and said, 'Very nice to meet you. Obviously we admired you previously, but I can certainly see why Ryan is taken with you. And I'm glad you're not just a Quidditch groupie or celebrity chaser. After all, you're a good deal more famous than he is.'

'I've enjoyed meeting both of you as well,' replied Hermione, trying not to think about the 'Quidditch groupie' phenomenon and how it might apply to Ryan. Harry had reported back to her that Ryan had a spotless reputation, but she wouldn't enjoy seeing witches throw themselves at him as they were starting to do with Harry.

After saying goodbye to Ryan's parents, Hermione accompanied Annie and Ryan's other friends down to the pitch. They had to wait a while, but it was an opportunity to catch up with Ginny and the other Weasleys.

'Hermione,' said Molly warmly. 'It's good to see you. How are you?' She asked the question with obvious concern.

'I'm doing well, thanks for asking. And how are you doing?'

'Other than having palpitations about Harry's flying this afternoon, all's well. We've got Charlie here for the weekend, which is lovely.' She lowered her voice and said, 'Gabrielle is staying with Bill and Fleur, and she's something of a menace. It'll be a relief when she leaves in a week.'

'Oh, what's the matter?'

'It's Veela puberty. No spots, of course, but enough hormones to take down an army. Tomorrow at Sunday dinner I suspect I'll need to use an _Aguamenti_ charm on Ron, George, or both.'

'She's fourteen!' said Hermione, shocked.

'It's the allure,' explained Arthur. 'She can't control it. Back when Fleur's mother was a teenager they sent her to a convent for a couple of years, but apparently that's no longer the practice.'

Hermione was uneasy, recalling her promise to bring Ryan to Shell Cottage for dinner. Would he really be unable to control himself around Gabrielle?

'But enough about Veelas,' continued Arthur. 'How are you doing? We're all terribly disappointed you won't be part of the family, at least not officially. But I hope you know you're always welcome, once things settle down.'

'Thank you,' said Hermione, touched. 'I'm doing better than I expected, actually.' She looked down and added, 'I've started seeing someone else.'

'Blimey,' said Ginny, who had just arrived. 'Who is it? Anyone I know?'

Hermione kept her eyes down, mostly to hide her expression. 'Ryan Bellamy.'

'You're dating Ryan Bellamy? _The_ Ryan Bellamy, right over there?' exclaimed Ginny. 'Talk about a serious upgrade from Ron!'

'Ginny!' cried Molly. 'Don't talk about your brother that way.'

Arthur looked flustered but said, 'I'm glad to hear you're doing well, Hermione. Naturally we wish you all the best.'

Ginny tugged on Hermione's arm and said, 'Come on, Granger. Spill.'

They walked a few steps away from the others and Ginny quickly raised a privacy ward. 'When did all this happen?'

'Only a week ago. But I've seen him several times now, and we'll be together this evening, and tomorrow as well.'

'This evening _and_ tomorrow or this evening _into_ tomorrow?' asked Ginny. 'There's a considerable difference.'

Hermione felt herself blush and said, 'The latter, I suspect.'

Ginny looked at her appraisingly. 'I'll admit, I hadn't pegged you for the man-candy-on-the-rebound type, but you can't do better than Ryan Bellamy.'

'It's not rebound, and he's not man-candy. Well, not primarily,' she said with a smile. 'He's actually quite wonderful.'

'Why, you're lovesick! I can't believe it, but I'm delighted for you.'

'Thanks, I'm awfully happy. We both are. I can introduce you in a few minutes, and he'll be at Harry's party as well.'

'Harry's party, yes! You could have knocked me over with a feather when I received the invitation. A portkey no less! Does that mean I've been removed from the wards?'

'No, I'm sure it's so you can bring a guest. Do you know who you're bringing?'

'I haven't decided yet—I assume everyone we know is already invited?'

'Pretty much, except for people like Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, and also troublemakers like Cormac MacLaggen and Romilda Vane.'

'You mean I can't invite Romilda?' said Ginny with mock disappointment. 'She sent me an owl last week expressing outrage I hadn't told her Harry and I had split up.'

'What was it like for you, seeing Harry in the _Prophet_ with another woman?' asked Hermione.

'You mean half of another woman? I'm glad he's moving on, though I never expected to see him wearing Malfoy robes in front of a chichi restaurant. Do you know who she is?'

'No,' said Hermione, who had never been so tempted to spread gossip. _I only know she's the second witch in two weeks_, she thought. 'And how are you doing?'

'Really well, thanks. I just signed with the Holyhead Harpies, as a reserve Chaser.'

'Sweet Merlin! All my friends are becoming professional Quidditch players! Who can be next?'

'Luna, I'm thinking,' said Ginny, and they both laughed.

'Congratulations! I know how much Harry's enjoying it, and you deserve a break as well.'

'Cheers, I'm looking forward to it.' A Cannons staff member lowered the ward that was preventing them from accessing the pitch. 'Which way are you headed?' asked Ginny. 'Towards Harry or Ryan Bellamy?'

'Towards Ryan. Would you like to meet him?'

Ginny nodded eagerly and they walked over to Ryan. 'There you are,' he said when he saw Hermione. 'I tried finding you in the stands but they were so packed I couldn't make anything out.'

'Don't I get a kiss?' she whispered. 'Or are you keeping me a secret?'

'I just didn't want to get you all sweaty,' he said. 'I've been playing for hours.'

'I don't mind at all,' she replied, wrapping her arms around him and tilting her head upwards so he could kiss her properly.

'_Rowr!'_ growled Ginny.

Ryan and Hermione turned towards her, and Hermione said, 'Ryan, this is Ginny Weasley. Ginny, this is Ryan.'

'Nice to meet you, Ginny. Hermione's told me a lot about you.'

'She's just signed as a Chaser with the Holyhead Harpies,' said Hermione.

'Reserve Chaser,' corrected Ginny.

'That's fantastic, congratulations! I hear it's a wonderful organisation.'

'Thanks, that's my hope.'

He turned to Hermione and said, 'I can't get out of going to the Cracked Spyglass this afternoon—Renée made me promise. Would you like to accompany me, or should we meet up afterwards? I should warn you, it'll be extremely raucous ... The fans are probably hammered by now. We don't need to stay long, maybe half an hour.'

'That's fine, I'm happy to join you.'

'Now I've seen everything,' said Ginny. 'Hermione heading to a pub full of rat-arsed Cannons fans? You should be flattered, Bellamy—she never would have gone there with Ron, not in a million years.'

'I'm flattered she even gives me the time of day,' he said admiringly. 'But I should go talk to my mates ... See you soon.'

He turned to his other friends and Ginny pulled Hermione towards the crowd of Weasleys waiting to talk with Harry. 'Hermione, he's madly in love with you already, I can just tell. And you're nearly as far gone too. I can't believe it.'

'Neither can I,' said Hermione, blushing. 'His father's a Muggle, you know. So we have that in common as well.'

'I'm so glad. I know old Arthur was a bit of a challenge for your parents.'

'He was, I'm afraid. Are you here to speak to Harry?'

'Yes,' said Ginny. 'It'll be the first time since we split up. I thought somewhere public would be better, and of course he ought to be in a good mood.'

'I should think so! He really is doing surprisingly well, though I know he still misses you.'

'I miss him too. There's a part of me that can't believe I let him get away.'

'What, after trying so hard to catch him in the first place?'

'Partly. But he was also incredibly devoted. He made me feel like I was everything in the world to him. It was a powerful ego boost, to have the Boy Who Lived looking at me like I was the sun, moon, and stars.'

'Right, but he's not the Boy Who Lived,' said Hermione.

'No, he's not. He's a man who never had a proper family, and was either neglected or manipulated by all the adults in his life. And that's not counting the ones who were trying to kill him.'

Hermione nodded. 'It's rather overwhelming when you state it like that, but you're right. I tend to forget because he's so good at holding himself together.'

'He is,' agreed Ginny. 'But Merlin, when he lets his guard down ... There's a kind of yawning need ...' She looked around and used her wand to fortify her privacy charms. 'Sorry, we don't need Rita Skeeter listening in. Poor Harry is desperate to be whole—and why shouldn't he be, after everything he's been through? But I couldn't do it for him. Not without losing myself.'

They glanced at Harry, who was shaking hands with Percy of all people. 'For a while I found it intoxicating—his intensity that is. Particularly right after the battle, when Fred and everyone else had died. It was an incredible escape. And the sex—that was hard to let go of. But after a while I found our relationship draining. I just couldn't be Harry Potter's backstop for the rest of my life, and that's where things were headed.'

'Why didn't you mention any of this before?' asked Hermione.

'I don't think I fully realised it until after we split,' said Ginny. 'At the time I just had a deep, nagging sense that he wasn't right for me, and that I wasn't right for him either. And that we were growing apart.'

'Yes, that's what you told me.'

Ginny sighed. 'Anyway, I'll probably go down in history as the daft cow who discarded her chance at becoming Lady Black. But I'm certain my children will thank me—it won't be easy growing up in his shadow.'

'No, probably not,' replied Hermione.

Ginny looked over at Harry, who was talking with Hagrid. 'It looks like he's out of Weasleys ... I should talk to him next. You should probably go after me, just in case.'

'Good luck, and congratulations again on the Harpies.'

'Cheers, and I'll see you next weekend at the party, if not sooner.'

Hermione observed Harry from a distance as he spoke with Ginny, and she could see his yearning expression. The fact that he was covered in mud made him look especially like a little boy. _Poor Harry_, she thought. _He's probably the envy of every wizard in Britain for one reason or another, but he'd trade it all just to have his parents back, or even Sirius._

She knew he needed more than she could provide as his friend, but Hermione hoped he drew at least as much strength from their friendship as she did. _Dumbledore was right, _she mused._ He really does have a good heart. _

Ginny had gone, and Harry was standing alone with a slightly lost expression until he saw Hermione and regained his normal affect. She congratulated him on the match and they chatted a bit before he left to wash up. She knew Ryan would return to find her soon enough, and then the evening she'd been planning could begin. It seemed ironic that everything would start at the Cracked Spyglass, which symbolised All Things Ron, but she'd be with Ryan the entire time.

She knew she'd already fallen for him. The last piece slid into place on Wednesday night, when she read Harry's owl confirming that Ryan was on the level. And now that she'd met Lucinda, Hermione understood why Ryan seemed unintimidated by her own power. She wouldn't need to contain herself as she'd done with Ron for fear of stepping on toes.

She realised she was still wet and rumpled from the rain, so she tidied herself with a few charms and restored her ringlets. She was still wearing Cannons orange, which she refused to believe suited her—or anyone else for that matter—but it reminded her of Ryan now, and that made it the most glorious colour she could imagine.


	27. Chapter 27

_Trigger warning: __Reference to past sexual_ _assault._

-––—––—––-

Ryan had showered and changed into clean clothes when he found Hermione on the pitch, and he'd used a Drying Charm on his hair, which meant it was blond. But she no longer saw the resemblance to Errol Reddington—she only saw the man who'd swept her off her feet in less than a week.

'Sorry that took so long,' he said. 'It was a while before Tuttle started her notes, but they were mercifully short.'

'It wasn't a problem—the sun is even peeking out a bit.'

'Perfect! Just in time for us to visit a dank pub. Are you sure you want to accompany me?' She assured him she did, and he led her to the fireplace in the arrival hall.

When they emerged at the Cracked Spyglass, the crowd was chanting Ryan's name and burst into loud cheers. 'It's Ryan fucking Bellamy!' cried a fan, and someone shoved a pint glass at him.

'And what do you want, love?' they asked Hermione, but before she could answer another fan handed her a pint glass as well. 'A beer, I suppose,' she said, and everyone laughed.

A tall black woman Hermione recognised as Ryan's teammate waved them to a table, and Ryan introduced her. 'Hermione, this is Renée Vickers. Renée, this is Hermione.'

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Renée. And congratulations—you were brilliant this afternoon. I'm sure it couldn't have been easy recovering from all those feints.'

'Not at first,' said Renée, 'but we eventually got the hang of it. Has Harry always been a lunatic or is this a new development?'

'No, he's always been like this,' said Hermione, taking a sip from her beer. 'But I'm not sure any of us could have been called level-headed—not consistently anyway.'

'It must be catching,' said Ryan, 'because I'm perfectly mad whenever I'm near you.' He put his arm around her shoulder, and she responded under the table by putting her hand on his thigh.

'Why Ryan, I've never seen you like this,' said Renée. 'Clearly it takes an Order of Merlin award to get your attention.'

'Or maybe just winning two matches in a row,' said another man at the table. He turned to Hermione and added, 'I'm Owen Barrowmaker, by the way. Reserve Seeker.'

'Of course!' said Hermione. 'Harry's told me so much about you, says you're absolutely brilliant.'

'That makes two of you,' said Ryan, before he was approached by a cluster of fans seeking autographs.

Owen chuckled. 'We won't hear from him for a while—they'll keep him busy, especially with all three Chasers here this afternoon.' He motioned towards Darren, who was at another table with Ron, Charlie, and Harry. 'But I'm glad for the opportunity to talk with you—it sounds like you're a big part of Harry's life.'

'Yes, we sort of adopted each other as siblings in our first year at Hogwarts, since we're both only children.'

'I can scarcely imagine the concept—my wife and I have four-year-old twin daughters, which means we skipped the only child phase. But I'm glad you and Harry had each other ... I suppose most of wizarding Britain is, in fact.'

He paused before continuing. 'I admit I find myself worrying about his lack of family—it must be the father in me. He's clearly turned out all right, but I don't get the sense he has a lot of adults looking out for him, or that he feels he does, anyway.'

'Actually, I think he feels that way about you. He refers to you as his mentor, and I've never heard him describe anyone that way, at least not in reference to himself.'

'That's surprising. I'd have thought Albus Dumbledore filled that role.'

'Not as much as you'd think,' said Hermione. 'Professor Dumbledore was very secretive, and although he loved Harry, I don't think he ever acted in his best interest. It was always about defeating Voldemort.'

Owen sighed. 'That must have been difficult for Harry. I'd certainly like for the Cannons to keep winning, but I can't see myself manipulating him to make that happen, even if it were possible.'

'No, certainly not. I think that's why joining the Cannons has been so beneficial for him—Quidditch is a good deal more straightforward than anything he's been asked to do previously. You either catch the Snitch or you don't.'

'It's not as simple as that,' said Owen. 'There are a lot of mind games as well. Has he told you about taunting?'

'Yes, he's mentioned it.'

'It's a surprisingly large part of a Seeker's job, probably more than for the other positions. And Harry's an enormous target—his life is full of trauma and he hasn't a shred of privacy.'

'No, he really hasn't,' said Hermione. 'And it's getting worse ... the lack of privacy, not the trauma, thank Merlin.'

'And he's not just on the receiving end—I've had to train him to deliver taunts. He seems to be handling it all right so far, but I should warn you as his friend that he might start saying some shocking things. I know I went through a similar phase.'

Hermione thought for a moment. 'Yes, he's been more sarcastic lately, now you mention it. Arrogant, even.' She was thinking of the way he'd interacted with Phineas Nigellus earlier that week.

'I'm afraid I'm to blame for that,' said Owen. 'It's the only way the other Seekers won't tear him to pieces.'

'It's funny ... people at Hogwarts used to accuse Harry of being arrogant—one of our professors in particular—but I could never see it. He always just seemed a bit lost to me, except when he was fighting Voldemort, of course. He was a completely different person whenever they faced each other.'

'Interesting,' said Owen. 'But getting back to the main topic—if he's anything like I was, his arrogance will get worse before it gets better.'

'Oh dear.'

'Yes, and we could be looking at uncharted territory. I was a good Seeker but nowhere near the flyer Harry is, and I was sidelined by injuries. And speaking frankly, Harry has considerably more cause for arrogance than I ever did. He was the master of the Elder Wand, for Merlin's sake, and about a thousand other things.'

Hermione was nodding. 'Yes, I can see that. And furthermore–' she hesitated. 'I probably shouldn't tell you this, but Dumbledore kept him down deliberately, for years.'

'I'm not surprised.'

'So that's an added reason why Harry might go too far in the opposite direction.' She looked at him and asked, 'Do you think there's any use trying to prevent it?'

'It's hard to say. On the one hand, I think it's beneficial to get those feelings out into the open, particularly if they've been suppressed. But on the other hand they're poisonous in large doses, and with Harry there's the added risk of publicity. If he says something particularly obnoxious at the wrong time, it could dog him for the rest of his life.'

'Do you think other Seekers would tell on him?'

'No, taunting is a proud Quidditch tradition. As long as he's not an arse when he sees them off the pitch, they'll respect his privacy.'

'What should I do then?' she asked.

'I'm sure my wife and some of my mates could offer suggestions, but the short answer is to call him on it. If he's an arse, you should say so. But even more importantly, you'll need to keep him grounded—you and all his old friends. He doesn't have family like I did. I'll try to help ground him as well, but I don't think it'll have the same impact.'

'Don't be so sure of that. He already respects you tremendously, and he's lacking in male role models. He can't remember his father at all, and his godfather Sirius was a bit of a mixed bag. Probably the best role model he had was Remus Lupin—one of our Defence professors—but he died in the final battle.' She looked at him a moment and said, 'You remind me of him, actually. Not physically, but some of your mannerisms and, more importantly, the way you interact. I suspect Harry has noticed it as well, at least subconsciously.'

'I'll certainly be glad to help, if I'm able. It's the least I can do after unleashing the monster in the first place. And if he can get through it, I think he'll be better off in the long run. He's very mature in certain respects—wise, even—and that will make all the difference.'

Ryan had finished signing autographs and turned towards Hermione. 'I'd say we've been here long enough. We can leave anytime you like.'

She smiled before facing Owen again. 'Thanks so much for the warning. I suspect you're right that it'll be good for Harry, even if it's awkward at times. And I admit I'm curious what he might say—hopefully in private.'

'It'll be entertaining if nothing else,' said Owen. 'Harry has a way with words all right—today's statement in the _Prophet_ was classic.'

'He changed it! We drafted it together, with one of our former professors even, and then Harry altered it at the last minute.'

'Let me guess ... "bollocks?"'

'Yes, and the last line as well.'

Owen smiled. 'He certainly got his point across. I'll enjoy seeing how it plays out.' He rose and said, 'It's been a pleasure meeting you. I should return to my family, and it looks like you and Ryan are ready to leave as well.'

'Will I see you at the party next weekend?'

'Yes, along with my wife and a few of our school chums. Amongst other things we're curious to see Harry's house.'

'Don't miss the tapestry,' said Renée.

Hermione and Ryan said their goodbyes and proceeded to the fireplace. She looked up at him and said, 'Where to?'

He beamed at her for a long moment. 'I don't care—wherever you're going.'

'Well, one of us has to decide. Your flat perhaps?'

'Or the ends of the earth … I'll follow you anywhere.'

'Your flat it is. Come on,' she said, reaching for the Floo powder.

Moments later they arrived, and as soon as they stepped from the fireplace she embraced him. 'You were brilliant today. I was so proud of you.'

'I think you brought it out in me,' he said before kissing her. 'You're very inspiring, you know.'

They were still standing, which was a little awkward due to his height. 'Do you want to sit down?' she asked. 'You must be completely knackered.'

'To be honest, I'm famished. Half a bag of crisps at the pub was nowhere near enough.'

'Do you want me to cook something? Have you anything in the house?'

'Nothing interesting,' he said. 'But we could get takeaway from the Thai restaurant, if you like.'

After she selected something from the menu, he rang the restaurant to place their order. 'It'll be ready in ten minutes. You can either wait here while I pick it up or accompany me.'

She looked out the window. 'It's nice out ... I'll go with you. But first let me put on something less shockingly orange; I've brought a change of clothes in my bag.' _More than one, in fact_.

After she changed, Ryan Apparated them to an alley near the city centre, and it was only a few blocks to the restaurant. They waited on a bench outside. 'What did you think of my parents?' he asked. 'Annie scolded me for springing them on you like that.'

'I liked them very much. And I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like your mother.'

'That's Lucinda Spoonwocket for you. I realised a long time ago that she's not like other mums—witch or Muggle.'

'And your father impressed me as well, particularly with his attitude towards the wizarding world. He seemed perfectly at home with magic, but not ... emasculated by it, for lack of a better word.'

Ryan laughed. 'It probably helps that he's an engineer. They have more swagger than you'd expect.'

'And clearly your mother admires him, which can't hurt either.'

'Yes, they're still very much in love, even without a marriage bond. I consider them good role models in that respect.'

'My parents as well,' she said.

'What did my parents think of the match? I'm told they're usually bored.'

'They were at first, I think, but as soon as Harry started feinting they seemed to enjoy it.'

'That's good. I suppose I'll read her best quotes in the next newsletter.'

'They'll have a lot to choose from,' said Hermione, laughing. 'I'd be hard pressed to name a favourite.'

Their food was ready, so Ryan paid for it and they Apparated back to the flat. 'I could be an adult and serve you at the table, but I usually just eat on the sofa with music playing. Is that all right?'

'I have fond memories of your sofa, so yes.'

They ate together and chatted about the match. She showed him the Harry Potter figurine she'd purchased, and he was impressed. 'Look at that!' he exclaimed. 'It has a little scar and everything.'

'I considered buying yours, but I decided it didn't hold a candle to the original.'

'I'm surprised they don't sell Hermione Granger figurines somewhere.'

'What, so kids could pretend to battle Voldemort in the back garden?'

'Of course. That's what my magical cousins and I did growing up. We made up stories about Harry Potter and the immortal warlocks, and so forth. It was great fun at the time, though it's rather ghoulish now that I look back on it. I seem to recall we borrowed my baby cousin to play Harry and reenacted his parents' murder. They had me play Voldemort because I was the tallest—we called him "You-Know-Who," of course. We even drew a scar on the baby's forehead … my aunt was furious.'

'Good lord, don't tell Harry about that. He knows people told stories about him, but the idea of kids reenacting his parents' murder is a bit much.'

'Actually, I probably should tell him. Better to hear it from me than to have a rival Seeker throw it at him.'

'That's a good point. Owen and I talked about taunting at the pub this afternoon, and how it might affect Harry. What was your experience of it?'

'I don't think it's as bad for Chasers as it is for Seekers, since we're moving more quickly, but I've certainly had my share. It's usually about my father, or maybe someone unearths a quote from my mother, but otherwise it's about the Cannons in general. My grandparents' murder isn't public knowledge, so that's never come up, thank heaven.'

'That's a relief.' She had a thought and added, 'Do you suppose they'll taunt you about me, once they hear about us? Harry said it's happened to him.'

'Oh dear, you're right. Almost certainly.'

'Don't be chivalrous on my behalf. I'm certain I've heard worse.'

'It's not the worse I'm worried about,' confessed Ryan.

Hermione felt her face redden. 'They're just words,' she said, even though she knew how damaging words could be.

They listened to music for a while after dinner, and eventually they began snogging. Their initial pace was leisurely, as they had just eaten, but it gradually became more urgent.

'Should we move into your bedroom?' asked Hermione breathlessly.

'Is that what you'd like? I don't want to pressure you.'

She answered him nonverbally before saying, 'Yes, definitely.' She giggled and added, 'Most decidedly.'

He smiled. 'I certainly won't stop you. Quite the opposite.' He lifted her over his shoulder and she laughed, kicking her legs. 'Watch your head on the door,' he said.

It was the first time she'd seen his bedroom, which was masculine and tidy, with a smaller stereo atop the dresser. 'Hang on, I'll move the music into here.' He turned off the music in the lounge and returned to the bedroom with a cassette tape, which he popped into the player.

'I made a mix tape,' he confessed. 'Sorry, I couldn't help myself.'

'Is it labelled "Hermione Sex Mix?"'

'Should it be? I don't want to presume.'

'Yes,' she said, and they picked up where they'd left off.

It was still light out and they took things slowly. 'Oh my god,' he said, when he saw her scars.

She was embarrassed. 'I'm sorry, I know they're ghastly, but they're curse scars and there's nothing to be done.'

'That's not what I meant. You're beautiful ... all of you. But it's awful to see what you've endured.' He kissed her tenderly and asked, 'Are they sensitive? I don't want to hurt you.'

'No, thank Merlin. They just look horrid.'

He ran his finger over the word Bellatrix Lestrange had carved into her arm: _Mudblood. _'My god, Hermione. I'm so sorry you had to experience all that. The idea of someone hurting you ...'

'It's over now. And the person who did it is dead.'

'And you're alive,' murmured Ryan.

'Yes,' she said, 'I'm alive.' After a long silence she gave him a saucy look and added, 'Now prove it to me.'

It was dark by the time they finished, and they lay in each other's arms. 'You must be knackered,' she said. 'First a three-hour match, and now this.'

'I reckon I'll sleep well. You'll stay the night, I hope?'

'I'd love to. Can I bring you a glass of water or something?'

He sat up. 'I'm the host, surely that's my responsibility.'

'I'd say you've been more than hospitable.'

'So have you,' he said, brushing a ringlet from her forehead. He rose and left the room, returning soon after with two glasses of water. 'I apologise for not having champagne and strawberries or something suitably romantic.'

'I'm glad you don't—it seems rather smarmy.'

He laughed and said, 'Thank you for turning my lack of preparation into a virtue.'

They murmured contentedly to one another for a while before finally falling asleep. Hermione awoke several times during the night due to the unfamiliar surroundings, but she smiled when she remembered where she was. Ryan's warmth and solidity made her feel safe down to her very core.

She fell asleep again and eventually awoke to daylight. Ryan was still in bed, and he was looking at her tenderly. 'Good morning,' he said, with a smile that made her insides melt.

'Good morning. Did you sleep all right?'

'Magnificently. But waking up has been even better. I can't believe you're real.'

'I feel the same way about you. Have you been awake long?'

'Not long, maybe half an hour.'

'Half an hour? You were allowed to get out of bed if you wanted.'

'I didn't want to. I was savouring the moment. And also trying to decide whether or not yesterday was the best day of my life.'

'Did you reach a conclusion?' she asked.

'I decided it was ... so far. But I'm hoping to surpass it. Today perhaps.'

She snuggled into the crook of his arm and they lay together for a while without saying anything.

'I didn't expect this to happen nearly so soon,' he admitted.

Hermione felt embarrassed. Had she been too forward? 'I suppose it was sooner than I expected as well, but ...' She trailed off, not knowing how to complete the sentence.

'No, I didn't mean it like that. I meant that I'm not someone who can have sex casually.'

'Casually?' she repeated, alarmed.

'I'm sorry, I'm expressing this all wrong. It's just ... I have a bad history with women, and it's made things difficult for me.'

_A bad history with women?_ Had Harry missed something? She remained silent, hoping he'd say more but also fearing it.

'When I was fifteen, one of my classmates gave me a Love Potion,' he said. 'Served it to me, that is—after a Quidditch match.'

She inhaled sharply. Her own fears vanished but were replaced by horror and compassion. 'Oh, Ryan,' she said, turning towards him.

He was lying on his back and looking up at the ceiling. 'She handed me what I thought was a glass of juice. It was a hot day and I would have drunk anything. It wasn't juice, but it was impossibly delicious so I didn't care.

'The potion kicked in fast, and suddenly she was the most perfect person I'd ever seen. And it was retroactive, affecting my memories of her. As far as I knew, I'd always been madly in love with her.'

'Was this a friend of yours?' asked Hermione, momentarily suspecting Annie.

'Not particularly. We had some classes together, and I'd been told she fancied me, but I don't think I'd encouraged her.'

_Not Annie, thank goodness,_ thought Hermione.

Ryan continued. 'She led me away from the pitch and I eagerly followed her. I would have followed her anywhere. I had just played a match and wanted to shower, but I couldn't bear to be apart from her. So we Flooed to her parents' house—they were conveniently away—and she joined me in the shower.

'It was hard enough being around her when she was dressed, but undressed she was irresistible. I'd barely rinsed off all the soap before I carried her to the bedroom. Fortunately she cast a Contraception Charm ... I wouldn't have known which end of the wand to hold.

'It was my first time. I can't say it was my best performance ... I nearly burst at first touch. But within minutes I was ready for more. And again after that, and so on. Just one look at her was enough to get me started again.'

He was still looking at the ceiling, and Hermione nestled closer to him to provide comfort.

'We must have gone for hours. Eventually I was too raw for intercourse, so I exhausted my creativity finding other ways to please her. She brought me some food, which I devoured—I insisted on eating it off her body, because I couldn't bear not to be in contact with her.

'And then the potion began to wear off. I didn't immediately realise what had happened—I just knew I was mortified and hurried home. And then I could hardly look at her afterwards.'

'Did you tell anyone?' asked Hermione. 'Surely there were rules at Widgington about conduct.'

'No, I didn't tell anyone at the time—I didn't want to think about it. I made noises to my parents about wanting to switch schools, but I wouldn't say why, so nothing came of it.'

'What about your friends? Did you tell any of them?'

'I didn't tell Annie if that's what you're asking. Our relationship was a little complicated back then, and I think it would have upset her. But I told one of my mates, and he didn't see what the big deal was. The girl was pretty enough, just not my type. He actually congratulated me on popping my cherry—said it was about time.'

'Oh, Ryan. I'm so sorry.'

'I think I decided to see it from his perspective, since it was easier that way. Easier than acknowledging what it really was.'

'Rape, you mean?'

'Yeah. It took me a long time to come around to that. I didn't feel I matched the profile—I was already six feet tall, and nearly thirteen stone. But of course with a Love Potion that makes no difference.

'A few years later I told Annie, and she urged me to talk to a Mind Healer. Fortunately I'd started earning a salary by then, so I was able to pay for it. I'd never told my parents—I was too ashamed.'

'Did you tell them eventually?'

'Yes, I asked them to come to a session with me. The Healer told them it was more common than you'd think, and that she'd counselled a number of witches and wizards.'

'How did they react? If you don't mind my asking, of course.'

'My father was devastated. He'd never dreamt he'd have to worry about me that way. He'd given me a stern lecture when I was sixteen—several months after the incident—in which he told me how to behave with women, never pressure them to do anything, and so forth. It hadn't occurred to him I'd already experienced it myself, and of course I didn't say anything at the time.

'I expected my mother to be furious, and of course she was. With my classmate, that is, not with me. But she was also upset I'd never said anything—upset with herself. She felt she'd failed as a mother for not realising what had happened, for not reading between the lines when I wanted to change schools. She'd assumed I was just whinging.'

Ryan was no longer looking at the ceiling. He was facing Hermione and his downcast eyes broke her heart.

'As part of my healing process, I confronted my former classmate. That's not necessarily what a Muggle counsellor would recommend, but my situation wasn't fully analogous.'

'How did she react?'

'She'd actually come to feel remorse about it. It seems she subsequently had an admirer whose affections she didn't return, and even though he never gave her a Love Potion, she realised how awful it would have been if he had done.'

'She ought to have apologised on her own initiative, instead of waiting for you to confront her,' scowled Hermione.

'I don't know if I'd have wanted that,' he said. 'It might have just reopened the wound prematurely.'

'How does it affect you now?' she asked. 'Do you think the Mind Healer was helpful?'

'Yes, immensely. Just to be able to talk about it without shame was a huge shift. To know I hadn't done anything wrong.'

'Why would you think you'd done anything wrong?'

'That's the insidious thing about Love Potions: the fact that I enjoyed it so much at the time. The ecstasy and the sense of fulfilment were unbelievable. In fact, I think it ruined me for normal relationships for several years ... they just couldn't compare.'

Hermione felt a little disheartened. _How could a night with me measure up to what he experienced when he was fifteen?_

'For several years?' she asked. 'Has that part improved?'

'Over time, yes. One thing I've learnt is that I can't do casual sex. My teammates invited me out a few times when I first joined the Cannons, and I'm certain they thought I was hopeless. The fact is, I need a strong emotional connection with a partner. Love, ideally.'

He looked at her meaningfully, and her heart fluttered. 'I know we've only known each other a short while,' he said. 'So perhaps it's only infatuation. But Hermione, I can't believe how ... infatuated I am with you already. And I'm only using that word as a placeholder, because I don't want to spoil anything by using the other word too soon.'

'I'm very ... infatuated with you too, Ryan.'

'I hope I haven't made you uncomfortable,' he said. 'It's not exactly light conversation.'

'No, I'm glad you told me. You're such a remarkable person, Ryan, and I'm ashamed at how much I underestimated you. Initially, that is.'

'For being an athlete?' he asked, smiling.

'More than that. I had the idea that things came to you easily, and so you probably hadn't much character.'

'Because I'm good looking, you mean.'

She was surprised he'd said it. 'Yes.'

He frowned. 'I'm certain I've had unfair advantages—there's been research on that sort of thing. When I was promoted to starter in my first year, for example, there were rumblings that it was to draw more witches to the stadium. I've heard taunts to that effect as well.'

'But that's ridiculous,' said Hermione. 'You're the leading scorer by far.'

'I wasn't initially. Furthermore, my merchandise has always outsold the others' by a fair margin, although Harry's about to annihilate me.'

'That's true,' she said. 'Probably a quarter of the spectators were wearing his number yesterday. Though I saw a girl purchasing your poster over Harry's because he appears in the _Prophet_ so often.'

'I'm relieved to hear it—apparently there's still hope for my mad scientist fund. But Hermione, you of all people should know that being attractive doesn't solve everything.'

'That's the thing, Ryan. I feel like a fraud. My hair isn't naturally like this, you know. It's just from a charm I found in an old spellbook.'

'I know that. I've seen your photographs after all. You always used to tie it back.'

'Yes, because otherwise it's a fright—I'll show you.' She used her wand to remove the charm from her somewhat rumpled curls.

He laughed when he saw her hair in its enormous glory, but then he smiled lasciviously at her. 'Hermione, do you have any idea how sexy you look? Don't take this the wrong way, but you have seventies glamour model hair.'

She was simultaneously mortified and amused. 'I didn't realise you were that familiar with seventies glamour models.'

'I grew up before the Internet, remember? My football mates used to pass around old magazines like contraband. The publication date didn't matter—we weren't looking at them for the fashions. Believe me, Hermione, your hair is fantastic.'

'Right, but that's not all of it. My front teeth used to be enormous as well, until the Hogwarts matron finally fixed them. All the boys used to make fun of me.'

'They probably had crushes on you.'

'No, I'm certain they didn't. All through primary school I was an outcast, and same with my first two months at Hogwarts. The reason I was nearly killed by a troll was because I was hiding in a toilet crying.'

'That hardly seems like a reason to send a troll after you.'

She scowled at him. 'I don't think you get it, Ryan. Nobody thought I had sexy hair as a child—and thank heaven for that, I suppose. They just thought it was ugly, that I was ugly. And they told me so.'

'I'm so sorry you went through that. Children can be so cruel.'

'That's another thing I held against you,' she admitted. 'You reminded me of one of the bullies I knew in primary school. Your appearance, that is.'

'That's unfortunate—I'm glad you were able to overlook it. I should confess that you're a dead ringer for the mad cute witch who saved Britain.'

'Have you been able to overlook it?' she asked, smiling.

'I could overlook it all day,' he said, pulling back the bedsheet.

They eventually got out of bed, and he prepared breakfast for them. 'What time are your parents expecting us?' she asked.

'Before noon. I figure it will take under two hours each way to get to Harry's house in London.'

'And you're certain we can't use magical transport?'

'Yes, unfortunately I've ruined stereo equipment in the past. It has to be analogue all the way.'

She frowned. 'That could be tricky. The house is hidden from Muggles. If we're entering through the front door, Harry and I normally Disillusion ourselves first.'

'You're right, that is a problem. Is there a way in through the back garden?'

'No, there's no entry through the garden wall.'

'How busy a street is it? Is there a chance nobody would see us?'

'Two years ago, yes, but the neighbourhood has improved since then, probably because Kreacher and Bill Weasley removed all the Dark magic from the house.' She was quiet a moment before her eyes lit up. 'But of course, we can use Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Would that harm the equipment?'

'I don't see why it would. It's only the Cloak that's charmed, not the contents. And they wouldn't be shrunk like the items in your handbag. How will you get it from him?'

'I daren't try now—he almost certainly has company. But perhaps I could send him a Patronus from your parents' house and ask him to leave it in the entrance hall.'

'Under that awful portrait, you mean?'

'No, Harry managed to get rid of her at last. She's been replaced by his godfather.'

'Sirius Black?'

'Not exactly—his Animagus form, Padfoot.' She told him the story, and Ryan was suitably amused.

'Harry really has the strangest life of anyone I've ever met, by a wide margin,' said Ryan.

'You may be right. At least it's finally taken a turn for the better. But I think people are starting to forget just how tragic it's been, now that he's a war hero and a Quidditch star, not to mention a so-called lord.'

'Perhaps. Should we see what the _Prophet_ has to say this morning?' he asked, fetching it from the fireplace. 'For some reason I completely forgot about it until now.'

'Yes, why not,' she replied, bracing herself as usual.

He unrolled it on the kitchen table. For a change, Harry wasn't on the front page, except for a small headline in the box leading to the sports news: _'Potter, Cannons Crush Arrows, 310-70.'_

'That's not bad,' said Ryan. 'I suppose the wizarding lords haven't had time to mount their defence yet. Perhaps their house-elves are still working on it.'

Ryan took the sport section, which exuberantly praised Harry's performance and featured large photographs of his more spectacular feints, including the one that resulted in Ryan's Sloth Grip Roll. 'Now that's a good photo,' he said. 'My parents might actually clip that one—they're rather choosy.'

'It's unfortunate they can't display it on the refrigerator, because of your Muggle relations.'

'No, but they've managed some workarounds. You'll see when I bring you to the house.'

Hermione was partway through the main section of the paper when she let out a gasp. 'Ryan, there's a photo of us, in the gossip column.'

The photograph depicted Hermione and Ryan kissing after the match. They were both disheveled from the rain, and Hermione's hands were roving eagerly. The accompanying item read:

_This just in! Hermione Granger, 19, has apparently thrown over longtime beau Ronald Weasley, 19, for Chudley Cannons heartthrob Ryan Bellamy, 22. The two were captured snogging in broad daylight after the Cannons' big win over Appleby, in which the hunky Chaser scored nine goals. The _Prophet_ expresses its sympathy to the many witches in Bellamy's fan club, with the suggestion that a certain ginger-haired Order of Merlin recipient might need consoling._

'Oh, for heaven's sake!' she exclaimed. 'I didn't throw Ron over.'

'Of course not,' said Ryan. 'You broke up with him before we started dating. But the _Prophet_ has no way of knowing that.'

Hermione reddened and said, 'That's not true. Ron broke up with me.'

Ryan's eyes widened. 'Are you serious? What on earth is wrong with him?'

'Nothing's wrong with him. We just weren't suited to each other, and he was the first to realise it. I'll admit it came as a shock, but obviously I'm pleased with how things have turned out.'

'As am I,' he said. 'I suppose I should send him a thank-you card.'

'He'd probably rather you sent a correction to the _Prophet_. I'm sure he'll be livid to be depicted as having been thrown over.'

'I daresay Janet is consoling him well enough.'

'Are they seeing each other?' asked Hermione, surprised.

'Yes, since last weekend, same as us. I'm sorry—I thought you already knew.'

Hermione sighed. 'That's all right. I'm certainly in no position to cast judgment for moving on so quickly.' She had other opinions about Janet but kept them to herself.

After eating they showered—separately. Hermione was tempted to invite him to join her, but she didn't know whether that would remind him too much of his Love Potion experience.

'How will we get to your parents' house?' she asked after they'd dressed.

'Apparition,' he said, 'but there's a system to it. My parents devised it together.'

'That's right, I meant to ask what your mother does for a career.'

'She doesn't strictly have one.'

'Really? That's a surprise. She didn't strike me as a stay-at-home witch, particularly with only one child.'

'Actually, I was a bigger handful than you'd think. In addition to my accidental magic, I was rather energetic. Stereotypical boy, apparently.'

'Yes, but after you started school?'

'She completed a Charms mastery before I was born, and I think she intended to teach, but I'm told she didn't last long at her first job because she didn't get on with the headmistress. And then she had me, and I required all her attention—she couldn't just send me to a day nursery.'

'Yes, my parents were reluctant as well,' said Hermione. 'My mother had to take several years off work to look after me.'

'By the time I started school, I think she'd settled into a rhythm. My father earns a decent salary, and my mother is able to economise in all sorts of ways using magic. She's also very handy—Muggle carpentry, for example—so the house is a bit of a marvel.'

'I'm curious to see it. Shall we go?'

'Yes,' he said, taking her outstretched hand. 'We're going to Apparate into the garden shed, and you'll see what happens from there.'

Ryan turned on his heel, and true to his word they arrived in what appeared to be a largish garden shed. There was a window looking out onto some shrubbery, so it wasn't dark inside.

'See this green flame?' he said, indicating a small flame inside a glass bell. 'That tells us the coast is clear, and that there aren't any Muggles in the house besides my father. If there were someone present, the flame would be red and I'd have to proceed with caution.'

'You're not worried about an accidental fire, with a flame burning out here all the time?' asked Hermione.

'No, it's a magical flame and won't consume anything. I could pour petrol on it and nothing would happen.'

Hermione was fascinated. 'That's amazing. What next?'

He opened the door and led her into the garden. Hermione's eyes widened as she looked around—it was a veritable fairyland, made up primarily of Muggle plants and flowers, but she could see patches of magical plants and herbs tucked discreetly here and there. There was also a large vegetable garden, and it looked like the first tomatoes were beginning to ripen.

'Oh, Ryan, this is marvellous! I'd love to show it to my friend Neville—he's pursuing a mastery in Herbology.'

'I assume you mean Neville Longbottom, one of the heroes of Hogwarts?'

'Yes, and I'm still livid they didn't award him the Order of Merlin. After all he did in the fight against Voldemort and to protect Hogwarts students, he more than earned it.'

'Save your ire for my mother. She enjoys that sort of thing, particularly when the Ministry is at fault.'

'I noticed that yesterday. I suddenly understood why you weren't shocked when I sent Harry a Howler on our first date.'

'Lucinda doesn't bother with Howlers,' he said. 'The problem, to her mind, is that they crumble into ashes afterwards, and she'd rather leave a permanent record. She once tried reverse engineering Howler stationery to see if she could remove that step, but it was arithmantically impossible. Something about conservation of magical energy, as absurd as that sounds.'

'Fantastic,' said Hermione. 'There are probably a million things I'd love to pick her brain about.'

They entered through a sliding glass door into a sort of dining room, though it clearly served other functions as well. There was an upright piano, which was playing jazz music unassisted.

'That's actually rather good,' said Hermione, 'though obviously I'm no expert. But it doesn't have that mechanical sound I associate with player pianos.'

'Definitely not,' said Ryan. 'My father wouldn't have tolerated it. I get my music snobbery from him, although our tastes differ.'

The dining table was large and mostly covered with craft materials, though there was room at one end for several place settings. Hermione noticed a lot of moving photographs on the walls, including Quidditch shots of Ryan, presumably taken at school.

'It's strange seeing you fly wearing colours other than Cannons orange,' she said.

'Yes, Widgington failed to prepare me for that aspect of my professional career. Red and black are tame by comparison.'

'But they look a bit like Gryffindor robes, which I quite like.'

'Oh right, that's the Hogwarts house for the brave and bold, isn't it. Were you surprised not to be placed in the brainiac house? Ravenhurst, I think?'

'Ravenclaw, and yes, I was a bit surprised. But for some reason I wanted to be Sorted into Gryffindor—destiny I suppose—and so that's what happened.'

'Do you suppose it was destiny Harry joined the Cannons, just so you and I could meet?' he asked in a low voice.

She blushed. 'I don't know ... you'd have to ask the Department of Mysteries. Your mother told me about that yesterday, by the way. I'd never previously heard that they assign schools for Muggle-borns.'

'Oh dear, how did you take it? Harry was shocked into silence when I broke the news last week.'

'About the same way, I suspect. I assume you've heard the rumour that Harry was the subject of prophecy.'

He nodded. 'Yes, and it's always seemed fairly plausible, compared to the other rumours about him. Otherwise why would Voldemort try to kill him as a baby?'

'Exactly. I couldn't help wondering if I was ... meant to help him.'

'It stands to reason, as much as anything relating to Divination does, which usually isn't much. Normally it's a load of rubbish, but occasionally it's spot on.'

'Thank you! I actually stormed out of my second term of Divination, never to return. Professor Trelawney—and I'm using the word "professor" loosely—kept predicting Harry's death, which got old after a while. That was the year we thought Sirius Black was coming to kill him, and Trelawney kept seeing a Grim in Harry's future. Turned out it was just Sirius's Animagus form.'

'So she was right after all?' smirked Ryan.

'Right like a broken clock. But why am I grousing about Trelawney when there's a magical house to explore?' She looked at the photographs and asked, 'What happens when a Muggle comes over? You can't just freeze the Quidditch shots, for example.'

'No, but watch this.' He discreetly touched the handle of his wand, which was tucked into a pocket, and muttered an incantation. The piano immediately stopped playing and the cover lowered smoothly over the keys. The photographs stopped moving, and Ryan's Quidditch photos were replaced with pictures of him playing football. And the unmistakably magical craft supplies, including a shimmering skein of demiguise yarn, simply disappeared from view.

'Brilliant!' cried Hermione. 'And you did that all with a single incantation? How is that even possible?'

Before he could answer they heard a shout from the kitchen. 'Ryan, are you fiddling with the wards? I'm trying to brew in here.'

'Sorry, Mum. I was just showing Hermione around.'

They entered the kitchen to find Lucinda standing at the counter and Walter at the table reading the _Guardian_. The kitchen was roomy, with unpretentious wood counters and numerous cabinets and cupboards sized perfectly for the irregular space. Hermione was impressed by the AGA cooker, though it was considerably more weathered than the ones normally appearing in _Ideal Home_ magazine.

'This is Muggle mode,' explained Ryan, opening a large cupboard to reveal food products one might find at an ordinary supermarket. 'And this is wizarding mode,' he said, touching his wand again and mumbling another incantation.

The room contents transfigured, and what had been a somewhat quirky but otherwise normal Muggle kitchen turned into a full Potions laboratory rivalling the one at Hogwarts, only smaller. Two of the burners on the cooker had resized to better accommodate cauldrons, and bowls of prepared ingredients were on the counter where Lucinda was standing.

'Oh no, did we interrupt your brewing?' asked Hermione.

'No, not to worry,' said Lucinda. 'When the wards get altered like that, it automatically casts a Stasis Charm, which means I could come back to it in three days if I needed to. In fact it's still in stasis right now—I'll lift it manually once Ryan's finished showing you around.'

Hermione was awestruck. Ryan opened the cupboard he'd shown her previously, but this time it was filled with a vast array of potions supplies. Hermione read some of the labels and saw a number of surprisingly obscure ingredients. Each label had a neatly written date at the bottom, and nearly all of them were recent.

'Are you a brewer, then?' asked Hermione. 'Ryan told me your mastery is in Charms, but clearly you're more than just a Potions hobbyist.'

'I haven't formally studied brewing beyond what I learnt at Widgington, but I've made a serious hobby of it these last few years.'

'I can see that,' said Hermione. 'A very serious hobby. Do you have a particular goal in mind, or are you experimenting across the board?'

Ryan shot a questioning look at his mother, and she nodded. 'My mother's teaching herself to become a Healer.'

Hermione was quick to grasp the implication. 'You mean without official Healer training?'

'Yes, and the attendant restrictions,' replied Lucinda.

Healer training was offered only through apprenticeships, Hermione knew, and one of the requirements was that the apprentice swear upon their magic never to magically heal a Muggle, except for first aid not surpassing what a paramedic could perform. It would therefore be forbidden to heal a Muggle broken arm any faster than a non-magical physician could.

'Thank you for trusting me,' said Hermione, knowing Lucinda would understand her meaning. As a Ministry employee, Hermione was honour-bound to report violations of the law, particularly where the Statute of Secrecy was concerned.

Lucinda nodded. 'I think you've proven you don't slavishly follow inhumane laws. Obviously I'm not going to violate the Statute of Secrecy, but I can't just sit idle and watch our friends and family suffer needlessly—to say nothing of Walter.'

'How will you get around the Secrecy concern?' asked Hermione, although she knew what the answer would be.

'Memory charms. I abhor them, of course, but in this case they're the lesser of two evils.' She busied herself with some ingredients for a moment before adding, 'People are cured spontaneously all the time—Muggles that is. Medical researchers don't really understand how disease works, otherwise they'd be able to cure things consistently. The worst harm I'm likely to do is create a cluster of spontaneous remissions, which might puzzle a number-crunching epidemiologist somewhere, but that's hardly going to bring the Statute of Secrecy crashing down.'

'What about lifespan?' asked Hermione.

'I figure I can keep Walter around until he's maybe 105, and hopefully in good condition. After that we'll have to see. There's not much research on far we can extend Muggle lifespans using magic, so I suppose he'll be the test case, God willing.'

'I hope you're planning to keep notes, even if you can't publish them.'

'Yes, I intend to. I haven't yet devised a way to release them when the time comes, after Walter and I are both gone of course. We don't want Ryan or anyone else to get in trouble for abetting me. But I'm sure we'll think of something.'

'I'm certain you will,' said Hermione, looking around the kitchen again. 'This really is remarkable. May I ask how you're doing it?'

'It's rather complicated, as I'm sure you can imagine. The incantations you saw Ryan performing are just a trigger, unleashing a series of switches in the wards. They're also triggered if a Muggle other than Walter enters the house. And if we were to invite your parents over, I could override it for them as well.'

'That would be wonderful—I'd love to show this to them. I'm envious of your Potions lab, since there's nowhere I can brew at my parents' house. Fortunately Harry has a lab I can use whenever I like.'

'I'm impressed you can even brew a Hiccoughing Potion with the instruction you received at Hogwarts. I know Severus Snape is a hero, but it's scandalous how poorly he taught anyone but his favourites.'

Ryan said, 'Hermione brewed Polyjuice Potion in her second year.' He turned to her and added, 'In a disused toilet, right?'

'Yes. We were trying to determine who was behind the Basilisk attacks. People were blaming Harry.'

'Oh right,' said Lucinda. 'He's a Parselmouth as well. Unbelievable.'

'Not anymore,' said Hermione. 'The details are confidential, but the short version is that Harry lost the ability when Voldemort died. Now he can't talk to snakes any better than you or I can.'

'That's a shame—I would have loved a pet snake I could talk to,' confessed Lucinda, prompting a chuckle from Walter.

'Of course you would, dear. You could craft an entire crown of them and frighten the neighbours at Hallowe'en.'

'For example,' said Lucinda. 'Ryan, forgive me for not congratulating you on the match yesterday. That was well done.'

'Yes, it was downright entertaining,' said Walter. 'Your mother only grumbled once about wanting a clock.'

'During a three-hour match?' exclaimed Ryan. 'That might be a new record. Did you see the photograph in the _Prophet?_'

'No, not yet,' answered Lucinda. 'Was there a good one?'

'I thought so,' said Ryan, digging for the Prophet underneath the various sections of the Sunday _Guardian_. He opened to the page depicting his Sloth Grip Roll.

'That is good,' said Lucinda with a hint of surprise. 'That belongs in the scrapbook for sure.'

'There's another one as well,' said Ryan. 'Of Hermione and me, in the gossip column.' He flipped to the appropriate page.

Lucinda raised her eyebrows when she saw it. 'That probably explains the owl I received this morning, presumably from someone in the family.' She indicated an unopened envelope on the counter.

Hermione was curious about the letter, but of course it was none of her business. 'Shall I open it?' asked Ryan.

'Suit yourself.'

Ryan opened and scanned the letter. 'It's from Bernard,' he said. 'Wants to have us all to dinner, Hermione included.'

'Bernard can stuff it, as far as I'm concerned,' replied Lucinda. She turned to Hermione and added, 'He's one of the pure-bloods, and he was notably silent during the war. Not a Death Eater, mind you, and probably not even a sympathiser. More of the passively compliant type, which is the worst of all if you think about it. No convictions other than protecting his own hide. He probably would have reported you to the Ministry if he'd seen you when there was a price on your head. Which number Undesirable were you anyway? It was hard to keep straight.'

'I was number two,' said Hermione. 'Mudblood outranks pure-blood.'

'Yes, quite right,' said Lucinda. 'That's a handy mnemonic. If you and Ryan are still together at Christmas, perhaps we can use that photo on our annual letter. You don't have a Chocolate Frog Card, do you?'

'No, but Harry does.'

'You'll have one soon enough,' said Lucinda casually. 'Ryan, when do you need to leave with the car? It's a long drive to London and back.'

'We should probably leave now, actually.'

'Do you need sandwiches for the ride? I was just at Waitrose yesterday after the match, so we're fully stocked.'

'That would be great, thanks,' replied Ryan.

Hermione offered to help but Lucinda waved her away. 'I've made thousands of sandwiches for the boy—a few more won't make a difference. Hula Hoops?'

'Yes, please,' said Ryan, and Hermione had to stifle a grin. Between Lucinda referring to the Cannons' star Chaser as 'the boy' and offering him Hula Hoops, possibly the quintessential Muggle snack, Hermione was thoroughly charmed.

'Hermione, shouldn't you contact Harry about the Invisibility Cloak?' asked Ryan.

'Yes, thanks for reminding me.' She turned to Lucinda and Walter and asked, 'Is it all right if I cast a Patronus in the kitchen?'

'I'm not sure,' said Lucinda. 'Walter, could you consult the etiquette book? I can't remember if Patronuses are more appropriately cast in the kitchen or the drawing room.'

'Go right ahead,' laughed Walter. 'I'll enjoy watching it.'

Hermione used one of her most recent memories with Ryan to cast an unusually bright otter Patronus, which she sent with a message for Harry. Several minutes later, Prongs returned with Harry's reply.

'Of course, I'll leave it in the entrance hall under Padfoot. See you soon, and please thank Ryan and his parents for me,' said Harry's voice.

'What a well-brought up young stag,' said Lucinda. 'Please commend Potter on his manners.'

'I must say, that's even more convincing than seeing him flying over the pitch yesterday,' said Walter. 'That Seeker could have been any black-haired kid, but as far as I know you can't fake a Patronus.'

Lucinda finished packing their lunches, and Hermione was delighted to see her include a half-dozen Hobnobs, wrapped in waxed paper. Ryan was thoroughly adult and manly from Hermione's perspective, and seeing his boyish side tickled her to pieces.

'We're off,' said Ryan. They said their goodbyes and Ryan led Hermione out front to where his parents' Renault was parked.

'Are there any charms on it?' she asked, anticipating the answer.

'Yes, heaps of them. Mostly for safety, of course, but there are some self-driving ones as well. It should be a fairly leisurely drive, except for the last bit when we're navigating London.'

It was a short drive from the village where Ryan's parents lived to Ryan's flat in Cambridge, and they soon loaded the stereo and speakers into the car. Naturally Ryan had a stack of CDs to listen to as they drove.

'I can't get over your parents' house,' said Hermione. 'I assume your mother did all that?'

'Yes, although my father helped more than you might expect. The charms are rather complicated and require a fair bit of logic, so they worked it out together. And as you know, Arithmancy involves a lot of calculations that don't require magic, so he helped with that as well.'

'That's wonderful. I love how collaborative their marriage appears to be.'

'Yes, they've set a high bar.'

They made good time getting to London and managed not to get too lost finding Grimmauld Place. Ryan was unimpressed by the neighbourhood. 'This is the improved version?' he said, and Hermione looked at it with fresh eyes. Admittedly, the heaps of trash were gone, and all but one of the broken windows had been repaired, but it still wasn't particularly nice.

'Sad to say, yes. There literally used to be trash lying around, and a foul odour. It'll be interesting to see whether it continues improving steadily or if it eventually levels off.'

Ryan shook his head. 'Dark magic is simply the worst. How anyone can abide it is beyond me.'

Hermione Disillusioned herself and entered through the front door to collect the Invisibility Cloak. Padfoot promptly began barking, and Harry poked his head up a moment later. 'Do you and Ryan need a hand?' he asked.

'Actually, that might be useful,' replied Hermione. 'Not with the carrying, but we could use another decoy.' The plan was to Disillusion Ryan inside the car, throw the Invisibility Cloak over the boxes containing the stereo components and speakers, and then have Hermione and Harry exit the car in plain sight. They would make a show of chatting in front of the open hatch whilst Ryan carried the boxes into the house. Fortunately it was still drizzling, so there weren't as many people outside as there might otherwise have been.

The plan went off without a hitch, and once everything was inside the three of them gathered to discuss the party. 'Have you received many replies yet?' asked Hermione.

'Yes, I stopped by Gringotts about an hour ago and they gave me a huge pile of them. So far everyone has said yes, except for two of our classmates.'

'Which ones?' asked Hermione.

'Er, Sally-Ann Perks and Lily Moon. I can't even remember them, to be honest.'

'That's because we practically never heard from them after the Sorting. They were both in Hufflepuff and joined at the hip, but they literally never interacted with anyone else. I'm not surprised they turned you down. But everyone else so far has accepted?'

'Yes.'

'That doesn't surprise me either,' she said. 'It's probably the social event of the decade, for people our age anyway.'

Harry shook his head in disbelief. 'It occurs to me this will be my first proper birthday party, without having a war hanging over us or someone recently dead, touch wood.'

'I didn't realise it was your birthday as well,' said Ryan. 'The invitation didn't mention it.'

'Harry doesn't want presents,' explained Hermione. 'But I think it's a lost cause ... your birthday is practically a national holiday.'

'Honestly, I'm just grateful to be alive. Until last year, nearly all my birthdays felt like they might be my last. And the party last year was fairly subdued.'

Ginny and Hermione had insisted on throwing a party for Harry at Grimmauld Place, but the house wasn't entirely clear of Dark magic yet, so the atmosphere was less than cheerful. They'd persuaded George to join them, but he was still grieving heavily and managed to suck a lot of air from the room. And of course Fred's absence still smarted terribly.

'Yes, it was rather subdued,' said Hermione. 'But this year should be great fun, particularly with so many new people.'

'That's my hope,' said Harry.

Hermione looked at her wristwatch. 'Ryan and I should probably head back to Cambridge. Congratulations again on the match—I hope you had a good time celebrating afterwards.'

'I did, thanks. You'll actually meet her at the party,' replied Harry before realising he'd inadvertently connected the dots between 'celebrating' and 'Helena.'

'You said it, I didn't,' said Hermione, laughing. 'But I look forward to meeting her. Is this the witch from the _Prophet_ photograph?'

'Yes, her name is Helena. She's our age and went to a school called West Chipworth.'

'She gets a name and everything?' asked Hermione. 'It sounds serious.'

'I don't think it is serious,' said Harry, 'but I quite like her. She's a lot of fun. Not very fond of publicity, though.'

'I can see why that would be a non-starter,' said Hermione, feeling fortunate that she and Ryan wouldn't have that problem.

'Nice picture in the _Prophet_, by the way,' smirked Harry.

'Oh dear. Did you hear from Ron about it?'

'What, about how you threw him over for Ryan?'

'Exactly. And Ryan knows the full story, so you don't need to dance around anything.'

Harry nodded. 'He'll cope. I'm certain Janet is preparing to shag him in public somewhere to scare off all the circling witches.' He paused and added, 'Er, you knew about him and Janet, right?'

'Yes, Ryan told me. But I'm fine, obviously. Ron was right—we weren't a good match. He was just the first to notice it.'

She and Ryan drove back to Cambridge and returned the car to his parents' house. Hermione would have loved to spend the evening with Ryan again, but she didn't want to put off her parents any longer.

When Hermione returned home, her father was kind enough to pretend she hadn't been gone overnight. 'Hi there, bookmuffin, how are you doing?' he asked.

'Really well, thanks. The Cannons won.'

'Yes, I had a peek at the _Prophet_ this morning. It looks like both Harry and Ryan did a great job.'

'They did,' she beamed. 'And Ryan and I just got back from driving his stereo to Harry's house for the party.'

'In a car? With a boy?' began Daniel, and Emily swatted him.

'Daniel, you promised! Welcome back, Hermione,' said her mother. 'That was quite a photo of Ryan in the paper this morning.'

'Yes, and he scored right afterwards,' she said.

Her parents stared at her, and Hermione realised her mother was referring to the gossip column photo of them kissing, and not the photo of Ryan's Sloth Roll Grip.

'Oh dear,' said Hermione. 'I meant the photo in the sport pages.'

Emily and Daniel burst into hysterics, and once Hermione overcame her mortification she did the same.

'I'll just go upstairs now and pretend I never said that.'

'Yes, carry on,' said Daniel. 'Cheerio.'

Emily followed Hermione upstairs into her room, still smirking. 'Are you doing all right, dear?'

'Oh, Mum, I'm so happy. Ryan's wonderful, and I met his parents and they're wonderful too. His mother is terrifying but in the best possible way, and you and Dad are going to love them.' She didn't mention the part about Lucinda learning to become a Healer, but she'd been thinking about it all afternoon, and how it might affect her own parents.

'I'm glad it's working out so well. I look forward to getting to know Ryan better and meeting his parents. Soon I hope?'

'Yes, I imagine so.'

Her mother returned downstairs, leaving Hermione to contemplate the previous day and a half. Her mind was buzzing with everything she'd seen and learnt, and her body was still vibrating from her night and morning with Ryan. But instead of analysing it, as she might normally have done, she simply allowed all the mental and physical sensations to flow through her without attaching a narrative.

_I'm alive_, she thought, and her heart swelled with joy.


	28. Chapter 28

When Harry arrived at the training facility on Monday morning, Lara was affixing a sign to the cupboard where she stored the healing potions. He was too far away to read the text but he saw a large numeral 2.

'What's this?' he asked, approaching her.

A closer look revealed the legend: _'Days since Harry Potter was on the front page of the _Prophet_.'_

'I'm giving you a free pass for the sports item on Sunday,' she said. 'Even though the word "Potter" was technically on the front page.'

'I assume I don't receive an exemption for when they call me Lord Black?'

'Nice try. No.'

'Does this tie into Suresh's betting pool, by any chance?' asked Harry.

'Yes, directly. The Cannons staff wanted in on it as well.'

'I thought it was just an honour bet.'

'It is,' said Lara. 'Honour is very important to the Cannons organisation.'

'I suspect the streak will end soon—the lords can't keep quiet much longer.'

'No, I don't think they will. They're probably just arguing about whose owl should deliver it.'

'Am I eligible to join the wager?' asked Harry.

'No. You have too much power to throw the outcome.'

'By showing up somewhere in robes you mean? Or telling off the entire wizarding peerage?'

'For example.'

Harry sighed and went to the locker room. 'Good morning,' said Owen. 'Are you ready for Seekers' night out?'

'I can't wait!'

'That's good—I've heard from a few of them and they're dead curious about you, particularly after Saturday's match. There's apparently a pair of Omnioculars making the rounds.'

'Literal or figurative Omnioculars?'

'The literal variety, with recordings of your various feints.'

'Well then, I suppose there will be lots to talk about,' said Harry. 'Speaking of which, how did you and Hermione get on at the Spyglass? I saw you sitting together.'

'Brilliantly. She cares deeply about you, as I'm sure you already know.'

'It's mutual. What do you suppose Tuttle will throw at us today?'

'Stay the course, I'm guessing. Though we're playing Puddlemere on Saturday, and they're in first place.'

'How's their Seeker?'

'Good. Really good. Strong flyer. Probably not quite as good a spotter as you, though. He's a lot like how you were when you started a few weeks ago.'

'And what kind of person is he?'

'Solid bloke. You'll probably meet him tonight. Phil Routledge, Muggle-born. So you needn't take the Mudblood taunts seriously.'

'Good to know.'

They walked out to the benches together, and soon afterwards Tuttle appeared. 'Good work on Saturday, everyone. I hope you all got some rest, because we're going to push it harder than ever this week. We'll be playing in Puddlemere, and until three weeks ago they assumed playing the Cannons would be an easy win. By now they've learnt otherwise, but you can bet they're going to scrutinise the hell out of our last match to figure out how to stop Potter in his tracks. So we need to stay ahead of them.'

'And how do you reckon we'll do that?' asked Darren.

'Stamina.'

Harry heard several of his teammates swallow.

'Fifteen laps. Now.'

Harry started running, but not fast enough to avoid Janet. 'This is all your fault, Snitchbottom.'

'You mean if I hadn't helped devise a winning strategy, we'd still be doing only ten laps?'

'Exactly,' said Janet. 'We had a good life until you showed up. Practice all week, show up for matches, get trounced, get plastered. Repeat.'

'You'll never get your own figurine with that kind of attitude.'

She shook her head. 'And to think, just three weeks ago you were the bespectacled Boy Who Lived who just wanted to get along with everyone. And now you're a robe-wearing, lord-antagonising, trash-talking menace.'

'What's your point?'

'I'm just so proud.'

Harry laughed and ran ahead of her. Fifteen laps wouldn't be a problem—it was a bit more than three miles instead of two, and the pitch was flat.

Saturday night with Helena had been tremendous. She'd been so aroused from the nightclub that she forgot to demand a foot massage, and her makeup was a massive turn-on as well. The false eyelashes didn't last the night, and her attempt to apply them to Harry was a hilarious failure. Later on he had another nightmare, but she wrapped herself around him and they fell asleep soon after.

In the morning they were temporarily dumbstruck by the lack of gossip about Harry in the _Prophet_—Helena had been convinced the lords would have their revenge. They had breakfast in bed again, this time with a sensible amount of flowers, and Helena pretended to cry in disappointment.

_She's brilliant_, thought Harry, and he was having trouble remembering why it was supposed to be just a fling. Admittedly he still didn't know very much about her—he wasn't even certain whether she had siblings, and for some reason he never remembered to ask. It was probably because they were always living in the present moment, whether it was with witty banter, emotional connection, or physical pleasure.

Was it possible to build a relationship on that? And could she overcome her aversion to publicity and be willing to stay with him? Truth be told, he didn't entirely understand her aversion. He'd hated publicity for most of his life, so he could relate in theory, but the hardest part had been when they were lying about him and about Voldemort. People had died because of that. But when the _Prophet_ lied about him now, it didn't have the same effect—he and Helena could laugh about it within minutes.

What was so wrong with being known as Harry Potter's beautiful girlfriend? She'd probably receive some Howlers, but a single visit to Gringotts would put an end to them. And in the meantime they'd have all sorts of fun—nights out together and nights in together. He knew she'd get on with his Hogwarts mates, and he'd enjoyed meeting her friend Rebecca, who was apparently still dating George, so it seemed likely he'd get along with her other friends as well.

All in all, Helena seemed like a perfect fit. He was excited to show her off at the party, if she'd let him. But he got the impression she was going to spend most of the evening with her mate, and just slip upstairs with Harry at the end. Either way, it was still likely to be his best birthday by far.

By the time he finished his laps he wasn't any more tired than usual, but the calisthenics were another story. The trainers were downright brutal, and Harry suspected he'd need a little something from Lara's cabinet. Perhaps he could put Kreacher on the task, although the elf was already busy preparing the house for the party. Or, to be more accurate, for the Hogwarts house-elves he was planning to boss around.

Kreacher had decided he was superior to the Hogwarts elves because he was Harry's sole bonded elf and not merely one in a crowd. Furthermore, he was exceedingly proud of his ability to receive silent orders from his Master, which he insisted was proof he was the most devoted of servants. Harry occasionally caught Kreacher looking longingly at him and then closing his eyes, as if he were waiting for Harry to just pop into his mind and say hi.

So far this hadn't caused a problem, and Harry didn't think he needed to punish Kreacher anytime soon. But he'd also learnt that nothing in his life was predictable, and so he occasionally found himself storing up punishments for a rainy day. For example, _'That upper bookshelf looks awkward ... I wonder if Kreacher would enjoy stuffing himself inside it for a few hours.' _Or, _'I bet nobody's cleaned out that drainpipe in centuries—that should be a real treat.'_

The flying drills were predictably gruelling, with a special emphasis on potential disruptions from Harry. Tuttle hoped to expand their repertoire for Saturday's match, assuming Puddlemere would prepare for everything he'd done against the Arrows.

After showering, the starters all lumbered into town for lunch. Suresh and Gary made noises about needing a pint after their brutal morning, but of course they didn't order anything besides the usual water or soft drinks.

'At this rate we'll all be comatose for your party on Saturday,' grumbled Darren. 'Do you suppose you could hire some extra sofas for everyone to lie down on?'

'Nonsense,' said Ryan. 'It's always like this at the beginning of the week. Tuttle is hard on us, but by Thursday she eases up and we're perfectly relaxed by Saturday.'

'Why are you violating our inviolable right to whinge?' moaned Janet. 'I realise you're extra smug because you were photographed snogging an Order of Merlin recipient, whilst I was discreet enough to snog mine in private, but do you have to torture us with platitudes as well?'

'Ryan's right,' said Gary. 'We'll be fine in a few days. Tuttle's not going to send us into a match completely knackered. Which means we should be fine for Harry's party as well.'

'Have you heard back from people yet?' asked Renée. 'Is everyone you've invited planing to attend?'

'Yes, except for a pair of exceedingly shy classmates from Hogwarts.'

'Are you serious?' asked Suresh. 'How shy would you have to be to skip the party of the century?'

'I believe Harry said, "exceedingly,"' noted Darren.

'Potter, tell me more about these classmates,' said Janet. 'I want to understand what makes them tick.'

'I don't know anything about them, to be honest, They were in Hufflepuff, same as Gary, and they apparently kept to themselves.'

'Who are they?' asked Gary.

'Sally-Ann Perks and Lily Moon.'

Gary shrugged. 'Never heard of them. Which is odd, because I was a Prefect.'

'And apparently you never learnt what "exceedingly" means, particularly where shyness is concerned,' said Darren.

'I think we've beaten this topic to death,' said Suresh. 'But is everyone else coming?'

'Yes, everyone I've heard from so far.'

'The Exceedingly Shy twins could earn some serious gold selling their portkeys on the black market,' said Janet. 'Do you suppose this is just the long con?'

'Are you proposing that they feigned shyness for eight years just in case Voldemort didn't kill me and I would eventually throw a huge party, for profit?'

'That's exactly what I'm proposing, Snitchbottom.'

Suresh looked at Janet and said, 'I'm glad we don't need to worry about how you'll support yourself after your Quidditch career ends. You're quite the hustler.'

'I prefer the term "entrepreneur."'

They perked up again towards the end of lunch and were fairly lively by the time the practice match started. Harry tested the modified feinting strategies, and the Chasers and Beaters did a tolerable job recovering from his attacks. He caught the Snitch relatively early—after only forty-five minutes—which meant they'd all have plenty of time to relax.

'You're forgiven, Potter,' said Janet. 'For now.'

Walking back to the building, Owen provided more details about Seekers' night out. 'This month it's at the Surly Bowtruckle, which is a little more rustic than usual, so you should leave the white robes at home. Nobody drinks much because—let's face it—we're all lightweights. I shudder to imagine what Beaters' night out is like.'

'That is a frightening thought,' said Harry.

'Would you like to go there together?' asked Owen. 'It might take a bit of the pressure off, on both sides.'

'I'd like that, thanks. Shall I meet you at your house or do you want to come to mine?'

'You should come to mine. Joanne is dying to see your house on Saturday, and she'll pepper me with questions if I get to see it first.'

'It's mostly just vast and gloomy. But I've grown weirdly fond of it.'

Harry showered and went home, and after resting on the sofa he decided to indulge Kreacher by requesting dinner silently. He supposed it was good to keep in practice, since it might be useful during the party to communicate discreetly with the elf.

Eight o'clock finally rolled around, and Harry travelled by Floo to Owen's house. He'd dressed casually in Muggle clothing, not wanting to invite future taunting by wearing something too flamboyant.

'Harry, welcome,' shouted Owen. He was carrying two wriggling girls—one under each arm—and they were squealing rather loudly. Harry noticed one of them was wearing glow-in-the-dark Prongs pyjamas. 'We're just getting them into bed, in spite of their best efforts to postpone it. You can wait here and I'll be out in a few minutes.'

'Cheers, take your time,' said Harry. He was alone in the kitchen of what appeared to be a cottage, not unlike the one he always pictured when he imagined Sirius had adopted him as an infant. It was warm and very magical, a bit like the Burrow but far less chaotic. He wondered whether it were possible to imbue Grimmauld Place with a similar warmth without ruining what he liked about it.

One of the kitchen walls had numerous children's drawings Spellotaped to it, and Harry saw evidence of more than one cat. He realised with a start that the house was similar to his parents' house in Godric's Hollow, except that it wasn't half destroyed by Voldemort. If Harry's parents hadn't died, and if he'd had a younger sibling, he was certain that James Potter would have carried them into bed just as Owen was doing.

_This is what normalcy looks like,_ thought Harry. He almost felt like an intruder, and a wave of longing overtook him.

A woman about Owen's age stepped into the kitchen. 'Harry, I'm Joanne—it's good to finally meet you.'

'I'm glad to meet you as well. Sorry to steal Owen from you tonight.'

'Not to worry. He never misses Seekers' night out, and I know he's looking forward to introducing you to everyone.'

'I honestly can't imagine my Cannons career without him. He's been enormously helpful, and I've grown very fond of him as well.'

'He feels the same way about you, Harry. He had no idea what to expect when you signed with the team, and I was nervous on his behalf that first day. But he came home and said you were a good egg, which from Owen is high praise.'

'I'm just grateful to have met him, and to get to work with him all week. He's remarkably good at taking the piss, I might add.'

'So I'm told. Fortunately he's learnt to keep it on the pitch, otherwise we'd need a spare bedroom or even a shed. You don't have a dungeon by any chance?'

'No, it appears the Blacks weren't inclined towards that sort of hospitality, thank Merlin.'

'I have to confess that my school chums and I can't wait to see your house. My friend Fiona's grandmum attended a reception at the Black townhouse back in the forties, and apparently it turned her off the Dark Arts forever.'

'Wow, I'm almost sorry now we removed all the Dark magic from the place. It could have stood as a warning.'

Owen reentered the kitchen and said, 'Joanne, they're ready for their second story. Don't let them convince you I didn't read to them.'

'Thanks for the warning. Nice to meet you, Harry, and have a great time tonight.' She gave Owen a quick kiss and left the room.

'Sorry to keep you waiting like that. I suppose now we'll make a grand entrance, which wasn't exactly my intention.'

'That's all right,' said Harry.

'I should warn you, everyone is going to be scrutinising you, looking for an advantage they can use during a match. They'll be friendly, and it'll be sincere for the most part, but don't reveal any vulnerabilities they don't already know about.'

Harry had a fleeting mental image of the Dursleys, followed by memories of how Cedric and Sirius had died. 'Thanks, that's good to know.'

They stepped through the fireplace one after the other and arrived at the Surly Bowtruckle, which was seedy-looking but fortunately a good deal cleaner than the Hog's Head. There was a collective shout from two round tables that had been pushed together.

'Barrowmaker, I see you've delivered the goods as promised,' said a wizard, whom Harry assumed was one of the Seekers.

'I'm a man of my word, Wainwright.'

'Make yourselves comfortable—we saved you the place of honour,' said Wainwright, pointing out the two cramped seats where the tables met.

Harry and Owen squeezed into their chairs and everyone introduced themselves. There were about eighteen Seekers present—starters and reserves—representing most the teams. All but four were male, and Harry could see that nearly all of them were roughly his height.

'Welcome to the league, Potter. You've certainly made a splash,' said one of the Seekers whose names Harry was struggling to remember. _Selden Puttick? Banchory Bangers?_

'A splash?' said Barnwistle, whom Harry had played on Saturday. 'More like an explosion! My wife asked me to convey some sharp words to you, Potter—you scared her half to death.'

'I'm sorry, that wasn't my intention. I only meant to scare you half to death.'

'Everyone, raise your hand if your coach forced you to watch Omniocular recordings of Potter today,' said one of the Seekers. _Kieran Sheppard? Ballycastle? _Nearly every hand went up. 'What, not you, Wither?'

'No,' said Wither. 'The Wasps have a Pensieve.'

'Aren't we fancy,' said Allie Hobbs, the Harpies Seeker.

'So about those feints, Potter,' said Sheppard. 'Why in Merlin's name didn't they call you on Blatching? You were obviously trying to crash into other players.'

'No I wasn't—I was trying to _almost_ crash into the other players. Not the same thing at all.'

'That's a technicality if I've ever heard one,' said Sheppard. 'Well done.'

'Yes, cheers,' added Wither, raising his glass. 'Your technicality has officially ruined all our lives.'

'Have the Skele-Gro people offered you an endorsement contract yet?' asked Wainwright.

Harry laughed. 'No, but I hear they have their eye on Owen.'

The others laughed. 'Is it true Silver Arrow made you an offer?' asked one of the female Seekers. _Isla Preston ... Kenmare? No, Caerphilly._

'Yes, but I'm not going to accept it.'

One of the Seekers spit out his beer. 'Are you insane? That's the most lucrative sponsorship you can get, bar none.'

Harry looked down at the pint glass someone had handed him. 'I know. But I'd rather not receive that kind of attention.'

'You're on the front page of the _Prophet_ three times a week and you're worried about attention?' exclaimed Puttick.

'Furthermore, you publicly told all the wizarding lords to piss off and you're worried about attention?' added Wither.

Harry sighed. 'I've been accused of attention-seeking since my first day at Hogwarts. Putting my name on a broomstick and appearing on store displays would just add fuel to the fire.'

'I'm sorry to break it to you, Potter,' said Hobbs, 'but everyone already thinks you're an attention seeker. So you might as well just take the Galleons.'

'That's not true,' said another one of the female Seekers. _Sarah something? Pride of Portree?_ 'Other than the lordship letter, Potter doesn't seem to try to get into the newspapers.'

'You're assuming he doesn't tip off reporters,' said another Seeker. _Can't remember his name at all, but he's with the Magpies. _'That was pretty savvy, Potter—giving the _Prophet_ an exclusive about quitting the Ministry to join the Cannons before you'd even spoken to anyone. I assume you picked the team with the worst Seeker and made your move?'

'That's not even remotely true,' said Owen. 'Harry was overheard joking with a mate, and the _Prophet_ ran with it. He hadn't any intention of quitting the Ministry before that.'

'And they just hired you the next day? No trials or anything?' persisted the Magpies Seeker. _Andrew Gilstrap. Merlin, what a tosser!_

'They tested my flying and my ability to catch the Snitch.'

'And how did you feel about this, Barrowmaker?' asked Gilstrap. 'You would have been next in line.'

'No, I haven't started in years, due to my injuries. The Cannons just keep me around in case of dire emergency.'

'I'm glad they did,' said Harry. 'You're the best mentor and practice partner I could have asked for.'

'It's been my pleasure,' said Owen.

'Get a room,' jeered Sheppard. 'But back to the main point ... I can't believe you're turning down Silver Arrow. What the hell is wrong with you?'

'Read between the lines,' said Hobbs. 'Potter inherited a fortune from the Blacks and doesn't need the gold. He's a bloody lord, after all.'

Everyone looked at Harry, who remained silent.

'There's your answer,' she continued. 'Next question?'

'What in Merlin's name possessed you and your mates to break into Gringotts?' asked Wainwright.

'Sorry, that's classified,' said Owen. 'Nice try.'

'We had a good reason, I swear,' said Harry, trying to lighten the mood.

'Apparently, since it triggered the end of the war,' said Wither. 'Did you even sleep between breaking into Gringotts and killing Voldemort the next morning?'

'No, once the chain of events started, there was no stopping it.'

Puttick shook his head slowly and looked at the other Seekers. 'We are well and truly fucked.'

'No argument here,' said Barnwistle. 'Potter ground me into bits on Saturday.'

'Sorry, nothing personal!' said Harry.

'No, the personal bit was that taunt, which I'm going to share with the others as a public service. _"At least I did something during the war besides playing Quidditch for a bunch of Death Eaters,"' _he quoted.

The other Seekers winced, and Sheppard said, 'Ouch!'

'You know, during the war I literally had anxiety dreams about that,' said Puttick. 'That I was playing Quidditch and suddenly Harry Potter would turn up looking ... disappointed.'

'I had that one too,' said Sarah, 'only it also included Hermione Granger.'

'I've had dreams about Granger as well, but they were considerably more enjoyable,' said Wainwright.

'Save it for your next Cannons match,' said Wither. 'That's good taunting material.'

'Forget it,' said Owen. 'I've been taunting Harry mercilessly about Hermione for a fortnight. He's immune.'

'Oi!' protested Harry. 'Whose side are you on?'

'Good point,' said Owen. He turned to the others and said, 'Be sure to call her the M-word. That always sets him off.'

'No, it doesn't,' said Underhill. 'I tried.'

'You'd better not mess with Granger anyway,' said Sheppard. 'She's with Ryan Bellamy now, and he eats Seekers for breakfast.'

'Hermione can take care of herself; trust me on this,' said Harry.

'Why, what did she do to you?' asked Underhill.

'She sent me a Howler Saturday before last. It arrived at an inopportune moment, to say the least.'

'Hats off to Granger,' said Preston, laughing. 'What did you do to deserve that?'

Harry glanced at Owen. 'It was related to the house-elf incident.'

Owen shook his head and said, 'Your funeral, Potter.'

'What? There's nothing they can use against me.'

'They're inventive,' said Owen. 'But fine, go ahead.'

'Thanks to my godfather I have a house-elf, who's gone so far around the twist that he's back where he started. The morning before the Cannons' match against the Falcons, he revealed his masochistic streak and more or less begged me to punish him. So I offered to lock him in a cupboard for several hours, but I forgot to release him until just before the match, so I had to Summon him to the stadium. Hermione got wind of it—without any of the extenuating circumstances—and sent me a Howler for committing house-elf abuse.'

'Mind you,' added Owen, 'this was about thirty seconds after the Lord Black revelation. And about five minutes before the match started.'

Underhill was flabbergasted. 'And then you flew out and immediately wiped the floor with us? Bloody hell, Potter!'

'It would appear that You-Know-Who missed his true calling training Seekers,' said Withert. 'Do you think we could get some Death Eaters out of Azkaban on a work release program, to train up the rest of us?'

'Speak for yourself, Wither,' said Gilstrap.

The conversation continued for a while along these lines, mostly revolving around Harry. Andrew Gilstrap from the Montrose Magpies was the most hostile—Harry would play against him the weekend following the party. Phil Routledge from Puddlemere wasn't present, so Harry wasn't able to get a read on him.

Allie Hobbs from the Holyhead Harpies also rubbed Harry the wrong way. If she'd been friendlier he might asked her about Ginny's first day, but he knew he was too vulnerable on that front, so he kept his mouth shut.

During a lull, Harry decided to change the topic. 'Do your Chasers hassle you about Quidditch scoring rules as much as Owen's and mine do?'

There was a collective groan. 'All the bloody time,' said Puttick. 'As if we had any say in the matter.'

'Do you think we could have a say?' asked Harry. 'Or is it a lost cause?'

Preston looked at him appraisingly. 'Are you really proposing a change? Normally I'd say, "Forget it, impossible," but with Harry Potter on the task, there might be hope.'

'Is your ego really that huge, Potter? You think you could change the rules of a centuries-old sport?' asked Gilstrap.

'No, my ego isn't that huge,' snapped Harry. 'I was thinking if enough of us banded together, and maybe got Seekers from other countries involved, we might be able to make some headway.'

'And who do you know in other countries?' sneered Gilstrap.

'Viktor Krum.'

That got everybody's attention. 'Why would Krum be in favour of it?' asked Sheppard.

'Same reason we all are,' replied Harry. 'Quidditch needs better scoring and—dare I suggest it—a clock. Do you think the fans like it when a match ends after ten minutes?'

'Forget about the fans,' said Preston. 'How do you think the owners like it when the beer vendors have to close up shop so early?'

'But how would that even work?' asked Hobbs. 'Are you suggesting that catching the Snitch wouldn't end the match? What would we do until the clock runs out?'

'Er, good question,' replied Harry. 'Thoughts?'

'Disrupt the other players?' said Wither.

'That's a new skill set for a Seeker, don't you think?' said Preston.

'Not for Potter,' said Barnwistle ruefully.

Owen shook his head. 'No, you can't have Seekers without a Snitch. Release another one.'

'But that would just make the scoring problem worse,' said Wainwright.

'Not if we change what the Snitch is worth,' said Harry. 'Fifty points, say.'

Many of the other Seekers were nodding, but Trent said, 'It needs to be an odd number, to reduce the likelihood of a tie.'

'Forty-nine,' declared Puttick. 'It's seven squared, which makes it magically powerful.'

'I like it,' said Preston. 'How long would the clock run?'

'Football matches are ninety minutes,' said Harry. 'Give or take.'

'What happens if nobody catches the Snitch in ninety minutes?' asked Wainwright.

'Keep going,' said Underhill. 'The fans love a long match. It's just the short ones nobody can stand.'

'I like it,' said Wither. 'That's still a nod to traditional Quidditch. Otherwise all the old fogeys will complain we've ruined the sport—they love swapping stories about eighteen-hour matches.'

'That's because they didn't have to play in them,' grumbled Puttick.

'That could work,' said Owen. 'Harry, do you reckon you could get Krum on board?'

'I haven't seen him in nearly two years. But there's no harm in asking.'

'Are you actually serious?' asked Gilstrap. 'How would you even go about it—send another statement to the _Prophet_?' He cleared his throat pompously and said, '"I, Harry James Potter, hereby request to completely upend the rules of Quidditch because I don't like being responsible for whether or not my team wins. I'd much rather wear Death Eater robes and shag my girlfriend, even though she's ashamed to be seen with me."'

Harry pushed back from the table in anger, but his chair bumped into Owen's. Before Harry could say anything, Owen said, 'Gilstrap, that was uncalled for. You're not on the pitch.'

'Seriously, Andrew,' said Underhill, 'are you really accusing Harry Potter of dressing like a Death Eater? He's earned the right to wear whatever he bloody well likes—he could wear a skull mask and I wouldn't complain.'

'Fine,' said Gilstrap. 'I'll save it for the match. Saturday after next, Potter.'

'I look forward to it,' said Harry, glaring at him.

There was a long and awkward silence until Sheppard said, 'So Potter, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your first Seekers' night out? One being "I'd rather drink Skele-Gro" and ten being "I just killed Voldemort."'

Harry chuckled, and everyone seemed to relax. 'Definitely better than Skele-Gro. Particularly the time I had to regrow every bone in my right arm.'

To Harry's relief, everyone started swapping Skele-Gro stories, and there were no further tense exchanges. Gilstrap was first to leave, and several of the other Seekers apologised on his behalf. 'That was completely out of line,' said Barnwistle. 'Barrowmaker can tell you, there's a vast gulf between how Seekers behave on and off the pitch.'

'I know,' said Harry. 'And believe me, I've heard a lot worse than what Gilstrap said.'

'I don't doubt it,' said Barnwistle. 'You'll come back, then?'

'Of course.'

'Good,' said Preston. 'I'm feeling oddly optimistic about our plan to reform the Quidditch rules. Definitely get in touch with Krum.'

Harry went home with Owen, where they sat at the kitchen table and reviewed the evening.

'You'd better watch out for Gilstrap. I've never played him but he's notorious, as you can well imagine.'

'What's his story?' asked Harry. 'He's not a Death Eater sympathiser, is he?'

'No, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure both his parents are Muggle-born, but don't quote me on it.'

'Was my behaviour all right? My life has been so ... atypical that I'm not even sure I know how to interact normally, particularly with people I've just met.'

'You did fine, overall. Though I can see why Gilstrap was upset by how quickly you were signed to the team and named starter. The rest of us went through trials and then paid our dues in the reserves for a year or more. Whereas you appear to have just got up one morning and said to yourself, "By Merlin, I think I'll play Seeker for the Cannons!"'

'Actually, that's more or less what happened,' said Harry. 'I saw that article in the _Prophet_ and thought, "Why the hell not?"'

Owen chuckled. 'More power to you. Your flying is good enough. And you certainly paid your dues elsewhere.'

'I suppose I did.' Harry looked at the clock and said, 'I should get going. Thanks for bringing me along, and I'll definitely go back. Most of the other Seekers were terrific.'

'You have to go back—you promised to contact Viktor Krum.'

'Good lord, you're right.'

Harry returned home, and as he prepared for bed he reflected on his evening with the Seekers. A thought popped into his mind: _I'm never going to please everyone._

This shouldn't have been a radical concept. He'd been targeted for one thing or another since the day he was born. Furthermore, he'd never been able to please Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon growing up—the highest praise he'd received from them was silence, which meant they couldn't find anything to criticise.

Out of nowhere, Harry thought of Lucius Malfoy. _If I'd wanted his approval, what would I have had to do?_ First he'd have needed to befriend Draco on the Hogwarts Express, even though Draco had just insulted Ron's entire family. Then Harry would have had to allow himself to be Sorted into Slytherin, even though he'd been warned about its bad reputation. He would have had to disavow his own mother, since she was Muggle-born, and probably call Hermione a Mudblood.

In short, he'd have had to reject all his own values and convictions to gain Lucius Malfoy's approval. And in so doing, he'd lose the approval of dozens or even hundreds of others, including Ron, Hermione, Minerva, Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore. So what did it matter if a tosser like Andrew Gilstrap didn't like him, or if Allie Hobbs from the Harpies was convinced he was an attention seeker?

_But it does matter,_ said a small voice inside him, and he had a visceral recollection of being back in the cupboard under the stairs. Harry reflexively expanded into broad awareness, as Owen had taught him, and although it provided relief he also felt a painful longing he couldn't let go of. He remained in this balance for a while, allowing the opposing sensations to uncomfortably coexist.

In the end he just felt tired. He wished Helena were there—not necessarily for sex but just for company—but it was too late to call, and even if it weren't he didn't have her Floo address. The house felt very large and empty, except for Kreacher of course, and Harry thought enviously of Owen's warm and cozy cottage.

He fell asleep, and fortunately no nightmares disturbed him. When he awoke just after seven o'clock he felt rested and a little sore. _Kreacher!_ he called silently.

_Yes, Master!_ came the voice.

_Would you be so kind as to serve the usual breakfast, in my bedroom on the table?_

_Kreacher would be overjoyed, Master. Breakfast for one?_

_Yes, thank you. Dismissed._ Kreacher's presence disappeared from Harry's mind.

He washed and got dressed, and before long his breakfast appeared on the small table, with a modest floral arrangement and the _Prophet_ displayed on a stand. The front headline read, _'Lords Urge Potter to Fulfil Sacred Duty.'_

Harry sighed heavily before reading the article, which appeared to consist only of an open letter:

_We, the undersigned Lords and Ladies of wizarding Britain, feel compelled to respond to our esteemed young peer, Harry Potter. Although Magic itself has granted him the title of Lord Black, we will respect his current request not to be addressed as such._

_We do not pretend to understand the workings of the deep magic at the heart of the Wizengamot, our nation's most august institution, but as its sworn and anointed stewards we urge Potter to reconsider his impetuous rejection of it. For that is what young Potter has unwittingly done—in spurning the trappings of a wizarding lordship, he is denying the noble governing body that serves as magical Britain's very foundation._

_It is with humility that we ask Potter to serve his nation in this highest manner: as a titled officer of the Wizengamot. We trust that Merlin himself guided the unknowable chain of events that elevated a wizard of Potter's surprising provenance to so high a role. _

_We understand that young Potter has secondary demands on his time, but we hope he will not let these activities distract him from his most sacred duty to all Wizardkind._

_Yours in abiding service,_

_Lord Xanthus Fawley_

_Lord Pontius Flint_

_Lady Violetta Greengrass_

_Lady Amortentia Ladue_

_Lord Cyrus MacMillan_

_Lord Ozymandias Selwyn_

_Lord Romulus Wynter_

Harry ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to collect his thoughts. It didn't work. Sighing, he took his wand, called to mind a recent memory featuring Helena, and incanted _'Expecto Patronum.'_

Prongs appeared, and Harry charged him with the message, 'Hermione, sorry to bother you this early, but did you read the _Prophet_? I could use a second brain, yours preferably, as mine doesn't seem to be working. I'm on the third floor. Cheers.' The glowing stag galloped off into nothingness.

About five minutes later Hermione peered through the open bedroom door. 'Are you in here?' she asked.

'Yes, I'm eating breakfast. I hope I didn't take you away from yours—I'm sure Kreacher can provide something if you like.'

Hermione had entered and was looking around. 'I've never actually seen the master bedroom before,' she said. 'Did you choose that bed?'

'No, it came with the house.'

'Merlin, they probably had to build the house around it. Is it comfortable?'

'Yes, very much so, otherwise I would have probably destroyed it with Fiendfyre. Fortunately Bill was able to remove all the Dark magic,' he said. 'Do you want breakfast, then?'

'No, I already ate. And yes, I read the lords' statement. What do you make of it?'

'I hardly know what to think. I get the impression they've insulted me from here to Sunday, but I'd like your opinion before I take offence.'

'I'm afraid I reached the same conclusion,' she said. 'If I were asked to provide an executive summary, I'd say they completely sidestepped the 1707 question, which means it's true and they know it. So instead they responded with a lot of blather about Merlin and Magic itself to make it sound like they're not just a bunch of posturing prats. Furthermore, in an impressive display of sloppy reasoning, they equate lordships with the Wizengamot, which they're depicting as infallible and not a glorified kangaroo court, and they flat out accuse you of rejecting it.'

Hermione had said all this without stopping, so she needed a break before continuing. 'To add a dash of drama, they made an oblique reference to your mother's Blood Status, which they called "surprising provenance," and then they finished things off by sneering at your Quidditch career and suggesting you drop everything and show up at the Wizengamot to get fitted for one of those funny hats.' She paused and added, 'I think that about covers it.'

Harry nodded. 'So would I be overreacting if I inferred that they think I haven't yet served Britain in the highest manner? By defeating Voldemort, for example?'

She looked again at the lords' statement. 'No, you're right. I'm not sure how I missed that.'

'Why do you suppose there's no article accompanying it?'

'I suspect the _Prophet_ is in the pocket of one or more of the lords, which means they can't just tear the statement apart. But they can't figure out how to defend it either, so they're just printing it without commentary.'

'Should I send a reply?' asked Harry.

Hermione shook her head. 'No, you've clearly got the upper hand. People were still talking about your statement yesterday at work, and everyone wanted to know if the bit about 1707 was true. I contrived to spend all day in the archives doing research, and at least a half dozen people came through to consult the same records I did. There was a lot of sniggering, and one elderly wizard actually did a sort of victory dance.'

'Brilliant,' said Harry. 'By the way, did you notice the names of the lords and ladies who signed it?'

'Yes. I wonder how closely related Daphne Greengrass and Ernie MacMillan are to them.'

'And Marcus Flint,' added Harry. 'Was he a Death Eater? I can't remember.'

'Unclear, but he was certainly unpleasant. I think it's likely they also consulted with lords who didn't want to sign their names, or who were asked not to.'

'Death Eater families, you mean?'

'Yes,' replied Hermione. 'I looked up which other families have lordships, and they included Travers, Yaxley, and Rosier. And Malfoy of course.'

'Of course.'

'So I'd say you won—for now at least. Well done!'

'Thanks. As always, I couldn't have done it without you.' He was still eating and said, 'Are you sure I can't offer you something? A scone perhaps?'

She sat down. 'All right, if you insist. May I have this one or do you want to send for Kreacher?'

'Go ahead. I'll just grab another one downstairs—I want to look in on Padfoot before I leave for practice.'

'Do you often take breakfast up here?'

'No, only once before, when I was sore from practice.' She looked at him sceptically and he clarified, 'Once before on my own. I suppose I was just in the mood for it today. It's rather pleasant up here.'

'Yes, I suppose there's marginally more daylight this high up,' she said. 'And the flowers are lovely.'

'They are. I set up an account with a wizarding florist, to stop Kreacher from stealing flowers. There were a few bumps on the road but he finally has the hang of it.'

Hermione smirked. 'Are you going to start wearing a boutonnière with your formal robes? Or offer a corsage to your dates?'

'Very funny,' said Harry. 'Wizards don't really wear flowers with their robes, do they?'

'Historically, yes. I've seen it in some of the portraits. Do you want to bring that back into fashion as well?'

'It's a little tempting—I rather like flowers—but the Seekers would never let me live it down. I met a bunch of them last night, and one of them gave me a hard time about my Death Eater robes.'

'He's just envious. You looked smashing in them.'

'Well, I have to play against him the weekend after next, so I'll probably wait until after that before I start wearing flowers.'

'I look forward to it. George Brummell would approve. Nothing big, mind you. I'm certain you don't want to look like a bridegroom.'

'No, I suppose that's a bit premature,' he said absently.

She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. 'I should get going. I want to do a bit of extra research today, on strategies for dealing with pubescent Veela.'

'Gabrielle? Surely you're immune.'

'Yes, but Ryan and I are dining at Shell Cottage tomorrow night. Do you think he'll have a problem? And please, be honest.'

'Before I saw her on Saturday I would have said no. I don't recall having trouble with Fleur, or even with the Veela at the World Cup. But Fleur was older then, and I was rather more downtrodden.'

'I gather things were different on Saturday?'

'I'm afraid so. I had to consciously think about Helena and internally scream "Fourteen!" a few times in order to get ahold of myself. But it might be easier for Ryan if you're there with him. Perhaps you could maintain physical contact—a foot under the table even.'

'Poor Ryan, I know he'd hate to lose control like that. I'd offer to let him out of dinner, but I suspect he'll want to prove his loyalty.'

'Wish him luck. And definitely don't take it personally if he slips—it was like being under an Imperius Curse.'

'Thanks for the advance warning. I'm off!' she said, heading for the door.

Even after Hermione had gone, Harry felt relief from the sense of loneliness he'd experienced so acutely the night before. He realised in hindsight that he'd eaten breakfast in his bedroom to simulate living in a reasonably-sized flat rather than a vast townhouse. Not that he didn't like Grimmauld Place—he'd grown very fond of its threadbare grandeur and had no desire to live anywhere else. But he looked forward to filling it with people at the weekend, and over the years to come.

_This house hasn't been a proper home in decades_, he thought, thinking of Regulus who only had Kreacher for affection, and Sirius who had no one at all. Harry experienced a flash of a far-off future, when Grimmauld Place would be noisy with children and perhaps a real barking dog, and nobody who visited would call it gloomy.


	29. Chapter 29

'Are you certain?' asked Hermione. 'It's all right to back out.'

'No, I can do this,' said Ryan with conviction.

'Shall we review the protocol one last time?'

He smiled. 'It's not complicated. As needed: shoes off and feet touching under the table, hand on leg if necessary. I love that skirt, by the way,' he said, admiring the miniskirt Hermione had purchased for the occasion. 'You're welcome to wear that anytime you like.'

'Noted. And our safe word?'

'Puffskein. In which case you'll spirit me into another room until I can regain my composure.'

'Yes, and there's a fireplace next to the table, so you can always leave in a hurry.'

Ryan looked fondly at her and started playing with one of her ringlets. 'Hermione, I think you're over-planning this. I really don't anticipate a problem. You'll be right next to me, and I can't imagine letting another witch distract me, let alone a fourteen year-old. I didn't have trouble with the Veela at the World Cup when I was seventeen.'

'They weren't pubescent, and you weren't in a small cottage with them.'

'Fine. I'm doomed. I think my only hope is advance fortification,' he said with a gleam in his eye.

'No, we're at my parents' house, and it's nearly time to leave anyway, assuming you want to walk around first.'

'Yes, it sounds beautiful, and I want to pay my respects to ... Dubby?'

'Dobby,' she said, her expression soft. 'All right, take my hand.' He did, and she turned on her heel.

They were still holding hands when they arrived, and Hermione automatically turned towards Ryan to see his reaction to the view. 'Oh, Hermione, this is breathtaking.' The wind was strong, and it blew Hermione's ringlets all around her head. 'What I wouldn't do right now for a wizarding camera—I'd love a photograph of you as you are right now.'

'My hair is all over the place!'

'That's why it's so wonderful! A still photograph wouldn't do it justice, but a wizarding photograph would capture your hair as it dances. We'll have to bring one next time.'

They stood together for a while and looked out over the ocean. His arm was around her and they didn't speak, listening instead to the roaring waves. Hermione's eyes teared up a little, and she didn't know whether it was from the overwhelming beauty of the moment or just the wind.

He turned to her and said, 'I couldn't possibly have eyes for anyone but you, Hermione.' He bent down and kissed her, and a small part of her registered that this was probably the most romantic moment of her life.

She led him by the hand to the bluff where Dobby was buried, and they stood there in silence. Hermione began crying in earnest, and Ryan put his arm around her again. 'He gave his life for us,' she said. 'He was killed by the same cursed knife that gave me my scars. Harry dug the grave with a shovel and his own two hands, even though he was underfed and we'd only just escaped capture. He used his wand only to carve the tombstone.'

'"Here Lies Dobby, a Free Elf,"' recited Ryan. 'Thank you, Dobby.'

'We spent a month here recovering and, more importantly, planning the Gringotts break-in. It should have felt like a holiday compared to the forest, and I suppose it did. But we were so tired and uncertain how to proceed, except for Harry, who was single-minded to the point of mania. I imagine you see an echo of that person when he flies into you and the other Chasers.'

'I probably do,' said Ryan. 'And yes, it's disconcerting. Even if other Seekers start copying him, I doubt they'll have the same effect Harry does. He has an unflinching quality I've never seen in another flyer. I wouldn't even call it courage, because that implies overcoming fear. It's more like a total lack of fear, based on absolute certainty.'

'Yes, that's it exactly.' She looked at her wristwatch and said, 'We should go inside. Are you ready, or do you need a last-minute booster shot?'

'I'll never say no to that,' he replied, and they kissed once more. 'Remember—whatever happens in there, it's only you I want. You're the one I care about.'

She beamed at him, and with their hands still linked they walked to the cottage and she knocked on the door. Bill ushered them in. 'Welcome, come inside,' he said, and Hermione dropped Ryan's hand to give Bill a quick embrace.

'Thank you for having us. Bill, this is Ryan. Ryan, Bill Weasley.'

The two men shook hands and everyone walked through the entry into the kitchen. Ryan immediately grabbed Hermione's hand again, and Fleur looked up from the table, which she had just finished arranging. 'Hermione,' she said, approaching her, 'you have spent too much time outside in the wind. Your hair, it is a _désastre_.' She kissed Hermione once on either cheek before turning to Ryan. 'You must be Ryan. It is good to meet you.'

Hermione introduced Ryan to her, and she felt him relax, the first challenge complete. 'It's lovely to meet you Mrs Weasley. Thank you for inviting us.'

'Pfft,' she said. 'It is nothing. Gabrielle! _Ils sont arrivés._'

When Gabrielle entered the room, Hermione understood why Fleur had been preparing herself for her younger sister's arrival. Gabrielle was no more beautiful than Fleur, but even Hermione could feel the force of her allure.

'Hermione,' said Gabrielle in somewhat improved English, 'I am glad to see you. Thank you for coming to visit.' She kissed Hermione on each cheek, just as Fleur had done, and then approached Ryan to do the same. Ryan flinched and scooted closer to Hermione with a desperate glance.

'Gabrielle, allow me to introduce my boyfriend Ryan. He plays Chaser for the Chudley Cannons and turns twenty-three next month,' she said in precise tones. 'Ryan, Gabrielle recently turned fourteen and is visiting from France.' She put a particular emphasis on their ages.

When they were seated, Ryan immediately put his hand on Hermione's exposed thigh, and she felt him surreptitiously remove a shoe. She kicked off her sandal and laid her foot atop his, which helped him relax.

'This is a beautiful setting,' he said in his normal voice. 'Hermione and I spent some time outdoors before coming inside. I wish I had a camera to photograph her in the wind.'

'You should borrow ours after dinner,' said Bill. 'The light will be better then, and I'm certain it'll still be windy.'

'Fleur, do you need any help serving?' asked Hermione, but Ryan gripped her leg more tightly and very subtly shook his head.

'No,' said Fleur. 'Bill can help me.'

Soup was served, which Ryan was able to eat one-handed, and conversation flowed smoothly enough. Everyone had questions for Ryan about his family and the Cannons, and they enjoyed a lively discussion comparing Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Widgington.

After Bill cleared the soup bowls, Fleur served _coq au vin_, which unfortunately required two hands to eat. Ryan dropped his napkin, and while he was picking it up he rolled his left trouser leg, allowing greater physical contact with Hermione under the table.

'I am very much looking forward to Harry's party,' said Gabrielle. 'He is much more handsome without his glasses.' This resulted in a long discussion of all things Potter, during which Hermione felt Ryan relax more and more, to the point where he only needed their feet touching.

'You're doing brilliantly,' she whispered as Bill and Fleur removed the plates.

'Thanks. You should wear miniskirts more often.'

'Only if you wear your football shorts as well.'

During dessert, Gabrielle described her earlier visit to Diagon Alley. 'I went to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and met the most horrible portrait. She called me a detestable creature unfit for a wizard, and when I told her I intended to marry Harry Potter she said he will never marry because he is too much a _séducteur_. Is this true?'

Hermione and Ryan both laughed. 'I don't recommend setting your sights on Harry right now,' said Hermione. 'He has a girlfriend, for one thing, and he's too old for you.'

'Pfft, I know that. He can have his other witches until I finish Beauxbatons, and then I will be ready for him.'

'No, Gabrielle,' said Fleur decisively. 'Harry is not for you. You will find a wizard of your own.'

'_C'est pas juste!'_ cried Gabrielle, sounding very much her age. 'He rescued me from the merpeople! It is destiny!'

Ryan was completely at ease by this point, and Hermione got the sense that he was only holding her thigh and rubbing her foot because he wanted to. He offered to help serve dessert, and after dinner he and Hermione cleared the table without incident, even though Gabrielle was still present.

Bill fetched the camera, and everyone went outside for photographs. Ryan was disappointed the wind had died down, but he was nevertheless happy to pose with Hermione in the fading light.

Fleur took Hermione aside before they left and said, 'Your _bel ami_, he is very devoted to you. Nobody has done so well around Gabrielle this week, except for Bill of course.'

'Do you think she'll be all right at the party?'

'No,' said Fleur. 'It is a terrible idea to bring her there, but Bill mentioned it without thinking and now she insists on going. He will bring her for ten minutes and then leave.'

Hermione and Ryan returned to his flat, where she immediately gave him a big hug. 'You were right,' she said. 'I should have believed in you.'

'I'll admit I got hit a few times near the start, but having you pressed up to me was infinitely more appealing. Might I suggest we do that every time we're out together?

'Grope each other, you mean?'

'I was going to phrase it more romantically, but yes.'

'I don't know ... the next time we see each other will be for dinner with all of our parents. My father likes you, but you shouldn't push your luck.'

'Fair enough. Perhaps now would be a better time for groping?'

'Yes, definitely,' she said, smiling.

She had to wait two excruciating days before seeing him again. Quidditch practice on Thursday ran late, which meant Hermione was unable to see him before her meeting with Bill and Minerva to plan their revisions to the Hogwarts wards. They invited Professor Babbling as well, and the Runes master was as appalled as Minerva had been. Together they devised a plan using the Pensieve to walk them through the steps for identifying and removing the interfering wards from the Hogwarts anchor stones.

On Friday night, Hermione stood in front of her parents' fireplace, waiting to leave for dinner with the Bellamys. She knew her parents didn't like Floo travel, which they'd previously used to visit the Burrow, but they'd agreed to it because driving would take too long.

Daniel and Emily entered, and Hermione surprised them each with a big hug. 'Thanks ever so much for doing this. I know you'll get along brilliantly with Walter and Lucinda, and Ryan as well.'

'I'm looking forward to meeting them,' said Daniel. 'It'll be a new experience to talk magic with someone who understands where we're coming from, and who doesn't treat us like we're simple-minded.'

Emily admonished him. 'Minerva McGonagall never treated us that way, and Hermione's friends certainly don't.'

'No, but I'll never forget the time Arthur insisted that aeroplanes were actually designed by wizards out of compassion for Muggles, to reduce travel times. He refused to believe that aerodynamics are what make flight possible, and then he glazed over when I explained to him how a jet engine works.'

'In all fairness, so did I,' said Emily, and she smirked when he glared at her.

Hermione told them the Floo address for Ryan's parents house, and she allowed them to go first in case of problems. When Hermione arrived, her parents both looked slightly green, and Walter was offering them glasses of ginger ale.

'It was ages before Walter finally convinced me that Floo travel was harder for non-magicals,' said Lucinda. 'He had to drag me to an amusement park to prove he could handle even the most disorientating rides without the slightest discomfort. He did better than I did, to be honest.'

'I'm relieved to hear it,' said Daniel. 'Wizards always tell me it's just a matter of getting used to Floo travel, and that I'd get the knack of it soon enough. Emily handles it somewhat better than I do—I'm convinced she's the one Hermione got her magical DNA from.'

'I don't think anyone really understands how Muggle-borns occur,' said Lucinda. 'Mendelian inheritance certainly doesn't explain it.'

Emily turned to her daughter and said, 'Hermione, I'm already impressed—I've never heard a wizard speak so competently about science.' She stood and extended her hand. 'I'm Emily Granger, and clearly you're Lucinda and Walter. It's a pleasure to meet you.'

Greetings were exchanged, and Hermione and Ryan shared a chaste kiss and stood together hand in hand. They were in the lounge, which Hermione had only passed through on her previous visit. The room looked perfectly ordinary, but she suspected the house was still in Muggle mode.

'Now that you're here I can add you to the wards,' said Lucinda. 'That will allow you to see both versions of the house. Just give me a moment.' She performed several incantations and asked Emily and Daniel to press their hands against a smooth, polished stone that had runes carved along the edges.

When she'd finished, Lucinda faced them again and said, 'All right, I'll make the switch now.' She muttered the same incantation Ryan had used, and the lounge transformed before their eyes. The front blinds closed automatically, and the artwork on the walls, which was modern, started moving in interesting ways. Some, but not all, of the framed photographs on the shelves also started moving—Hermione assumed the others were of Ryan's muggle relations. She noticed a picture of Ryan, aged twelve perhaps and sunburnt, with an older couple who looked like Ryan's father, and the same couple appeared in other photographs as well.

The television and stereo remained, but a thin curtain had fallen around them, presumably to shield them from the surrounding magic. A wizarding radio had appeared, and Hermione was certain the room had expanded in size.

Daniel and Emily were clearly amazed. 'You did all of this with just one spell?' asked Daniel.

'She uses a single incantation to trigger it,' said Walter, 'but there's actually a cascade of underlying charms and transfigurations. We worked them out together—obviously there are parts I can't do myself, but the sequencing logic was right up my street.'

'Am I mistaken or is the room larger than before?' asked Emily.

'It's about twenty-five percent larger, yes.'

She turned to Daniel and said, 'We've always needed more closet space. I wonder if we couldn't do something like this in the master bedroom, and also in the front hall closet.'

'What happens to the contents when the room goes back to normal size?' asked Daniel. 'We couldn't very well let your mum open the front closet and discover we're hiding a TARDIS or a gateway to Narnia, though I suppose we've been culturally primed for just that.'

'We've done something similar with our closets,' said Lucinda, 'and I've a method for handling that. I have charmed hangers for the clothes that don't need to be visible at first viewing. I use them to switch between my winter and summer wardrobes, for example.'

'Is that something you could show Hermione how to do?' asked Emily. Hermione was clamping her mouth shut and squeezing Ryan's hand excitedly.

'She was the brains of the outfit, wasn't she?' said Lucinda. 'I should think so.'

'I'd love that,' said Hermione. 'Now that I'm no longer in school I don't get to perform as much advanced magic as I'd like.'

'Yes, it's nothing but day-in-day-out charms and transfigurations once you hit the real world. My mind would have seized up if that's all I'd done since I finished school,' said Lucinda.

Ryan's parents showed Daniel and Emily the kitchen and dining room, and Emily exclaimed over the back garden. 'This is better than Giverny,' she said rapturously, referring to Claude Monet's famous gardens in France.

'Surely you're exaggerating,' said Lucinda. 'Though I'll admit I was inspired by it.'

'There are quite a few of magical plants as well,' said Hermione quietly, not wanting the neighbours to hear.

'Yes, and herbs,' said Walter. 'Lucinda uses them in her potions.'

'The apothecaries charge a fortune,' said Lucinda. 'They're shamelessly taking advantage of how idle most wizards are—can't be bothered to water a few plants.'

'My mother has strong opinions on idleness,' said Ryan. 'She forced me to play every sport she could sign me up for.'

'Don't blame me,' said Lucinda. 'You needed an outlet, otherwise you would have destroyed the house or possibly the entire neighbourhood.' They were back inside and the conversation turned towards accidental magic. 'Ryan was absolutely impossible as a child. Couldn't sit still, and if we tried to make him stay in one place he'd force everything else to run around for him.'

'Heavens!' said Emily. 'How did you manage that with Walter's relations? We had a few incidents with Hermione, but she was considerably more restrained.'

'I'm afraid I had to alter their memories,' said Lucinda. 'It made me sick to do it, but the alternative was just to move away and raise Ryan in a wizarding bubble, which was the last thing we wanted. Walter and I would have liked to have another child, but I couldn't go through it again. We started filling out paperwork to adopt, but it was clear there would be too many enquiries into my past, so we gave it up. Luckily we have nieces and nephews on both sides, and I've made a name for myself as the quirky aunt.'

Hermione looked at a spot on the floor when Lucinda mentioned memory modification. She didn't see whether her parents had glanced at her.

'I don't know whether Hermione's magic played a role in why we didn't have more children,' said Emily. 'It probably did unconsciously, but at the time I told myself I wanted to return to work. We couldn't send her to day nursery, as you can imagine, unless they'd kept the books under lock and key.'

'That wouldn't have stopped her,' said Daniel.

'Did you play sports as well,' asked Lucinda, and Hermione's parents both laughed.

'No, she hadn't the slightest interest,' said Daniel. 'We tried getting her on a horse one summer, thinking she might enjoy something with literary associations and that didn't involve running, but it was an exercise in futility.'

'I like skiing,' said Hermione. 'And I'm not bad at it either.'

'True, but we couldn't exactly take you skiing at the weekends,' said Emily.

'You need to find something you like,' said Lucinda. 'Otherwise you'll be old before your time. Wizards have longer lifespans, but they don't stay young any longer than Muggles do. It's normally just a long, creaky middle age, and then an interminable old age.'

'You're probably right,' said Hermione. 'I climbed a lot of stairs at Hogwarts, but I'm already feeling the lack of it, and it's hardly been a month since I left.'

'I'm certain there's a fortune to be made in wizarding gymnasiums,' said Walter. 'The trick is that someone would have to confiscate wands at the door, otherwise the patrons would charm the barbells weightless and have the bicycles pedal themselves.'

'Wizards are absolutely useless when it comes to exercise,' said Lucinda. 'I'm still not convinced Quidditch is a proper sport.'

'Mother, I can assure you it is. She's been like this my whole life,' he said. 'Admittedly flying relies primarily on core strength, rather than speed and agility like football, but it's not the same as just sitting on a motorcycle.'

They eventually sat at the dining table, which had been fully cleared of books and projects. Dinner was served and smaller conversations formed—Daniel and Walter talked about music, and they stood at one point to interact with the charmed piano. Lucinda and Emily covered a number of topics, but Hermione stopped listening when she overheard Lucinda sharing her blistering opinions about Hogwarts.

'I should probably be terrified of the fallout,' said Hermione to Ryan, 'but I'm just so pleased to see everyone getting along. It was never like this with Ron's parents.'

'I know what you mean. When they met one of my other girlfriends' parents, my father was almost entirely excluded from the conversation. My mother kept trying to bring him into it, but they'd respond only to her.'

'That's awful. You'd think wizards would at least learn basic manners.'

'Yes, you would.'

In a more serious tone, she said, 'Your mother mentioned you once brought home a witch who turned out to have Death Eater sympathies. Do you mind my asking what happened?'

He sighed. 'No, I don't mind. I met her through a former teammate—this was about two years ago, just before the Ministry fell. We'd been dating for a little over a month, and we hadn't really talked politics. I suppose that summer was the calm before the storm. She knew about my father, of course, and she acted like it was no big deal. But I think the reality of it set in when I brought her home. She seemed shocked that my parents were on such equal footing ... I think she expected him to be more of a worshiper than a partner.'

'Oh dear, that sounds awkward.'

'It was. She did the thing where she'd only talk to Mum and not to him, and of course my mother said something about it.'

'Of course she did,' said Hermione fondly.

'Maria—that was her name—asked my mother flat out why she'd risked having a child, though she was diplomatic enough to say she was glad that I'd resulted. Mum challenged her and asked if she thought a person's magical ability was the most important thing about them, and Maria said it was. Mum didn't like that, naturally, and she asked Maria if she thought wizards were superior to Muggles, and Maria said of course they were, wasn't it obvious?'

'How did your father react to all this?' asked Hermione.

'He was less upset than my mother, to be honest. He was accustomed to wizards treating him that way—the only difference was that Maria was being open about it.'

'I suppose she was. What did your mother do next?'

'She asked about politics, and specifically what Maria thought about wizard-Muggle relations.'

'And?'

'She didn't think Muggles should be tortured—I like to think I'm a better judge of character than that—but she didn't object to subjugating them in one way or another. She disagreed with the Statute of Secrecy because it hampered wizards from achieving their full potential.'

'I'm feeling tense just hearing about the conversation. What was it like for you?'

'Excruciating. I felt like I was in Nazi Germany or something. Here was someone I'd been ... intimate with, and it turned out she was practically the enemy. We broke up later that night.'

'Ugh, I'm sorry your Blood Status didn't protect you from that. Mine certainly has.'

'Actually, I don't think it was a question of Blood Status. After dinner Maria tried to argue that I was fine because I was magical. She didn't care that I had a Muggle father, and I don't think she was concerned we'd have a non-magical child, even though we were nowhere near marriage at that point. But she couldn't understand why I didn't consider myself superior to my father.'

Hermione realised she could see Maria's point, which made her a little uncomfortable. 'Wouldn't you at least agree that being magical is an advantage?'

'Of course it's an advantage, just the same as height or strength are advantages. But they don't confer superiority.'

She relaxed and said, 'Yes, well put.'

'I felt bad because she was actually heartbroken, from the appearance of things. But I knew it could never work between us—the illusion had been shattered. And I can't imagine what it would have been like once the war began in earnest just a few weeks later.'

'Did you hear from her again? Do you know which side she took?'

'Ironically her mother was Muggle-born, so she had some difficulties in that arena.'

'Really, someone that close to Muggles was able to hold an opinion like that?'

'I'm afraid so. Apparently she had no contact with her Muggle grandparents or relations.'

Hermione felt uncomfortable again. If she'd married Ron, her children might have run that risk. They'd have known Hermione's parents, of course, but probably none of her other relations.

The dinner conversation broadened again, and Hermione's parents asked Ryan more questions. Hermione was pleased to see how well they got along, and it was clear her parents had a high opinion of him. He talked about his academic ambitions, and how he'd longed to attend university growing up near Cambridge.

'Unfortunately university isn't in the cards, unless I want to take my A levels and all the rest, which doesn't seem like the best use of my time. I've heard of Knockturn Alley operations that will generate fake credentials for you, but I could never go that route. The good news is that I'm fascinated by wizarding topics, so I won't feel constrained in my future studies. I just won't get the particular life experience that university imparts.'

'I suppose not,' said Emily. 'But surely you've had different life experiences, playing for the Cannons and all the rest.'

'Yes, I can't imagine a lot of Cambridge students have played league Quidditch, and I wouldn't trade that for the world.'

'You could have done without playing during the war,' said Lucinda.

Ryan sighed. 'I certainly could have done.' He explained to Hermione and her parents what had happened.

'That's horrible,' said Daniel. 'It reminds me of the prisoner orchestras they had at Nazi concentration camps.'

'It wasn't that bad,' said Ryan. 'None of us were on the chopping block, for one thing.'

'It wasn't that bad?' said Lucinda. 'For all you knew, you were playing for the same people who killed your grandparents.'

Daniel and Emily looked up in horror, and Walter explained. 'A year ago January my parents were murdered, by wizards apparently.'

'Apparently? They left a Dark Mark over the house,' said Lucinda. 'Death Eaters killed them.'

'I'm so sorry,' said Emily. 'That's simply awful.'

'Yes, it was. We had to scramble to protect the rest of Walter's relations. Ryan essentially had a second job at night, setting up protective wards on their houses and so forth, until we could get them into a government protection programme. Muggle government, of course.'

'How did you manage that?' asked Daniel.

'Confunding, False Memory Charms, you name it,' she said, shaking her head in disgust. 'It'll haunt me until my dying day, but what else could I do?'

This time Hermione saw her parents looking at her, but she didn't say anything. 'Yes, we've some history with that as well,' said Emily.

Hermione's eyes shot open—she never imagined her parents would bring this up at dinner.

Emily continued, 'Hermione modified our memories the summer before last and sent us to Australia for safekeeping. It was the only thing she could come up with to keep us safe, and free her up to help Harry.'

'My word,' exclaimed Walter. 'And how long were you there?'

'She collected us last June, so it was nearly eleven months in total.'

'Was it hard to put your lives back together?'

'Not as hard as you'd expect,' said Emily. 'Our house was paid for, thanks to an inheritance from Daniel's parents, so Hermione only needed to keep up the taxes and insurance, which she did from our bank account. And she also modified our business partners' memories, so they wouldn't think we'd just scarpered. It was a harder for my parents, though—Hermione couldn't make them forget they'd ever had a daughter, like she did with us. She just had to make them believe we'd run off, which means we've had some bridges to rebuild.'

Hermione felt sick, hearing everything laid out like that. She appreciated that her mother left out the part where it was nonconsensual, and how she'd lied to them for years.

Lucinda turned to Hermione and said, 'I can only imagine how hard that was for you—for all of you. I wish we'd done something similar to protect Walter's parents, awful as it would have been.'

It may have been wishful thinking, but Hermione thought she saw her parents' expressions soften just a little. She knew they hadn't entirely forgiven her—perhaps this would help.

'I hope you realise,' continued Lucinda, 'how grateful we all are to Hermione, and to Harry Potter of course. Rumour has it there was a prophecy that only Potter could stop Voldemort.' She looked at Hermione, who nodded. 'It's a scandal that none of the adults in his life were any use, and that he had to rely on two classmates. But when I consider the world we'd be living in if they hadn't been there to help him ...' She shook her head.

'We're very proud of Hermione,' said Daniel. 'It was our worst nightmare realised to find out our daughter was basically a child soldier, but when we learnt how resourceful and determined she'd been ... it was humbling, to say the least.'

'I'm just relieved to have her back,' said Emily, a little tearful. 'It's been wonderful to have her living at home again, particularly after all those years at Hogwarts.' Turning towards Hermione and Ryan, she added, 'Don't shack up too quickly, you two!'

'Mum!' cried Hermione, and all the parents laughed.

The rest of the evening continued on a lighter note, and the parents turned a blind eye when Hermione and Ryan disappeared into another room to say goodbye privately. 'Good luck during the match tomorrow,' she said.

'You'll be in the stands watching,' he said. 'That's all the luck I need.'

'Don't let Harry crash into you—I like you in one piece.'

'Not to worry. We practised hard this week and I don't think we'll have as many near misses as last time. Although, to be honest, I was rather proud of my Sloth Grip Roll.'

'It was impressive,' she said admiringly.

After they said goodbye, Hermione returned to the lounge, where her parents were thanking Walter and Lucinda. 'It's been a pleasure,' said Emily. 'And I'm holding you to your word that you'll teach Hermione those closet expansion techniques.'

Hermione and her parents returned home, and she quickly made them ginger tea to settle their stomachs again, using her wand to hasten the process.

'Thanks,' said Daniel, who was next to Emily on the sofa. 'And thanks for introducing us to them so early on. I know you and Ryan only just started dating, but I'm glad you were brave enough to bring us together this soon.'

'Lucinda is nothing like any of the magicals I've met previously, though I can't say I've met very many,' said Emily.

'I've met heaps of magicals,' said Hermione. 'She's definitely unique.'

'That house is a marvel,' said Emily. 'I know you've little use for television, but you and I might have to watch some home improvement shows together to see what we can come up with. It never occurred to me we could get more space without remodelling.'

'Could I have a potions lab, then?' asked Hermione. 'I'm just joking—Harry's lab is fine.'

'You'd increase our resale market, if we ever decide to move. We could list the house with a wizarding estate agent as well as a regular one,' joked Daniel. 'But then we'd get tangled in that rat's nest of a magical economy, which I'd just as soon avoid.'

'So much for increased home equity,' said Emily. 'But I'll settle for closet space, and perhaps a slightly less cramped lounge. I've been coveting one of those enormous armchairs. How much bigger do you think we could make it before people notice something's off?'

'I don't know,' said Hermione, trying to hide her delight. 'Maybe ten percent? We could experiment a bit, and use Dad as the test subject.' Emily and Daniel continued sipping their tea, and Hermione said, 'Thanks for not telling them the whole story about the memory modification.'

Emily nodded. 'It wasn't relevant to the conversation, and I didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable by airing dirty linen. That said, they gave me some perspective on the matter. How dreadful, what happened to Walter's parents.'

'I should have trusted you enough to include you on the decision,' said Hermione.

'I can't say whether that would have helped. I'd never have agreed to let you fight a war and make us forget you'd ever existed. Or willingly abandon my parents like that.'

Hermione sighed. 'Is there anything I can do to help fix things with Nan and Grandpa?'

'Not modify their memories, surely,' said Daniel.

'No,' said Hermione, blushing. 'I meant by visiting, or something similar.'

'What would you even tell them about your life? You can't very well say you're working on diplomacy among magical species, when you ought to be at university.'

'What do you tell them now?' asked Hermione, who had always avoided the topic of her grandparents.

'They don't ask any longer. At their age, they have their share of friends with children and grandchildren you don't ask about.'

Hermione sighed. It was ironic that she'd been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, and yet her grandparents assumed she was one of those kids who'd got hooked on drugs or something. 'I'm so sorry I put you in this position.'

'I appreciate hearing that,' said Emily. 'Really, thank you.'

'Ryan has managed to stay close with his Muggle relations. It's required some dishonesty, but he feels it's better than the alternative.'

'This, you mean?' asked Emily.

Hermione nodded.

Emily was quiet a moment. 'I suspect we can come up with something. I know how disappointed they are, particularly given how promising you were as a little girl. They were so proud of how clever you were. I know they'd be glad to have you back, one way or another.'

'I'd like that. I miss them too. When Ryan told me about his grandparents, I realised I'd lost mine as well, only they're still alive.'

'You have a birthday coming up,' said Daniel. 'Maybe we can get things sorted before then.'

'I hope so ... I'm so sorry.' They made room for her between them on the sofa, and she allowed herself to feel their love and forgiveness.


	30. Chapter 30

_Author's Note:_

_Until now, I've been publishing two chapters a week, but starting today (March 24, 2020) I'm bumping it up to three. We could all use an escape from Mortal Peril right now ..._

_When things settle down (or I run out of completed chapters) I might return to a slower publishing schedule. But for now I have plenty of chapters in the bank, and I also have a contingency plan in case COVID-19 gets me (I'm not particularly high-risk)._

_Stay safe!_

-––—––—––-

Harry was pacing in front of the kitchen fireplace when Ron arrived on Saturday morning. 'Finally,' he cried. 'Where the hell were you?'

'Harry, it's half past seven,' said Ron. 'What's the big deal?'

'I'm a nervous wreck—that's the big deal.'

'Why are you nervous? Janet said practice went great all week.'

'I'm nervous because I'm opening Grimmauld Place to a hundred and fifty people tonight. What the hell was I thinking?'

'Oh right. Happy birthday!'

'Happy for everyone else maybe, but for me it's a bloody nightmare. I can't imagine why I thought this was a good idea. I don't even know what's worse—all the strangers I invited or all our bloody classmates. I invited Blaise Zabini, for Merlin's sake. Zabini!'

'You're the one who wanted to include Slytherins,' said Ron. 'Something about bringing wizards together.'

'That must have been right after my Bludger strike. I can't have been in my right mind. You don't suppose I could cancel the party, do you?'

'You sent out portkeys, mate. There's no cancelling it.'

'But couldn't Gringotts do something? Change the wards? Do you think Bill could restore the Fidelius on the house?'

'Harry, get a grip. The party's going to be brilliant. Everyone's talking about it—if you cancel it now, there's going to be more gossip than if you actually go through with it.'

'Ugh, you're right. Did you see the _Prophet_ this morning?'

'I glanced at it but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. You haven't been on the cover since they printed the lords' response a few days ago.'

'It wasn't on the cover, it was in the gossip column.'

Ron scowled. 'You mean the column that said Hermione threw me over for Bellamy?'

'The very same. There was an item about the party. They called it _"the most anticipated social event of the decade."'_

'Why is that surprising? Everyone's talking about it.'

'I'm not a bloody socialite! And now everyone's going to think I am—it was bad enough with the aristocrat rubbish and the robes. Why the hell did I buy those bloody robes in the first place?'

'You said you liked robes. And they look good.'

'I look like a fucking Death Eater.'

'Mate, you killed Voldemort—nobody's going to mistake you for a Death Eater.'

'I'm certain lots of Death Eaters wanted to kill Voldemort. He kept torturing them, you know. What was wrong with them anyway?'

Ron looked at him and said, 'Do you want me to run out for some cigarettes? I promise not to tell Tuttle—I think you need to take the edge off. Or do you need to send for Helena? It's your birthday after all.'

'Believe me, I thought about it, but I don't have her bloody Floo address. And I can't send Prongs or Kreacher because she hasn't told her parents about me.'

'What, are they Death Eaters or something?'

'Of course they're not Death Eaters! No, she just doesn't want to be hassled with a lot of questions, particularly since we're not serious.'

'All right then, no Helena. And you didn't jump on my cigarette offer. So where does that leave us? Do you need to fire some curses, blow off steam?'

'I can't fire curses in the house—the goblins already altered the wards.'

'Get up on your broomstick then?'

'My broomstick's at the training facility, which is locked. All I have here is my bloody Firebolt Ultra.'

'Oh, poor Harry … he only has a top-of-the-line Firebolt he was given free of charge.'

'It bucks like a bronco. I hate it.'

'What's a bronco?'

'I have no idea, I think it's an American expression. I probably heard it in some crap film of Dudley's.'

'Blimey, now you're talking about the Dursleys—that's always a bad sign. Do you need to bring in Hermione? I don't mind, if it'll help.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'Sorry, I don't know what's got into me. I just feel like I've been on some kind of bender for the last month. Quit my job at the Ministry, didn't even say goodbye. Bloody hell, why didn't I invite the other trainees to the party? I completely forgot. I'm such an arsehole.'

'I'll admit, they were wondering about that,' said Ron.

'Is it too late to invite them? What's another twenty or so people at this point?'

'Where will you put them?'

'The entrance hall? Padfoot's stopped barking finally.'

'Really? The trainer was successful, then?'

'Yes, she did a fantastic job—she worked with him more or less nonstop all week. Merlin knows how many dog treats she went through.'

'I need to see this,' said Ron.

They walked up to the entrance hall, where they found Padfoot sitting obediently on his haunches. He started wagging his tail when he saw them, and it whacked against the sides of the canvas once or twice, but otherwise he was remarkably well contained.

'Now there's an improvement!' said Ron. 'I guess he's intelligent after all.'

Harry smiled and said, 'He certainly is. Good Padfoot ... good boy.' He threw him a treat, which Padfoot caught and chomped happily. After a long moment he said, 'I know he's not Sirius, but it does me a world of good to see him, especially now that he's stopped barking so much.'

'I know you're second-guessing all your recent decisions, but I can't think of a single thing you've done in the last month that Sirius wouldn't approve of.'

'Yes, and he had infallible judgment.'

'Come on—it's not as if you went chasing after Wormtail. You quit a job you didn't like and started flying for the Cannons. I'm pretty sure that's every wizard's dream, particularly now that the Cannons are winning.'

'You're right,' said Harry. He looked around the entrance hall and said, 'Would it be too obnoxious to invite the other Auror trainees this soon before the party? Obviously they'll realise I forgot about them on the first go-round.'

'Are you kidding? They'll be thrilled.'

'I should pop into Gringotts, then. Can you give me their names? I'm not certain I even learnt them all. Merlin, I'm such a prat!'

They found a parchment and Ron wrote down all their names. 'Please, have some breakfast while I'm away ... I've an army of house-elves at present thanks to Minerva. Apparently they all jumped at the opportunity—I think they're bored stiff during the summer holidays. The attic is full to bursting with them.'

'Don't tell Hermione—she'll be furious you haven't given them better accommodations.'

'I tried to give them a couple of the guest rooms but they wouldn't hear of it. Several of them started wailing in misery when I offered.'

'Mental,' said Ron, shaking his head.

Gringotts was nearly deserted, so Harry was able to take care of business quickly. He needed to send the invitations by express owl, which cost more of course, but it hardly mattered. He'd been informed by Darius that his merchandise sales had been astronomical, and the pay statement he received on Friday confirmed it. He'd already earned enough to cover the party and make a serious dent in what he'd paid for his new clothes.

_I don't even recognise my life_, thought Harry as he left Gringotts. _I was supposed to be an Auror. Ginny's birthday is in August—I might have proposed marriage. And yet here I am._

He Apparated home and found Ron in the kitchen, where several house-elves were attending him. Harry had initially been surprised by Kreacher's willingness to delegate, but it turned out the ancient house-elf loved bossing the other elves around. _My domineering, emotionally-needy, masochistic house-elf_, mused Harry. _Doctor Niffler should write a book about him._

'Are you feeling all right about the match, at least?' asked Ron.

'No, but it's just the usual nerves. Practice went fine this week—I caught the Snitch four days out of five.'

'What happened the fifth day?'

'There was nothing to be done about it. The Snitch appeared in the middle of nowhere, and Owen and I spotted it simultaneously. But he was closer.'

'Tough break, mate. Hopefully that won't happen today.'

'Yeah. What do you know about Routledge?' asked Harry, referring to the Puddlemere Seeker.

'He's good—there's a reason they're at the top of the standings. He'll be able to match your flying, no question.'

'That's what Owen said. My best chance is going to be spotting it first.'

They talked Quidditch for the next few hours, and Harry felt his mind settle. He realised in hindsight that he should have expanded into awareness while he was panicking, but for some reason it hadn't crossed his mind. Hopefully he'd remember next time around.

Towards the end of Ron's visit, the house-elves started putting out flowers. 'Blimey, Harry—just how many flowers did you get?'

'Everyone complains about how gloomy the house looks. I thought I'd brighten things up.'

'The flowers do help,' said Ron. 'They're just hard to reconcile with how the house used to be.'

'Like when it had a Horcrux just lying around?'

'Yeah, and the troll leg umbrella stand.'

'It's a shame I don't have it anymore. It might have made a good vase, for something tall like gladioli.'

'Did you actually just say the name of a flower?'

'I like flowers, all right? I was forced to do a lot of gardening every summer.'

'You have hidden depths. Do you suppose the florist will offer you a sponsorship?'

'That would be a Quidditch league first,' said Harry, chuckling.

'Harry Potter, the man who turned down Silver Arrow but happily flogged flowers.'

'The Boy Who Flogged is even worse than the Boy Who Shat,' mused Harry.

'Don't let Lee and George hear about those. They got their radio licence this week—did they tell you?'

'Yes, and I'm scheduled for the inaugural broadcast on Tuesday. They're taking out an advertisement in the _Prophet_ and everything.'

'Watch your mouth, Potter. You could fuck up big time.'

'I know—it's a shame they don't have a seven-second delay button like on Muggle broadcasts.' At Ron's prompting, Harry said, 'It's a button the radio host can press if someone says something inappropriate during a live broadcast. It plays silence instead.'

'Brilliant! You'll have to tell Lee so he can invent one. Something tells me you'll need it.'

'Cheers. All right, time for me to leave. See you after the match.'

Ron wished him luck and departed, and Harry left soon after for the training facility. When he entered the building, there was a banner hanging from the ceiling that said, _'Happy Birthday, Lord Snitchbottom.'_

Harry laughed when he saw it. 'You like it!' exclaimed Lara. 'Janet was convinced you'd hex me.'

'No, she's the only one I hex around here.'

'I am?' said Janet. 'I feel so special. Darius is certain to give me a figurine now.'

'Do you suppose they could charm Harry's figurine to hex yours periodically?' asked Lara.

'That's a brilliant idea! I'll include that in my pitch.'

Everyone wished Harry a happy birthday, and he was in excellent spirits by the time they were up in the air. The flying exercises were just plain fun, and there was lots of laughter during lunch afterwards.

They took a portkey to Puddlemere Stadium, which apparently didn't have a fireplace for visiting teams. 'Are you all right?' asked Owen. 'You look a little green.'

'I forgot how much I hate portkey travel. I can't believe I'm subjecting everyone to it tonight.' Portkeys always reminded him of the night Voldemort returned, when he'd barely escaped to Hogwarts with Cedric's body.

Owen nodded. 'I don't mind portkeys, personally. But I don't share your associations with them.'

'You have a good memory,' said Harry, impressed.

'I've been doing my homework by reading all your press clippings. I even reread your old _Quibbler_ interview with Rita Skeeter. Your rivals are going to start doing the same, looking for vulnerabilities.'

'Bugger, you're right! Do you want to give me a crash course?'

'You mean about how you killed Cedric Diggory?'

'For example,' said Harry, his heart still racing from the portkey.

'Or how Voldemort forced you to bow?'

'That was no big deal. It was the Cruciatus that hurt.'

'I think we can safely assume your rivals won't do that. Not even Gilstrap.'

Harry felt better after changing into his Cannons uniform_. Oh right, this is why I bought all those robes_, he thought with satisfaction.

He returned to the arrival hall for the referee's inspection, and several of his teammates snorted in amusement when he revealed the ring. 'It just never gets old,' said Suresh. 'I keep thinking it can't be as bad as what I'm remembering, but then there it is, worse than ever.' He asked the referee, 'Are you sure there's not Dark magic on the ring, causing it to get a little more hideous every week?'

The referee was clearly trying to keep a straight face. 'No, just identification charms and family magic.'

'But this is the Black family we're talking about,' said Janet. 'Surely it's evil beyond measure.'

'Are you trying to get me kicked out of the match?' asked Harry. 'Besides, I'm trying to rehabilitate the Black family reputation.'

'Good luck with that,' said Darren. 'They're the worst of the worst.'

_Not as bad as the Gaunts,_ thought Harry. 'I know. I just want to turn things around. That was basically Sirius's last request.'

'There's a way you could do it,' said Darren. 'But you're not going to like it. In fact, I probably shouldn't even mention it with a match about to start.'

'Too late,' said Janet. 'Now you have to tell him—otherwise he'll just fly around wondering about it.'

'What is it?'

'You need to change your name,' said Darren.

Harry was stunned. 'To Harry Black you mean?' The words sounded alien to him.

'Or Harry Potter-Black.'

'Ooh, double-barrelled!' said Janet. 'That would go perfectly with the robes. Of course you'd have to start using the title for the full effect.'

They were interrupted by Tuttle, who emerged for her pre-match pep talk. 'Cannons, you've done a fine job this week. We had a winning strategy and we've taken it up a notch. Phil Routledge is going to try to disrupt you like Harry did, but you're more than ready for it. And Potter is going to spot the Snitch before they even know what hit them. So let's show them our winning streak isn't a fluke—this is who the Cannons are now!'

There were huge cheers, and someone shouted, 'Happy birthday, Snitchbottom!' which prompted another roar. They filed together down the corridor and waited for the announcer to welcome them.

One by one they flew out, starting with Ryan, and Harry emerged to loud acclaim as always. He scanned the stadium and saw an equal amount of Cannons orange and Puddlemere navy. _Not bad for an away game,_ he thought, especially considering Puddlemere was leading the league.

There were more hostile banners than he'd seen previously, which he decided to take as a good sign because it meant they saw him as a threat. Some emphasised the lordship angle—_'Quit whinging, Lord Black,'_ said one banner, and another derided him as 'Lord Blatch.' Other banners referenced the photo with Helena: _'Your girlfriend hates you, Potter,'_ said one. _That doesn't even make sense_, he thought. And finally the old favourite: _'Potter Stinks.'_

But the hostile banners were outnumbered by the friendly ones. There were at least a dozen banners wishing him a happy birthday, which he found oddly touching. He noticed a slight uptick in marriage proposals compared with the previous week, which made him wonder what exactly the sign-makers were expecting. He had a mad thought to fly over to one of them, use his wand to amplify his voice, and cry, 'Yes, my love! Yes!' before sweeping them into a Hollywood kiss. It would be even funnier if the sign-maker were a bloke.

There were also numerous banners praising his flying, which pleased him most of all, since he felt he'd earned them. _'Greatest Seeker Ever!'_ declared one orange sign, and another depicted him plowing into three navy-clad players, with the legend _'Knock 'em dead, Potter.'_ And there must have been a couple dozen banners with the emblem Luna had designed, depicting his lightning bolt scar. _'Take that, Voldemort!'_ he thought triumphantly.

The announcer introduced the Puddlemere side, and when Oliver Wood flew out Harry cheered loudly and applauded with his hands over his head. He doubted Oliver would see it, but he'd hear about it later, and Harry wanted to pay tribute to his Gryffindor teammate and captain.

The balls were released, and he began his circling pattern. As always, he expanded deliberately into awareness, and he invited fond memories of Oliver to fill his heart. Then he set his deep intention that the Snitch appear to him without effort and all the rest.

Harry's rival didn't bother him for a long while. Owen theorised that Routledge had skipped Seekers' night out to retain an air of mystery, so Harry wouldn't know what to expect. He met Harry's expectations, however, by feinting first, in an aggressive style similar to his own. Harry followed him as a matter of course, but he wasn't fooled.

He approached Routledge on his next pass around the pitch. 'I'm flattered that you paid tribute like that. But it really wasn't necessary—feel free to use your own strategy instead.'

'Get over yourself, Potter. You're not the first Seeker to feint aggressively.'

'True, but didn't your coach make you watch my recordings? Every other coach in the league did.'

'Wow, Gilstrap was right about you. Talk about an ego!'

Harry flew off, a little flustered. He knew it was just empty taunting—Owen had called Routledge a solid bloke—but Harry was still irritated by Gilstrap's attitude on Monday. Fortunately his vast sense of awareness engulfed him, and his intentions renewed themselves automatically.

He and Routledge essentially took turns feinting. The other Seeker was really a good flyer—Harry had half a mind to invite him out some time just to practice. During one of their taunting exchanges Harry surprised Routledge by saying, 'You're a hell of a flyer. It's nice to meet another Seeker who isn't afraid of their own shadow.'

'Thanks, you're pretty good yourself,' said Routledge. 'For a self-satisfied twat.'

'Cheers!' laughed Harry before resuming his circling. The score was closer than in his two previous matches. The Puddlemere Chasers were better prepared for his feints than the Arrows had been, and Routledge was keeping the Cannons Chasers in check. Furthermore, Oliver had matured into a first-rate Keeper, even by league standards. Harry didn't feel disloyal to the Cannons for thinking this way—everyone knew the outcome depended almost exclusively on whoever caught the Snitch.

The Beaters were more evenly matched as well, and Harry had to dodge Bludgers more than usual. It wasn't difficult, though, and he always managed to reset his intention to let the Snitch appear to him.

'Have you selected the robes you're wearing to your party tonight?' asked Routledge. 'Or is your valet deciding for you? Obviously your mum's no help.'

'No, and your mum wasn't helpful either. She said I looked great in all of them.'

'Nice one,' said Routledge. 'Tell Barrowmaker he's trained you well.'

'Wood trained me first, you know. Back at Hogwarts.'

'Oh right, he's a pretentious tosser as well.'

'Give it up, Routledge,' said Harry before flying away and expanding his awareness again.

After more circling he finally spotted the Snitch, high up and far from the other players. But Routledge was much closer to it—if Harry zoomed towards it he'd never catch it first. _Don't spot it_, he thought desperately, until inspiration struck.

He raced towards Routledge but angled away from the Snitch, leading his rival in the wrong direction. Harry willed the Snitch to remain visible, which fortunately it did, and once he was close enough he went for it.

'Potter's got the Snitch!' cried the announcer. 'Cannons win 240-90!'

Harry's teammates blazed towards him. 'Happy fucking birthday, Snitchbottom!' cried Darren, throwing an arm around him.

'Shag all the birds you want tonight,' cried Janet. 'You earned it!'

The Cannons circled the field in triumph, and Harry was prompted once again to take a victory lap. Furthermore, the entire stadium started singing 'Happy Birthday,' which moved him to tears. He wished he could have sent the feeling back in time, particularly to the years when his birthday had been ignored.

He and the other players landed, and Owen wrapped him in his now-customary hug. 'Nice job on that final feint,' he said. 'I assume you spotted the Snitch earlier.'

'Yes, I was terrified he'd see it first.'

'Perfect strategy, well done'

Tuttle and Darius congratulated him, but then Harry was pulled into a hug by Oliver Wood. 'Congratulations, Harry! There's no one I'd rather lose to.'

'Thanks, Oliver—there's no one I'd rather beat,' he replied, and they both laughed.

'I tried to requisition some Dementors, but the Ministry wouldn't cooperate.'

The two sides congratulated each other, and Routledge greeted Harry warmly. 'I'm sorry I lost, but you earned it. Happy birthday, Potter, and see you next month with the Seekers.'

Harry lowered his voice and said, 'Actually, do you want to come to the party tonight? The house will be packed but I'm sure one more guest won't make a difference. Or two, if you have a date.'

'Are you serious? I'd love to come! Just me, thanks.'

'It's too late to send you a portkey, but I'll just add you to the Floo wards. The address is "Grimmauld Place," and no, I didn't name it. The party starts at eight.'

'Fantastic, I'll be there.'

Harry and Oliver resumed their conversation, and when the reporters took the field they made a point of posing for photographs together. 'We'll have to send one to McGonagall,' said Oliver.

'So she can wave it in front of Snape's portrait, you mean? Good idea. But hang around after the reporters ... McGonagall's here today and she'll come down to the pitch.'

Sure enough, Minerva found them after the reporters had gone. 'I couldn't be prouder than I am right now,' she said. 'Two Gryffindors in the same match—it's a shame you weren't on the same side.'

George and Ron found them as well, and they reminisced for a while about Hogwarts matches. 'Quidditch must be so boring when no one's trying to kill you,' said Oliver.

'I know, it really takes away a lot of the challenge. Fortunately there's taunting to pick up the slack.'

'Yikes, you've got to be the biggest target out there. I'm glad Routledge didn't ask me for extra ammunition.'

Harry eventually found his way to the locker room, and Tuttle gave her notes as always. 'Until Potter turned up, Routledge was probably the best Seeker in the league as far as flying is concerned, so the disruptions will get easier from now on. I'm disappointed the Chasers didn't connect more, but at least you stayed close. Nice work, Cannons—I promise to rip you to shreds on Monday.'

'She's so thoughtful,' said Janet. 'I'm glad we have something to look forward to.'

Everyone went to the Spyglass, including Ryan and Hermione, and the fans surprised Harry with an enormous Snitch-decorated birthday cake. He wished Helena had been there to celebrate, and he relished the idea of feeding her cake and then kissing her afterwards, but he supposed he'd have to wait until after the party.

He eventually returned home and took an hour's rest before changing into his charcoal robes with the green trim and receiving his dinner guests. He'd invited a handful of friends to dine prior to the party—Merlin knew he had enough house-elves to serve them.

Neville and Hannah were first to arrive. The young men exchanged birthday wishes, and once again Harry recalled the fateful words: _Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. _To Harry's knowledge, Neville remained ignorant of how close he'd come to being the Chosen One. Everyone knew Harry was the subject of prophecy, but the details were classified and Harry hoped they'd remain that way.

Luna, Hermione, and Ryan arrived next, and they enjoyed a relaxed dinner in the kitchen. Kreacher didn't offer to serve them in the dining room, since the house-elves had already piled the table with starters and pastries, and Harry had trained him to no longer propose serving meals in the master bedroom.

After eating, everyone went upstairs to greet Padfoot, who had somehow acquired a set of Wizengamot robes, which he wore in a most dignified manner. 'He even has one of those funny hats!' exclaimed Hermione.

'Sirius was a lord, after all,' said Harry. 'Wearing the hat was his sacred duty.'

Hermione smiled mischievously, and without saying anything she conjured a small brass plaque at the bottom of the painting, which she neatly inscribed, 'Padfoot, Animagus form of Lord Sirius Orion Black, 1959-1996.'

'Take that, Sirius!' cried Harry. 'Can you put a Permanent Sticking Charm on it? He deserves it after saddling me with the bloody title.'

'I'll leave it non-permanent for now. It's best not to do these things on a whim.'

Ryan and Hermione went up to the roof to set up the stereo, and Hermione scurried downstairs soon after with a report. 'It works! Ryan's just testing the levels and arranging the speakers, but we'll have good music and dancing. Well done, goblins!'

'Good music?' asked Hannah. 'Like the Weird Sisters?'

'Yes, I'm quite fond of them,' said Neville.

Hermione took them aside, and Harry saw her straighten as she always did when launching into an explanation. Luna, meanwhile, walked through the house admiring all the flowers. 'They're beautiful, Harry. It was very thoughtful to make the house more cheerful for those who aren't accustomed to it.'

'Thanks, Luna. Everyone tells me how gloomy the house is—I wanted to counteract it a bit.'

'I particularly like the lilies of the valley,' she said. 'Did you choose them in honour of your mother?'

'No, but I should have done.'

'May I make you a boutonnière? It's your birthday after all, and she deserves most of the credit. Your father's contribution was minimal by comparison.'

Harry smiled and said, 'Cheers, that would be lovely.'

She used her wand to fashion a tiny boutonnière, featuring a single sprig of flowers and a few bits of greenery no larger than a blade of grass. She slid it into his lapel and said, 'The greenery matches the trim of your robes, and your eyes.'

He walked to the mirror above the fireplace and admired Luna's handiwork. Even though he knew the flowers were a little outré, as the _Prophet_ had described his white robes, he liked the effect and resolved to start a trend—or to wear them even if nobody else did.

When Hermione returned she noticed them immediately. 'Oh, bravo! No one will mistake you for a bridegroom—you look like an absolute scoundrel. It matches your eyes and everything.'

'Cheers. I'd intended to wait until after the Magpies match, for fear of taunting, but Luna made it to honour my mother. Lilies, you know.'

'That's beautiful. I'm so happy for you. You deserve an absolutely perfect birthday.'

'Thank you,' he said sincerely. 'It's already been tremendous ... I thought my heart would burst this afternoon in the stadium when they sang to me. It made up for all the awful birthdays before.'

'Yes,' she said knowingly, even though he'd never fully revealed how bad things had been with the Dursleys. She knew the broad outlines, of course, but he was certain she'd be shocked by the unabridged version. But fortunately his childhood moved farther into the past with each successive year, and his future was brighter than he'd ever imagined.


	31. Chapter 31

It was a quarter to eight and Harry was getting nervous again, but unlike that morning he had plenty of friends at hand to distract him. He wished Helena had been willing to arrive early, but she wanted to keep a low profile and show up when everyone else did.

'I've never had nearly this many guests over at once. Do you think they'll all arrive at eight o'clock sharp?'

'I suppose they could,' said Hermione. 'You sent out passphrase portkeys, right?'

'Yes. The goblins have a system for randomising the arrivals, so people won't land on top of one another, but it means the house could go from empty to full within about fifteen seconds.'

'That should be interesting,' said Hannah. 'Are you planning to greet everyone personally?'

'Ideally yes, but I don't know how to do it systematically. Shall I just stand in one place for a while?'

Hermione nodded. 'Somewhere with good traffic flow, like the drawing room.'

'At least you'll have the tapestry as a conversation piece,' said Hannah.

'It's ironic you didn't invite Draco Malfoy, considering he's actually on the tapestry,' said Hermione.

'Unlike me, you mean?'

'Yes, though I suspect that will change when we repair it.'

'Have you found a way to fix it?' asked Neville.

'Not yet. I couldn't find anything in the Ministry library,' said Hermione, 'so I'm waiting until the Hogwarts wards get straightened out so I can consult the library there. I'm certain there are books on repairing magical fabrics.'

Ryan said, 'You know, my mum has books on that, or she might even know the charms off the top of her head. She went through a textiles phase a while back.'

'Of course she did,' said Hermione, beaming at him.

Harry consulted his pocket watch. 'I should go upstairs. Feel free to join me, or to carve out your own territory.'

'I'll need to head to the roof to start the music at eight,' said Ryan. 'But if I can get away I'll bring my friends round to meet you.'

'That's great, I'm looking forward to it.'

They went upstairs, pausing in the dining room to look at everything the house-elves had prepared. The long table was veritably groaning with starters and sweets, and the boxes of Chocolate Frogs had been arranged in a large pyramid.

'I can't imagine anyone will choose a Chocolate Frog over the other sweets and pastries,' said Hannah.

'Not necessarily,' said Ryan. 'We've all been preconditioned to want them, in the hopes we'll find that one card we still need.'

'You're right,' said Harry. 'I think Ron is still looking for Agrippa.'

'How are you handling drinks?' asked Neville.

'The house-elves will serve Butterbeer and the usual beverages, including pumpkin juice for the Hogwarts contingent. As for alcohol, I had Kreacher get wine and beer. No hard liquor though.'

'Good thinking,' said Ryan. 'A certain percentage of people will get hammered anyway, but you needn't make it too easy.'

They went up another flight to the drawing room and got situated. Harry decided to stand—he was afraid sitting would make it look like he was holding court.

Hermione looked at her wristwatch and said, 'Thirty seconds.' Everyone looked at each other nervously.

Luna, who had been silent for a while, suddenly said, 'Harry, thank you again for throwing the party. No matter what happens tonight—and in the aftermath—please always be happy you did it. You're changing the trajectory of wizarding Britain.'

Her statement was received with a general furrowing of brows. 'That was a bit ominous,' said Neville, before guests began to appear in all directions.

There was a fair amount of stumbling, and several people fell down, but it was clear everyone was excited to be there. Harry saw numerous Hogwarts classmates, and several of his teammates as well.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was the first to greet him. 'Harry! Wonderful to see you,' he exclaimed, with a vigorous handshake.

'Justin, hello! I'm glad you could make it.'

'Wouldn't miss it for the world! Brilliant idea, hosting a party like this. I heard about the Hogwarts wards, of course—how shocking that we never learnt about the other schools before this. I'll be very curious to hear how they compare.'

Justin looked around and added, 'So this is the Black family townhouse. And you're Lord Black, unbelievably. Well done on that letter to the _Prophet_—you really schooled those pure-bloods. Bollocks indeed!'

'I'm surprised I didn't get more blowback,' said Harry. 'I was expecting all the pure-bloods to come after me with pitchforks, but it turns out only the lords themselves took offence.'

'Marvellous,' said Justin. He pulled a long velvet bag from his robes and handed it to Harry. 'And happy birthday! I stopped by Ogden's shop in Diagon Alley—this is his special reserve Firewhisky. I hope you'll enjoy it.'

'Cheers, that was very thoughtful,' said Harry. _Oh hell, did people really bring gifts?_

Neville, Hannah, and Hermione had kindly remained with Harry and acted as a sort of receiving line, which kept the traffic moving. Ryan was attending to the music, and Luna had drifted off somewhere.

The room was packed with people waiting to talk to him. Harry felt overwhelmed—he hadn't been this flooded with well-wishers since his Order of Merlin ceremony. It was mostly people he'd known at Hogwarts, an alarming percentage of whom brought presents—usually Firewhisky. But there were strangers as well, and Harry made a point of talking with them a bit longer.

He was pleased to see his teammate Lyle arrive with a friend. 'Harry, this is my mate Connor,' he said, introducing the faintly scarred wizard.

'It's good to meet you,' said Harry warmly, extending his hand to Connor.

'Likewise, and thanks for having me here. I really appreciate it—I wish more wizards were as understanding.'

'I do too. If you don't mind my asking, do you feel the attitude towards lycanthropy has improved since the war?'

'It's better than it was, particularly with people like Dolores Umbridge out of the picture. But wizards are slow to change their opinions, which means that even though the laws preventing werewolves from being hired are gone, a lot of employers still don't want us.'

'That's a real shame. Remus—my father's close friend—had a lot of trouble finding work as well.'

'There's a silver lining at least,' said Connor. 'Because there are so many new werewolves, we're much better organised and less resigned to the status quo than the previous generation. There's a movement even—it gives me a real hope for the future.'

'Is there any way I could help? I certainly feel strongly about the matter.'

'Would you really? That would be a tremendous boost.'

'Yes, definitely. Owl me in care of the Cannons and we'll find a time to talk.'

The flood of guests continued, and Harry was happy to see Cho Chang, who gave him a big hug. 'Harry, congratulations! Three wins in a row, though I can't say I'm surprised. I never managed to defeat you myself—Cedric was the only one to do it.'

'I suppose so,' he said, hoping she wasn't going to launch into reminiscences about Cedric Diggory.

'But you ... you've turned into quite the heartthrob! You always had a bit of a following at Hogwarts—more than a bit, really—but now you're bigger than Lockhart.'

'Lockhart! Are you deliberately trying to insult me?'

She laughed. 'I just wanted to see if I could get a rise out of you. But seriously, between the robes and no longer wearing eyeglasses, you're looking exceptionally fit. And I can't imagine any other wizard pulling off flowers so perfectly.'

_Is she flirting?_ he wondered. _Or is this yet another round of Cho Chang's patented mixed signals?_

'Cheers. You're looking well yourself.'

'Thanks. Is your "ravishing, unnamed companion" here tonight?'

'In theory, but I haven't seen her yet. I've been trapped here since eight o'clock. Fortunately I'm not hungry, but at least I'm covered if I get thirsty,' he said, pulling back the curtain that was concealing the seven bottles of Firewhisky he'd received so far.

'Good lord, don't they know anything about Seekers?'

'Exactly! If I were to bring two bottles to the next Seekers' night out, it would be enough to put us all under the table.'

'Oh, you've probably met all the others as well! Have you met Carl Wainwright, from the Tornados?' she asked, blushing a little.

'Yes, on Monday. Nice bloke.'

'He's not here, is he?'

'No, but I invited Phil Routledge, from Puddlemere.'

'Was that before or after you defeated him this afternoon?'

'After, but he's a great flyer, and we got on too well to taunt each other in earnest.'

'Yes, I've heard taunting plays a big role in league Quidditch.'

'You have no idea,' he replied. 'Oh dear, there's a backup forming—I should probably talk to someone else.'

'It's wonderful to see you, Harry, and I'm so glad you're doing well. No one deserves it more than you do.'

'Thanks,' he said sincerely. 'I appreciate it.'

He was approached next by a witch who looked vaguely familiar but whose name he couldn't recall. 'I'm Sally-Ann Perks,' she said. 'Thank you for inviting me.'

_So this is the exceedingly shy Sally-Ann,_ he thought. 'What a nice surprise, I'm glad you could make it after all. Is Lily here with you?'

'No, but it's kind of you to ask. In fact, I see you're wearing lilies,' she said, indicating his boutonnière.

'Yes, a friend made it for me, in honour of my mother.'

'If that isn't the sweetest thing I've ever heard,' she said. 'Was it your girlfriend who made it?'

'No, Luna Lovegood, from Ravenclaw the year after us.'

'Is your girlfriend here then? The one you were photographed with?'

_Did Sally-Ann get into the Firewhisky?_ he wondered. She didn't seem at all shy, in spite of her reputation. 'I believe she is, but I haven't seen her yet.'

'I hope I'll get to meet her. Everyone's very curious about who she is. How long have you been together?'

_All right, this is getting weird._ 'A little while now.'

'Is that why you and Ginny Weasley broke up?'

'Er, that's a rather personal question. I should probably talk to some of the other guests. Thank you for coming, and I hope you have a nice time.'

'I'm certain I will. And happy birthday, Harry.' She handed him a bottle of Firewhisky.

'Thank you, that was very thoughtful.'

'You won't have any?'

'Not right now, but thanks.' He saw Helena at the door but willed her not to approach too quickly. Sally-Ann had a bit of a stalker vibe, and he suspected he should keep them apart. Fortunately he recognised the next person.

'Nott,' he said, extending his hand. 'I'm glad you could make it.'

Theodore Nott shook his hand warmly. 'Thanks for inviting me. I admit I was surprised, but pleasantly so. I'm impressed you were able to overlook my family history,' he said, referring to his Death Eater father.

'Neville spoke well of you. He said you were a voice of restraint amongst the Slytherins during seventh year.'

'I'm sorry that's all I was,' he said. 'I didn't participate in the final battle, you know.'

'Perhaps not, but you're still the only person I know with a Death Eater father who didn't take the Mark.'

'Yes, that was a bone of contention, to say the least. Apparently he changed his will, bequeathing the title and estate to my cousin, but we won't know until he dies. I'm told it won't be long.'

Harry wasn't certain how to reply. Nott's father was elderly and in Azkaban.

'The good news is that you've rendered wizarding lordships completely worthless,' continued Nott cheerfully, 'and half of the family assets were confiscated. So I haven't lost as much as you'd think.'

'That's a positive way to look at it,' said Harry. 'What are you doing with yourself nowadays?'

'I've some relations on my mother's side who aren't quite as tarnished, and they've taken me under their wing. I'm an apprentice at their apothecary, and I'm hoping to achieve Mastery within a few years. It's not exactly what I was brought up to do, but it's an honest living and I'm grateful for it. And it certainly beats Azkaban or house arrest, which is where I'd be if I'd stayed on my assigned path.'

'Are you in contact with Malfoy?' asked Harry. 'Draco, that is?'

'You mean your new cousin?' he said dryly, glancing at Draco's spot on the tapestry. 'Yes, I drop in regularly. He's crawling the walls, of course. The highlight of his existence used to be following the Quidditch league, but you've made that a bit more fraught. Congratulations, by the way—three for three is impressive on its own, but with the Cannons it's a bloody miracle. Why did you pick them anyway?'

'To be honest, I said it as a joke to George Weasley, and an eavesdropper told the _Prophet, _who ran with it.'

'So it really was an accident? Draco was convinced you leaked it on purpose, to grease the wheels.'

'No, it really was an accident. I'd never even considered quitting the Ministry and playing league Quidditch until I read the headline announcing I'd already done it.'

Nott shook his head in amazement. 'I'm growing convinced you defeated the Dark Lord by wielding sheer improbability. I think that's your real hidden weapon.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'You may be right. I can't say I've a better explanation.'

'I should let you go,' said Nott. 'I'm glad we had a chance to speak, Potter, and I wish you the best.'

'I'm glad as well, and please call me Harry. I hope we'll see each other again.'

'I'd like that, and call me Theo. Owl me sometime, we can meet for a drink.'

They shook hands, and Harry found himself smiling as Theo left. But his expression changed when the next guest appeared.

'Harry,' purred Romilda Vane. 'Happy birthday.' She pulled him into a rather handsy embrace and added, 'I just love your robes. And those flowers you're wearing are simply delicious.'

'Er, Romilda. What brings you here?' _In other words, who the hell brought you?_

'I came with Parvati—my invitation was lost somehow and the goblins were no help at all. But it's wonderful to see you again.' She affected sympathy and said, 'How are you doing? I was so sorry to hear about you and Ginny splitting up—you were such an ideal couple. But I'm glad to see you're enjoying yourself. We're far too young to settle down, don't you think? In my opinion it's not healthy to have only one partner your entire life.'

She put her hand on his bicep and said, 'And Quidditch obviously suits you. I always used to say you should go professional, but everyone said it was your dream to be an Auror. But I suppose I knew best.'

Harry felt trapped—if only he could summon Helena silently, as he could with Kreacher. He tried desperately to catch her eye.

'I hope you have a nice time tonight,' he said. 'There's music and dancing on the rooftop—you should go have a look.'

'Yes, I was up there already and met your teammate Ryan. I can't believe he and Hermione are together! But then she always had a thing for Quidditch stars ... I'm surprised she never made a move on you. But I suppose she's rather bookish, and you prefer someone a bit more earthy.'

_Helena, rescue me! _he thought wildly, but she appeared deep in conversation with another young witch, presumably her friend.

Salvation appeared in a different form. 'Daphne,' he exclaimed with excessive familiarity. 'I'm so glad you could make it.'

Daphne Greengrass looked at him appraisingly. 'I wouldn't have missed it, Harry. How are you?' She smoothly displaced Romilda to give Harry a very proper air kiss.

'I'm delighted to see you—it's been far too long. How's your family doing?'

A frowning Romilda stormed away, bypassing Hermione, Neville, and Hannah. 'They're doing splendidly. But you should know that—you've recently had correspondence with my mother.'

_Lady Violetta Greengrass? Oh crap. _'I suppose there's no point in apologising, is there?'

'No, none at all. You'd clearly do the same thing again.'

'Set fire to the wizarding peerage? I'm afraid so.'

'For the record, I'll have you know the Greengrass contribution wasn't stolen from Muggles—instead we exploited them. Stealing requires initiative, after all, whilst ongoing exploitation runs itself after a few generations. Much less effort in the long run.'

'Have you been at the Firewhisky as well?' he asked. 'There seems to be quite a lot circulating.' He pulled back the curtain to show his growing collection.

'No, I've only been at the Chocolate Frogs. I must say, that was rather brazen.'

'How do you mean?'

'Putting out a huge stack of your own cards? I'm honestly a bit appalled—I'd thought better of you.'

'Are you joking? They're all my card? Bugger!'

'You mean you didn't know? That's priceless!' said Daphne, gasping with laughter.

'No, I had no idea. I owled my thanks to the confectioners for writing such an accurate card, and they sent me a case in appreciation. But I never dreamed it wasn't just the standard assortment. This is a nightmare! How do I fix it?'

'I'll spread the word if you like ... It's the least I can do after having a front row seat to your current humiliation.'

He turned to Hermione. 'Hermione, help! It turns out all the Chocolate Frogs contain my card.'

Hermione's eyebrows shot up and stayed there, and she threw a hand over her mouth, possibly to keep from laughing. 'Oh no! That's positively mortifying. What do you want me to do?'

'I don't know ... Obliviate everyone? Or at least explain to people what happened.'

'I can put up a sign on the dining table at the very least,' she said. 'And perhaps Ryan can stop the music and make an announcement.'

'Please, yes, anything.' Hermione hurried off, and Harry added, 'Bloody hell ... why is my life like this?'

Daphne was still laughing. 'Potter, I am forever in your debt for inviting me to your party just so I could witness this. And those are lovely robes, by the way. I've always been partial to robes, particularly on young wizards, but almost no one was willing to wear them until last week. That should probably go on the next edition of your Chocolate Frog Card.'

'I never want to see a Chocolate Frog Card again. Why on earth didn't they warn me?'

'They probably thought it would be a nice surprise,' replied Daphne. 'And it has been. Fortunately you have all that Firewhisky to take the edge off.'

'I suppose I could pour it on the cards and ignite them. Where's Fiendfyre when you really need it?'

Helena finally appeared, and he exclaimed, 'At last, there you are!' He leaned in to kiss her but she turned her head and he only made contact with her cheek. 'Er, Helena, this is my classmate Daphne Greengrass. Daphne, this is my friend Helena Strauss.'

Daphne studied Helena before saying, 'It's nice to meet you. I've just had the pleasure of informing Harry that all the Chocolate Frogs contain his card.'

Aghast, Helena turned to him. 'Oh no! I assume that wasn't on purpose?'

'God no, what do you take me for?'

'Shall I spread the word?'

'Yes, if you're willing, but don't disappear too long.'

'I won't. I still want to introduce my friend—she's very keen to meet you. But for now she'll have to content herself with your Chocolate Frog Card.'

'By all means, give her all of them.'

Daphne said, 'I suppose it's time I earned my keep and spread the word as well. I owe you one for torching the wizarding peerage. I was next in line, you know, and those hats are appalling.'

'It was never my intention to deprive you of your hard-earned title. Perhaps you could find a Muggle lord to marry?' he suggested, and she laughed.

'Thanks again for what's already proven to be a memorable evening. I'll bring Draco one of your cards for his collection—perhaps you can autograph it for him.'

'He'll probably appreciate that even less than the time I relieved him of his wand,' said Harry. 'Could you make an announcement now? I don't think I can handle standing in a roomful of people who think I'm an enormous prat.'

'Nonsense, I'm certain you can handle it just fine. But I'll oblige you nevertheless.'

Daphne raised her wand to her throat and said, 'Excuse me, I have an important announcement,' her voice amplified. 'As you may know, Lord Black has generously provided Chocolate Frogs, presumably for purposes of nostalgia. You may also have discovered that every single frog contains our host's very own card. However, it is my duty to inform you that Harry had no idea in advance that the cards all depicted him. So for those of you who thought he'd turned into a colossal egomaniac, rest assured he's still the hapless young wizard his classmates so fondly remember.'

She turned to him and said, 'There. Is that better?'

'Oddly, yes,' he said. 'Cheers!'

Smiling, he turned to the next guest. _Ugh, Blaise Zabini, _he thought, his face returning to a blandly polite expression. 'Zabini, thank you for coming. I hope you're having a good time.'

'I am, and thank you for inviting me. When I received your invitation I was convinced it was another one of Draco's practical jokes. I was preparing to draw rude pictures on it and owl it back to him when Ginny assured me it was legitimate.'

'I'm sorry, Ginny Weasley?' asked Harry, incredulous.

'Your lovely ex-girlfriend, yes. We've become friendly recently.'

_Friendly? What in Merlin's name does that mean?_ thought Harry. 'I can't say I ever saw that coming,' he said. 'But I suppose I've been rather unpredictable myself lately.'

'Indeed! This party alone is astonishing. Did my eyes deceive me, or is the esteemed proprietor of Penumbra here tonight, with two ... companions?'

'You know Alistair?' asked Harry. 'Silly question, of course you do. Who from our Hogwarts class is more likely to have met him than you, Zabini?"

'Call me Blaise. And yes, I've made his acquaintance, as have you apparently. I must say, Harry, you've impressed me quite a bit this past month. Forgive me—you haven't given me permission to call you that, but I've grown accustomed to hearing Ginny refer to you that way.'

_Are you kidding me?_ thought Harry. 'I suppose I told all of wizarding Britain to call me by my birth name, so I can't very well forbid you.'

'Quite so. But as I was saying, it's been delightful to see you finally start living up to your potential.'

'I hadn't realised I'd been underperforming,' retorted Harry. 'I defeated Voldemort, after all.'

Blaise laughed out loud. 'Indeed, well said! But you've proven my point—if I'd spoken to you like that in school, you would have just grumbled and glared and, at worst, called me a bloody Slytherin. But now you've got panache.'

'Whereas you're still the same arrogant twat I remember.'

'Tut tut, Harry, can't you recognise a compliment? In the space of a month you've gone from being a heartbroken young Auror to the most envied wizard in Britain. You've turned the Cannons into a winning team, you're squiring ravishing young witches around town, and you've become a style icon. You probably haven't noticed yet, but a shocking percentage of your male guests are wearing robes, and I expect half of them to have makeshift boutonnières before the night is over.'

Harry was tempted to glare at Blaise and call him a bloody Slytherin, but his more sophisticated persona spoke up instead. 'I suppose you're right, and I'll thank you for the compliment. I think it took me a solid year after the final battle to accept that maybe I wasn't about to die, and that perhaps it was time to start living.'

'Hear hear! I'm delighted for you. What's the point in saving the wizarding world if you never enjoy the spoils? Not that there's anything wrong with Ginny Weasley—she's bang tidy, make no mistake. But you deserve a rich sampling from the entire menu, and your acquaintance with Alistair tells me you've already enjoyed the first course.'

_I refer to it as 'pudding,'_ thought Harry.

'But I've made my point,' continued Blaise, 'so I'll let you talk to your next supplicant. There's just one more thing, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart: thank you for saving the wizarding world. I wasn't a Death Eater, but I wasn't exactly on your side either, and I sincerely regret that. I see now that the old blood prejudices were damaging, to say the least.'

Blaise pulled a bottle from his robes and handed it to Harry. 'Don't worry, it's not Firewhisky. It's a Muggle single-malt—I actually prefer them.'

'Thank you, that was very thoughtful.'

Blaise gave a small bow and left. _Merlin, is that what dandies were like? _thought Harry. _I should instruct Hermione to hex me to pieces if I ever act like that. And what the hell was all that about Ginny?_

'This is an amazing party, Potter—thanks again for inviting me.'

Harry was delighted to see Phil Routledge. 'I'm so glad you could make it, and please, call me Harry.'

'Only if you call me Phil. I'd apologise for not bringing you a birthday present, but I know the customary offering is Firewhisky, and I'm certain you've received enough already. I know I did at my last birthday.'

'Yes, thank you ... I've been given gallons so far and I can't imagine when I'll get through it, even with friends helping me. Do know know if there's a Beaters' night out? Perhaps I could sponsor it this month.'

Phil laughed and said, 'That smacks of bribery. I'd have thought better of you.'

'In spite of everything Gilstrap told you about me?'

'I heard about what he said on Monday—that was appalling. I'm sorry I wasn't there to tell him off in person.'

'I assume you skipped it on purpose?'

'Yes—I wanted to retain my advantage.'

Harry nodded and said, 'I know I said it before, but your flying impressed the hell out of me. Would you care to practice together sometime?'

'That sounds great. Yes, definitely,' said Phil. 'The Puddlemere reserve Seeker is a bit cautious, as I imagine Owen is, so it would be a nice change to spar with a madman like yourself.'

Harry registered Phil's outfit for the first time. 'Oi! You're wearing fitted robes, after taunting me about mine!'

Phil smiled slyly. 'All's fair above the pitch. I should thank you, actually. As you've figured out, Seekers look particularly good in robes, but until last week I couldn't get past the Death Eater thing. I'm Muggle-born, you know.'

The crowd around Harry had finally thinned, so they were free to chat for a few minutes until Phil's eyes suddenly glazed over and he murmured, 'Who in Merlin's name is that?'

Harry looked and saw Gabrielle approaching, escorted by Bill Weasley. Nearly everyone in the room was staring in open admiration, and Harry felt a huge blast of her chaotic allure.

'She's fourteen!' stammered Harry. 'Leave now and save yourself!'

Phil needed no further instructions—he practically ran from the room, leaving Harry defenceless as she arrived. 'Harry,' she said, kissing him once on each cheek. 'I would like to wish you a very happy birthday.'

'Yes,' said Bill crisply. 'Harry is nineteen now. Five years older than you are, Gabrielle. Fourteen plus five makes nineteen.'

'I know that,' snapped Gabrielle. 'I am patient.'

Harry was unable to reply. _Helena, where in blazes are you?_

'I have a birthday present for you, Harry,' she said, handing him a flat, rectangular box. 'It is a framed photograph for you to remember me, until we can be together.'

'Er, thank you,' said Harry, taking the photograph. 'I'll summon my house-elf right now and have him put it somewhere safe.'

'That is perfect, Harry.'

He summoned the elf telepathically, and Kreacher appeared with a loud _crack_.

'Yes, Master.'

'I'd like for you to take this photograph and put it in the library.' He turned to Bill and added, 'The library's locked.'

'Yes, Master, of course. Is there anything else Kreacher can do for Master?'

Harry transmitted his next instructions wordlessly. _Once you're in the library, destroy the photograph. Repeat, destroy the photograph._

'No, Kreacher, that will be all.'

'Yes, Master!' replied Kreacher with a knowing nod. _Crack!_

Bill took Gabrielle by the arm and said, 'All right, it's time for us to leave. Congratulations on today's match, and happy birthday.'

'Thanks, Bill. And thank you both for coming.' _Helena, where are you?_

Unable to tear his eyes away from Gabrielle, Harry watched them leave, and as soon as they were gone he began to regain his composure. He was still staring blankly at the door when Helena entered and made her way to him.

'Thank heaven, you're back.' He knew better than to try kissing her, but he leaned towards her and said, 'It's unbearable being this close to you without being able to touch you. I've been thinking about you all day.'

She smiled mischievously and said, 'You'll have to keep thinking for a while longer. But I promise, you won't be disappointed when the time finally comes. I've a truly memorable birthday gift for you.'

'Will you least allow me to introduce you to some of my friends?'

'Perhaps, but first let me introduce my friend—she's been waiting for hours. She's right over there.' Helena took his arm—inadvertently, no doubt—and led him through the crowd to the other side of the room where a very fetching young witch was examining the tapestry.

'Harry, this is Vanessa Waite. Vanessa, this is Harry. I'd tell you his surname but there seems to be some uncertainty around it.'

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Vanessa. Did you attend West Chipworth as well?'

'No, I went to Stodgings, but Helena and I have been friends for the last couple of years. I must say, this is a remarkable tapestry. But I can't find you anywhere on it.'

'There's a reason for that,' he said. 'My only two relations on the tapestry were cursed off it by Sirius Black's mother. We've a plan to restore it, but it hasn't happened yet. And even then, it's possible the tapestry won't display me—I'm not a pure-blood, after all.'

'You're Head of House,' said Vanessa. 'Surely that outweighs Blood Status.'

'Yes, though the tapestry might crumble into ashes if it's forced to display my mother's name.' After a pause, he said, 'Are you enjoying the party? I've been trapped in here the entire time.'

Vanessa nodded enthusiastically, and Helena said, 'Yes, it's brilliant. You should really explore. The rooftop dancing is proving popular—it seems your Hogwarts classmates have never heard decent music before, and so they're helpless around it.'

'If only I'd known ... we could have neutralised Death Eaters that way. Would you care to dance now?' he asked both of them.

'No,' said Helena. 'This is only an interlude. You won't see us again until much later. I have strong feelings about privacy, as you might know.'

'Yes, and they're the bane of my existence.' He turned to Vanessa and said, 'She's completely infuriating. I can't figure out why I keep inviting her back.'

'I have a few guesses,' said Helena. 'But we're off again.' They walked away, leaving Harry momentarily bereft.

'I can't believe it,' said Janet's voice behind him. 'I've spotted a rare Snitchbottom in the wild.'

He turned and saw her with Ron, who was wearing a very fine set of tailored robes. 'You bastard!' cried Harry. 'Accusing me of looking like Lucius Malfoy but sneaking off to buy robes of your own!'

'It's all my fault,' said Janet. 'I wanted to see what the grown-up version looked like. I dragged him to Thimble's shop and convinced them to give him an Order of Merlin discount.'

'What can I say? She's a bad influence.' Ron added, 'So are you enjoying the party?'

'To be honest, not particularly. I've been stuck playing host the entire time, and Helena won't be seen with me for fear of publicity, so I'm rather out of step with things.'

'I was born to solve this problem,' declared Janet. 'What do you need first? Food? Alcohol? A Chocolate Frog perhaps?'

'Oh, the bloody Chocolate Frogs—I'd forgotten about them. Alcohol. Definitely alcohol.'

Janet grabbed his hand and dragged him downstairs to the still-crowded dining room. 'What's your poison? There's beer, wine, and quite a lot of Firewhisky,' she said, indicating a number of bottles that had appeared on the sideboard.

'I didn't serve Firewhisky! Where did they even come from?'

'I couldn't say where they came from, but judging from all the empty bottles I'd say it's gone all sorts of places.'

'Bloody hell, everyone's getting pissed at my party except for me.'

Janet clapped her hands and said, 'Excuse me, house-elf! Would you please provide a glass of beer for our host?'

One of the many Hogwarts elves bustling quietly in the background appeared and said, 'Yes, miss, with pleasure,' before returning seconds later with a glass for Harry.

'Drain it, Snitchbottom,' ordered Janet. 'We need to make up for lost time.'

He was about to protest until he noticed the empty spot where the Chocolate Frogs used to be. _At least Hermione put up a sign_, he thought miserably, before drinking his entire glass in one go. A number of onlookers applauded, and someone shouted, 'Brilliant party, Potter!'

'Much better,' said Janet, gesturing for an elf to refill Harry's glass. 'I expect your evening to improve accordingly.'

Her prediction was wrong—now that Harry was in the dining room he was approached by a new crowd of well-wishers. Some were agreeable: his teammates and their friends, for example, and old D.A. members like Susan Bones and Terry Boot. But there were a few tossers as well, such as Zacharias Smith and Cormac McLaggen.

_Hang on_, thought Harry. _I didn't invite McLaggen. _'Potter,' he said. 'This is quite a place you have here. I can't say I ever expected the Chosen One to be named head of House Black. Are you going to start learning the Dark Arts now? I imagine you've got quite a library behind that locked door upstairs.'

Janet was puzzled. 'I'm sorry, are you accusing Harry Potter of turning into a Dark wizard? Are you taking the piss or are you just daft?'

'I'm taking the piss, of course,' said McLaggen. 'But you're forgiven for getting the wrong impression. I'm Cormac, by the way—I assume you went to one of the schools other than Hogwarts?'

Ron looked less than pleased about Cormac chatting up Janet, but Harry leaned over to reassure him. 'Relax, she's just toying with him before moving in for the kill.'

'You're probably right—let's see what happens.'

However, Janet continued talking with Cormac without resorting to her usual sarcasm, and when Ron tried to catch her eye she ignored him. Ron was looking increasingly irritated, which prompted Harry to drag him back towards the drinks area.

'I'm sure she's just trying to spice things up by making you jealous,' said Harry.

'It's working,' said Ron bitterly, as a house-elf refilled their glasses. 'I suppose we're both having witch problems tonight.'

'Hopefully they're just temporary—Helena promised me a satisfying conclusion, but I have no idea what her timetable is. She might be thinking two in the morning, for all I know.'

'I'm sure Romilda Vane would be willing to help you pass the time,' suggested Ron. 'Or any one of several dozen witches present.'

'No, I actually like Helena. But I wish she weren't so bloody reclusive—I'd be in heaven right now if we were just dancing together.'

'Wow, you've got it bad. Does she know this, or does she still think it's a fling.'

'I don't know,' said Harry, taking another long gulp from his glass. 'It certainly started that way, but there's just something about her. She's gorgeous and brilliant and caring and more fun than anyone I've ever met. I wish I could introduce you, but of course she's hiding.'

'You need to distract yourself, mate,' said Ron. 'Not with witches, but with people you actually want to talk to and not just gobshites like Zacharias Smith.'

'Good idea. I wonder where Alistair is.'

'Who's Alistair? What does he look like?'

'He's a vampire. About my height, silver hair, but otherwise young looking.'

Ron stared at him. 'You invited a vampire into a house full of susceptible young witches and wizards?'

'Alistair's fine, and we made an arrangement. He brought two thralls to keep his charisma in check. And he was in Gryffindor centuries ago.'

Ron's expression changed from horror to curiosity. 'You've got me interested—let's find him.'

Harry was reminded yet again why height was considered an advantage—Ron found Alistair in no time, in the downstairs sitting room with a thrall on either side. The vampire rose when he saw Harry.

'Harry,' he said, extending his hand. 'I see you've continued your progress,' he added, with an approving look at Harry's robes. His eyes lingered a moment on the floral boutonnière. 'Allow me to wish you a happy birthday.'

'Thank you, Alistair. I'm glad you're here tonight.'

'Yes, it's an interesting occasion. Wizarding Britain is at a crossroads, and you've given it a strong shove in a particular direction. Your takedown of the so-called peerage was masterfully done. Bollocks indeed.'

'Hopefully this means nobody will call me Lord Black anymore.'

'Names are interesting,' said Alistair. 'On the one hand they're completely arbitrary. Your essence would be unchanged whether you were called Harry Potter or Lord Harry Black. And yet they each have their own power. Have you noticed how the title still imparts a thrill, even though you've demonstrated how meaningless it is?'

Harry was a little embarrassed that Ron was present, but he answered honestly. 'Yes.'

'And even without the title, the surname Black feels different from your father's surname.'

'Yes, it feels entirely different.'

'I see you've honoured your mother with the lilies at your lapel. But what about your father?'

Harry frowned. 'How am I supposed to pay tribute to my father? I hardly know anything about him, except that he liked Quidditch.'

'What of his character?' asked Alistair.

'I've had conflicting reports, and he was only twenty-one when he died. Apparently he'd grown up a bit by then, or else my mother wouldn't have married him, but I'm told he was rather arrogant. And I've seen evidence of it in a Pensieve.'

'And what of your other father?'

'You mean Sirius?'

Alistair nodded.

'He was arrogant too,' said Harry. 'And they were both bullies. But they were devoted friends—to each another and also to Moony, their mate who was a werewolf.'

'Another father,' observed Alistair.

'I suppose you're right. But they're all dead. It's a pattern, really.'

'Yes. So how do you honour them?'

'Well, I died already, so we can scratch that off the list,' said Harry, prompting both Alistair and Ron to laugh. 'Are you saying I should honour my father by being arrogant? That doesn't sound like a good idea.'

'You could always honour Sirius by being impetuous,' suggested Ron. 'Or honour Moony by—I dunno—getting kicked around and moping about it. I reckon you've got a solid head start on all three.'

'Cheers,' said Harry acidly. 'So what are you saying, Alistair? Can you be a little more vague? Seriously, you're almost as bad as Dumbledore.'

'None of these traits are inherently negative. Arrogance is just a flavour of self-confidence and wielded power. To be impetuous is to be decisive.'

'You left out getting kicked around and moping,' said Ron.

'You've survived. There's no shame in that.'

Harry thought about his life with the Dursleys. 'Then why does it feel that way?'

'Because shame feels safe.'

'Bugger that!' snapped Harry. 'They kicked me around for years. I've never told anyone—not even you, Ron. Shame doesn't feel safe. It just feels shitty.'

'Why haven't you told anyone?' asked Alistair.

'Because I don't fucking want to—is that a good enough reason for you?'

'Yes.'

Harry straightened and looked at Alistair. 'I'm glad you came here—really, I am. And no doubt I'll see you again soon, probably when my girlfriend dumps me. But I've had enough of this conversation and I'm going to leave now.'

Alistair nodded respectfully and waited for Harry and Ron to depart before sitting down.

Harry marched decisively up the stairs. 'That was heavy,' said Ron. 'Where are we going?'

'Three stops,' said Harry. 'The first is to the dining room to pick up a pair of charmed goblets, because the last thing I need right now is a bloody Love Potion. Second stop is the drawing room, where I left about a dozen bottles of whisky people foisted on me. And the third stop is the roof, because maybe if I'm lucky Helena will cave in and let me dance with her.'

Nobody approached them as they proceeded, which Harry noted with detached interest. _Either my 'Stay the fuck away' wards are at full strength, or everyone's too plastered to notice the Boy Who Fucking Lived._

Harry pulled back the curtain in the drawing room to reveal the Weasley-sized family of whisky bottles. 'What's that last one?' asked Ron.

'Blaise gave it to me—it's a Muggle single-malt.'

Ron examined it and took a tentative sniff. 'Zabini's a pretentious arse, but I'll bet he knows his liquor.' He sloshed some into both of their glasses.

'The good news is that he didn't add a Love Potion,' said Harry before taking his first long sip. 'The bad news is that he's apparently been hanging out with Ginny.'

'Are you serious?'

'Unless he was lying, then yes I'm serious. Shall we look for them?'

Ron frowned. 'That doesn't sound like a good idea.'

'What do you mean?' asked Harry, taking another extended sip. 'I could introduce Ginny to Helena. Maybe she could provide pointers on dumping me.'

'Helena's not going to dump you. You're the envy of every fucking wizard in Britain—except for me, thank Merlin—and just about every witch in this house would jump at the chance to shag you.'

'Yes, as long as they don't have to be seen with me in public. They can fulfil their childhood fantasy of being chosen by the fucking Chosen One, but god forbid the _Prophet_ find out because then they won't have any privacy either.'

'That's enough whisky, mate,' said Ron, taking the nearly-empty glass from Harry. 'Let's go up to the roof.'

They walked up another flight to the level where Harry's bedroom was, along with a magically-enhanced number of guest rooms. Harry's room was specially warded by the goblins to allow entry only to him, but the others were all accessible. Most of the doors, however, were closed. _Pure-blood decorating strikes again_, he thought.

A lot of people were standing around talking in the wide corridor, and when he passed he heard Owen's voice. 'Harry, there you are,' he said.

'Owen!' exclaimed Harry. _I love Owen! _he thought happily, and he threw his arms around him. 'I can't tell you how glad I am to see you! Ron, this is Owen. He's brilliant—I'd probably be zero for three if it weren't for him.'

'Owen Barrowmaker! I was hoping I'd meet you tonight,' said Ron, shaking his hand. 'You were amazing. I was a wreck when you got hit by those Bludgers. Two at once ... brutal. Do you remember that, Harry?'

'Yes, but that was the Umbridge year so it's all a blur. Are you all having a good time? I hope so! Sorry I've been such a shitty host.'

'You've been a fine host,' said Joanne. 'This is a lovely party.'

'Did you get my Chocolate Frog Card? Those bastards sent me an entire case without warning me, so now I look like the world's biggest prat.'

Owen chuckled and said, 'Don't worry, we heard the full story—everyone did. We all had a good laugh but not at your expense.' He indicated a woman they were standing with and said, 'Harry, I'd like to introduce Fiona, a school friend of ours.'

_Well hello there!_ thought Harry. 'Nice to meet you, Fiona—you're a fit bird! Maybe I'll owl you when Helena dumps me.'

Joanne and Fiona both laughed, and Owen said, 'Are you all right, Harry?'

'Yes, I'm brilliant. I'm paying tribute to my three dead fathers by simultaneously being arrogant, impetuous, and ... what was the last one, Ron?'

'Mopey. And getting shat on.'

'Right—the Boy Who Was Shat On.'

'Do you need a glass of water?' asked Owen, taking out his wand.

'I don't know, do you have one of those charmed goblets up here? I don't want you to Love Potion me.'

Joanne and Fiona kept laughing, and Owen conjured and filled a glass of water. 'Drink this. You're a lightweight, remember?'

Harry dutifully drank it and said, 'You're right, I need to pace myself. I still have ten more bottles of whisky to get through. And that's not even counting the ones in the dining room. Now I understand why Dumbledore wanted socks—I bet people were always giving him whisky. Oh wait, no, it was books. Bugger—there goes my entire theory.'

'Did you eat enough before the party?' asked Owen, who still looked concerned.

'Yes, I've an army of house-elves this weekend, didn't you notice?'

'I did, but you're not supposed to eat them.'

'No, of course not,' said Harry. 'Hermione would send me a Howler if I tried.'

Owen consulted his pocket watch. 'Ron, can you keep an eye on him? Joanne and I need to head home now.'

'Yeah, no problem. Cheers.'

'Thanks, Owen,' said Harry. 'You're my favourite person in the whole world, except for Helena, but she's about to dump me so you'll have the number one spot soon enough. Oh, and there's Ron and Hermione, but they don't count.'

'I'll see you on Monday,' he replied. 'Thanks again for inviting us.'

'Yes, thanks,' said Joanne, 'it was lovely.'

'Very memorable,' added Fiona, and the women laughed again.

Harry and Ron climbed the narrow staircase leading to the attic, but their passage was blocked by someone on the stairs. 'Hello,' said Harry. 'That's an odd place to sit. Isn't the house big enough for you? Oh, you're Sally-Ann Perks. I understand you're exceedingly shy. Carry on then.'

'This is a remarkable party,' she said. 'How much did it cost you?'

'I don't know, a lot. Doesn't matter of course. Drop in the bloody bucket. I've three dead fathers but no end of gold.'

'Three fathers?'

'Sirius, Remus, and James. I don't remember that last one, but I'm told he looks like me. Except my eyes—I have my dead mother's eyes. Shit, that sounds creepy. Like I have them in a jar somewhere.'

'Are you heading to the roof to find your girlfriend?'

'Yeah, but she's probably still hiding from me. She hates publicity, you know. But I suppose you'd understand, being exceedingly shy and all. Though you're probably the least shy exceedingly shy person I've ever met. Which naturally makes me wonder about all the exceedingly shy people I haven't met.'

'What's her name?'

'The exceedingly shy person? How would I know her name? Which part of exceedingly shy don't you understand?'

'No, your girlfriend.'

'It's Helena. Helena. What a beautiful name. Oh god, I want her. No offence, but I'd rather find her and shag her on my shockingly large bed than stand and talk with you in a tiny stairwell. Cheerio!'

Ron laughed as they continued up the stairs. 'Who was that? Did we go to Hogwarts with her?'

'Sally-Ann Perks. Exceedingly shy.'

'Yeah, I got that bit.'

They emerged onto the roof and loud music pounded around them. 'Oh, yes,' exclaimed Harry. 'This is sex music. Where's Helena? Is it still my birthday? She owes me a present, and I don't need any more bloody Firewhisky.'

'Harry, there you are,' called a female voice.

'Helena!' he cried. 'Oh wait, no. Ginny. Hi. How are you? Are you enjoying the party? Did you get my Chocolate Frog Card?'

She laughed and said, 'I did, that was hilarious—Hermione explained everything. You poor thing, you must have been mortified.'

'Story of my life,' he said. 'I'm the wielder of sheer improbability, you know.'

'Yes, I've noticed that.'

'Are you here with Blaise Zabini?'

'What? No, we're just friends.'

'When did that happen?' asked Harry.

'Are you drunk? Ron, is Harry all right?'

'Yeah, he'll be fine,' said Ron. 'Have you seen Janet?'

'Janet Lindhurst? No, not for ages,' replied Ginny.

'Maybe she and Helena are comparing notes on how to dump us,' suggested Harry. 'Ginny, do you want to give them some pointers?'

'Do you need some water, Harry?' She took out her wand.

'I don't know, you might Love Potion me.'

She conjured a glass and filled it for him. 'Here, drink this.'

'Cheers. Oh look, there's Hermione. She and Ryan are certainly getting along.'

'Yes, they are,' said Ginny, amused. Hermione and Ryan were dancing a good deal more demonstratively than Harry had ever seen her before.

'Are you fucking kidding me?' exclaimed Ron.

'What, are you sorry you ditched her now?' asked Ginny.

'No I'm not sorry,' snapped Ron. 'Where the hell is Janet?'

'Did someone call me?' said Janet, emerging from the top of the stairwell.

'There you are,' said Ron. 'Please don't tell me you're with Cormac bloody McLaggen.'

'That pretentious twat I was talking to earlier? Please, give me a little credit.'

'Then why did you ignore me?'

'Because you got all jealous and ended up like this, which is really bloody hilarious.'

'You know you're evil, right?' said Ron, wrapping his arms around her.

'Of course I do—I'm not some unwittingly evil person, after all,' she said, before kissing him and leading him to the dance floor.

'Right then,' said Harry, turning again towards Ginny. 'If we were still together I'd probably be planning to propose to you next month. Weird, eh? And then there'd be two women I'd never have shagged. Fancy that! Oh shit, Elizabeth was a Puddlemere fan. I think she was at the match. Oh well.'

'I forgot how hilarious you are when you're plastered,' said Ginny. 'We really should have got pissed together more often.'

'Yes, I'm certain that's what tore us apart. Insufficient intoxication.'

'Harry?' came a voice from behind him.

'Helena! Oh my god, finally. Why have you been hiding from me? When can we have sex?'

Ginny burst out laughing. 'He's good at it, isn't he?' she said to Helena.

'Yes, he's definitely famous for the wrong reason.'

'The Boy Who Goes Down On Witches,' proclaimed Harry, and both women laughed. 'Ginny trained me, you know. You should send her an owl. You're both really hot—I'd be hard pressed to choose a favourite. You taste a little different though. Oh my god, the two of you together! Is it still my birthday? My bed is enormous, you know.'

'I'll leave you two alone now,' said Ginny, still laughing.

'Good night, Ginny. In a parallel universe we're getting engaged next month. Unless it's past midnight, in which case it's this month. _"Born as the seventh month dies,"_ you know.'

Ginny's expression turned serious. 'Helena, you should take him somewhere private. He knows a lot of classified information, as you can imagine, and he's awfully chatty right now.'

'Understood,' she said. 'Harry, come with me.' She led him away from Ginny.

'Is it time for my present? You're so beautiful. I can't wait to be inside you. Do I have to give you a foot massage first or can I dive right in?'

She lowered her voice. 'The latter. But that's not your only present,' she said. 'What did you think of Vanessa?'

'She's really hot too. You have hot friends. What is it about hot women, clumping like that?'

'Vanessa's really keen to get to know you better, Harry.'

'Because I'm the Boy Who Goes Down On Witches? That's probably better than the Boy Who Shat.'

'Oh my god, I'm going to pretend you didn't say that.'

'I think you've misunderstood,' he said. 'I don't shit on women. It's because I probably shat the first time Voldemort attacked me. I was a baby, you know. What kind of arsehole attacks a baby?'

'I can't believe I've never seen you drunk before—this is brilliant. But don't get any drunker, mind you.'

'I won't. I'll save my ten other bottles of whisky for tomorrow.'

'Stay right here, and don't talk to anyone. I'll be right back.'

Harry sat down on the roof, enjoying the music. It sounded like the Weird Sisters only it wasn't total crap.

Helena returned with Vanessa, and Harry stood up. 'Can we dance together up here?' he asked.

'No, it's time to go to your enormous bed.'

'Brilliant, that's even better. Let's go.'

When they descended from the attic to the floor with Harry's bedroom, they ran into Sally-Ann Perks again. 'For the love of Merlin, find a chair!' exclaimed Harry. 'Someone's going to trip on you.'

'Is this your girlfriend, Harry?'

'Isn't she gorgeous?' he said admiringly.

'Which one?'

'Helena,' he sighed, gazing longingly at her. 'But her friend's lovely as well. Helena has really hot friends. This is the best birthday ever.'

'That's it, Harry,' said Helena. 'Just around the corner.'

'I know where my own bedroom is,' he said indignantly.

'Why won't the door open?' she asked.

'Goblin wards. Nothing but the best for Lord Black! Except for family, of course—I really drew the short straw there. But at least I have two hot witches.' There was laughter from the other guests standing nearby as Harry opened the door and led Helena and Vanessa inside.

'Happy birthday!' shouted one of the guests. 'You bloody well earned it!' The door closed, and the corridor echoed with whistles and applause.


	32. Chapter 32

If someone had told Hermione during the final year of the war that they would defeat Voldemort and that the three of them would survive, she'd have been overjoyed. But if they'd also told her that on Harry's nineteenth birthday she'd be standing next to him in a receiving line at Grimmauld Place warmly greeting Slytherins—along with more than a hundred others—she'd have been shocked senseless. And if they'd added that Harry would have caught the Snitch that afternoon for the Chudley Cannons, and that she herself would be intimately involved with their star Chaser, she'd have escorted her interlocutor to a secure ward at St Mungo's.

'How are you holding up?' she asked Harry during a momentary lull in guests.

'I'm all right. Though I wish Helena would turn up—I really want to introduce you to her.'

'Yes, I'm looking forward to meeting her.'

Hermione was more than a little curious about Harry's 'ravishing, unnamed companion.' She'd caught a glimpse of his previous conquest, whom he'd apparently tired of in less than a week, but it was clear he'd developed strong feelings for her successor.

She recalled what Ginny had said about Harry's 'yawning need,' and she considered whether it was driving his rapidly escalating affections. Then again, she'd thrown herself completely into her relationship with Ryan just as quickly, so she was in no position to judge.

Hermione wondered what connection, if any, there might be between Harry's yawning need and his extraordinary charisma. Tom Riddle had been similarly endowed, but his need was for domination rather than affection. It was fortunate that Harry had no desire to become a Dark wizard, because he could have gathered followers with shocking ease.

But there was no mistaking Harry's kind and simple intentions, that night in particular. He really just wanted for everyone to have a good time, and for witches and wizards who'd been kept apart by Phineas Nigellus's unconscionable meddling to finally interact.

Harry had to be growing weary of greeting guests—she certainly was. She longed to join Ryan on the rooftop dancing, or to spend time with the friends he'd invited. She was enjoying meeting all the new people at the party, but her former classmates were a steady source of barbs.

'Hermione!' exclaimed Parvati. 'I can't believe how good you look, especially your hair. How long did you spend working on it this afternoon?'

'No time at all,' said Hermione. 'I found a charm in an old spellbook, and this is the result. I wear it this way more or less all the time now.' _Except for Wednesday night, when Ryan insisted I wear it 'seventies glamour model' style, _she added internally.

'Amazing, I never would have believed it. And you're dating Ryan Bellamy of all people. Interestingly enough, he's someone else you and Lavender had in common, along with Ron of course.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Yes, during seventh year she had his team photograph on display next to her bed. Inside the curtains, if you know what I mean. She would never have believed he'd go out with you, but then I suppose you're a bit of a magnet for Quidditch stars. How odd ... you'd think they'd prefer fans of the sport.'

'And how are you doing, Parvati?'

'Horribly—I've been quarrelling non-stop with my parents. They arranged marriages for Padma and me when we were infants, of course, and Padma's match has turned out just fine, but mine's an absolute pill and I've refused. And so now they're saying I've turned out too headstrong and they should never have raised us in England, but I said England's not the problem—the problem is the unappealing wizard they're trying to stick me with. I deserve a lot better, especially considering I was Harry Potter's first girlfriend.'

'No you weren't,' said Hermione automatically. 'Cho Chang was.'

'No,' insisted Parvati. 'Harry asked me to the Yule Ball, don't you remember?'

'Yes, and you had a terrible time with him and ended up dancing with a boy from Beauxbatons the rest of the evening.'

'Be that as it may, I was still the first witch Harry ever asked out.'

_No, _thought Hermione, _Cho was, only she'd already accepted Cedric. _'Yes, I suppose you're right,' she said, not wanting to be ungracious.

And then Sally-Ann Perks of all people was snide to her. 'Hermione Granger, look at you ... all grown up.'

'And you as well,' said Hermione, puzzled. 'I'm glad you were able to attend the party after all. Is Lily here with you?'

'No, I'm afraid not, but she sends her best. I can't get over you, though. You were such a mousy little bookworm, and now you're with the tastiest hunk in all of league Quidditch.'

_Has Sally-Ann got into the Firewhisky?_ _Harry isn't even serving any. _'I can't say I expected to date a professional athlete, but he's quite intellectual, actually.'

'Aren't you forgetting about Viktor Krum? I never understood what he saw in a fourteen year-old, but there's no accounting for taste.'

'I was fifteen,' said Hermione. 'Anyway, thanks for coming to the party—I hope you'll have a good time.'

Sally-Ann didn't seem inclined to leave. 'I can't get over this party. Harry really splashed out ... do you know how much it cost him?'

'No, he didn't confide in me. But I know he was very concerned about everyone's comfort and security.'

'I can see that. And speaking of comfort, have you met his new girlfriend? Is she here tonight?'

'No, I haven't, but I imagine I will later.'

'What's her name?'

'I don't actually know,' lied Hermione._ Why isn't she leaving? Why is Harry taking so long with Theodore Nott?_

'I wish she'd been visible in that photograph. Harry looked fantastic though. What do you think made him start wearing robes?'

Hermione decided to throw Sally-Ann a bone, in the hope she'd leave. 'He was impressed with the quality of his team robes, so he decided to see what else the tailor carried.'

Sally-Ann nodded, apparently satisfied. 'That makes sense. Well, it's been nice talking to you. Perhaps I'll see you again later this evening.'

'Perhaps,' said Hermione. 'Thank you again for coming.'

'I wouldn't have missed it for the world.'

After Sally-Ann departed, Hermione braced herself for another round of subtle insults, this time from Nott. But he was surprisingly pleasant, and after he left she had a bit of leisure to reflect on how splendid it was that the old blood prejudices seemed to be disappearing, in their generation at least.

She didn't notice Romilda Vane until it was too late to intercede. Merlin, she was pawing Harry shamelessly! Hermione hoped she'd keep her distance from Ryan, not because she feared he'd succumb, but because she knew how uncomfortable it would make him. She was grateful beyond words that Harry had hired the charmed goblets.

Hermione was chatting with Neville and Hannah when Harry suddenly demanded her attention. 'Hermione, help! It turns out all the Chocolate Frogs contain my card.'

She immediately realised what people would think and was horrified on his behalf, though she had to admit it was funny. 'Oh no! That's positively mortifying. What do you want me to do?'

'I don't know,' said Harry in a panic. 'Obliviate everyone? Or at least explain to people what happened.'

'I can put up a sign on the dining table at the very least. And perhaps Ryan can stop the music and make an announcement.'

'Please, yes, anything.'

As much as she pitied Harry, she was relieved to have an excuse to abandon the receiving line. She rushed down to the dining room, which was very crowded. Perhaps half of the Chocolate Frogs remained, and several people nearby had opened theirs and were looking at the card.

'He didn't know!' she blurted. 'Harry had no idea all the cards were of him.'

A handful of people turned towards her, but most of the room didn't react. She used her wand to amplify her voice and announced, 'I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, but I've an urgent announcement. I don't know whether you've seen the Chocolate Frogs, but Harry had no idea until a minute ago that all the cards were of him. The confectioner sent them to him as a gift, and he assumed they were the normal assortment.'

People were laughing but Hermione continued, her voice still amplified. 'I realise a lot of you haven't met Harry before, but I can assure you he's completely mortified—he'd never do something like this on purpose. I know he'd appreciate if you spread the word that it was all a horrible mistake.'

She removed the charm on her voice and was approached by Lara. 'I knew it had to be something like that, considering how uncomfortable he was to learn they'd put him on a card in the first place.'

'Yes, exactly. Poor thing, he's taken so much abuse over the years, with people thinking the worst of him. I hope he won't let it ruin the party for him.'

'I'll spread the word as well,' said Lara. 'But you have to admit, it's awfully funny.'

Hermione smiled. 'It is, isn't it? I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing when he told me.' She pulled some paper and a quill from her handbag and wrote what she hoped was a clear explanation. Then she used her wand to enlarge and stiffen it, and she conjured a stand for her makeshift sign.

'That should take care of the dining room,' she told Lara. 'But I should go make the announcement elsewhere. See you later, I hope.'

'Yes, I'm just loading up on food before heading up to dance. Can you believe all these house-elves? I've been watching, and they keep replenishing whatever runs out.'

Hermione sighed in irritation. She knew the house-elves had eagerly volunteered for the job, but she hated how brainwashed they all were.

Her next stop was the entrance hall, in front of Padfoot's portrait. She amplified her voice and made a similar announcement to the one she'd made in the dining room, which was received again with good-natured laughter. Next she went to the formal reception hall and repeated the process.

'Well, if it isn't Miss Perfect Hermione Granger,' said Marietta Edgecombe.

'What are you doing here?' asked Hermione, certain that Harry hadn't invited her.

'Cho brought me. And yes, I know I wasn't invited, but I assume that was for your benefit more than Harry's,' said Marietta coldly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. 'What makes you believe that? You betrayed him to Umbridge, after all.'

'Yes, but that's not why I wasn't invited. You didn't want me here because you've a guilty conscience.'

Hermione had been avoiding looking at Marietta's forehead but finally glanced at it. The spots and obvious scars were gone, but the skin texture was somewhat rougher than the rest of her face.

'Yes, have a look at your handiwork,' said Marietta. 'I've certainly been able to contemplate it at leisure. It's much improved at least, thanks to a Muggle dermatologist I visited last year, out of desperation.'

_Merlin, she was disfigured that long?_

Marietta continued, 'When you think of all the other people who betrayed Harry, as you put it, how come none of them got punished the way I did?'

Hermione refrained from pointing out he'd cursed Draco with Dark magic and later relieved him of his wand. 'You weren't just hurting Harry. You put all of us at risk, and you broke your word. I warned you when you signed the contract.'

'What about the pressure I was under? My mother was going to lose her job. Or don't you think parents deserve consideration? I heard what you did to yours.'

'That's none of your concern. And my motivation was to help Harry and defeat Voldemort, not protect my own skin.'

'Interesting choice of words, don't you think?' She turned towards the mirror above the fireplace and said, 'Look at your skin. It's perfect, really. Even when you were ugly, there was never anything wrong with your complexion.'

Hermione looked at her unblemished reflection in the mirror. _It's true,_ she thought. _I never did have spots._

'You of all people should know what it's like to feel unattractive, with your hair and teeth. But you seem to have forgotten about it the instant Madam Pomfrey took away your chipmunk appearance and Viktor Krum asked you to the Yule Ball. Now you're just as stuck up as if you'd been born that way. You and your Chaser boyfriend.'

Hermione was exasperated. 'What do you want from me, Marietta?'

'I want an apology. I want you to acknowledge that the punishment exceeded the crime. I knew I'd be exposed for talking to Umbridge—you warned us about that. You didn't say I'd be disfigured for life, if not for a Muggle dermatologist and his laser.'

Hermione sighed. 'You're right. I didn't provide fair warning. I'm sorry about that.'

Marietta's expression softened. 'And I'm sorry I betrayed the D.A. That was an awful year at Hogwarts.'

'It was,' agreed Hermione.

They were both silent for a while until Marietta said, 'I'm sorry I called you ugly just now. I know how much that word hurts.'

'So do I,' said Hermione, thinking of her old tormentors. 'I should probably go help Harry. I'm glad Cho brought you, and I hope you enjoy the party.'

'Thank you. Perhaps I will ... there are a lot of wizards here from other schools.'

After parting from Marietta, Hermione went downstairs to the sitting room and repeated her Chocolate Frogs announcement, to the same friendly laughter she'd received upstairs.

'I'm relieved to hear it,' said Zacharias Smith. 'I've never worshipped Potter the way so many others do, but I thought he at least had better taste than that. But you must admit it's awfully funny.'

Hermione didn't like Zacharias but she couldn't argue. 'I'm sure he'll have a good laugh about it afterwards. He's just a bit high-strung right now, with hosting the party. It was a big leap of faith, you know.'

'What, exposing all his classmates to a vampire?'

'What are you talking about?'

'Over there,' he said, motioning towards the sofa.

'Oh, that must be Alistair. He's not a typical vampire.'

'So you're saying those two people next to him aren't thralls? Look at them ... they're completely mesmerised.'

The man she assumed was Alistair was bookended by a man and woman in their twenties. Both of them were pale and dressed in severe black robes, with expressions bordering on ecstasy. Alistair turned to the woman and ran his finger along her neck, causing her to close her eyes and shudder.

'Yes, I'm certain they're thralls. But that means Alistair can't affect the rest of us—he's expending all his charisma on them.'

'How did Harry even meet a vampire?' asked Zacharias. 'Surely not playing for the Cannons.'

Hermione knew the answer—at a decadent bar in Knockturn Alley—but she didn't need to share that detail. 'I don't know,' she said. 'You'd have to ask Harry. But personally I'd like to meet him—I can't imagine when I'll have another opportunity to talk to a vampire without danger. He was in Gryffindor, you know.'

'Really? Now that is interesting. May I accompany you?'

Hermione wasn't sure which was more surprising—that she was willingly approaching a vampire or that she was willingly conversing with Zacharias Smith. 'Yes, of course.'

They walked towards the sofa and Alistair rose. His thralls remained seated. 'You are Hermione Granger,' he said simply. 'It is a pleasure to meet you.'

She didn't extend her hand but said, 'I'm glad to meet you as well. You made quite an impression on Harry.'

Alistair nodded and said, 'Won't you sit down?' He tilted his chin towards one of the thralls, who immediately fetched two chairs.

Hermione and Zacharias took their seats and Alistair continued. 'I admit I've been curious to meet you. Setting aside Harry's erstwhile link with Lord Voldemort, I don't think there's any other person he's more deeply connected to.'

She thought for a moment and said, 'You may be right. Certainly no one living.'

'Yes, and even amongst his dead, the only one who comes close is his mother.'

'Comes close? Are you saying Harry and I are more deeply connected than he is with his mother?'

'I am.'

'Forgive me, but I think you've got your facts mixed up. Not only did Harry's mother give him life, she also protected him from Voldemort's Killing Curse by sacrificing her own life.'

'Yes, but that's a mother's instinct. You and Harry, on the other hand, have saved each other again and again based on a deeper impulse.'

'No we haven't. It's always been friendship, or even a family bond, considering he's like a brother to me.'

'But he's not your brother.'

'I know that.'

'Do you?'

She rolled her eyes. 'Have you been reading Rita Skeeter? Why does everyone insist on pairing Harry and me? That's not our relationship and never has been.'

'As you say. But back to my point ... are you familiar with the concept of a life debt?'

'Of course. A life debt is a magical bond between a witch or wizard and the person whose life they saved.'

'Exactly. So you must realise that you and Harry are connected by multiple life debts.'

'I suppose we are. Ever since he helped protect me from a troll in our first year.'

'You make it sound like that was the first time.'

'Wasn't it?'

'No. Life debts don't just disappear when a person dies.'

Hermione frowned. 'No offence, but you're talking like a Seer, and I've never been very impressed by Seers. Divination is mostly just guesswork and patter.'

'I've never been impressed by them either. They occasionally get it right, but prophecies are just uncontrolled manifestations of an otherwise very stable phenomenon.'

'What phenomenon is that?'

'Interconnectedness.'

She understood what he meant on an instinctual level but was frustrated by her inability to conceptualise it. 'And what makes you an expert?'

'Time and experience, mostly. And the fact that I've remained Light.'

'A Light vampire?' scoffed Zacharias.

The two thralls jerked towards him, but Alistair raised his hands to stay them. 'I needn't prove my credentials. But yes.'

'So Harry and I are interconnected?'

'Everyone is interconnected. But you and Harry are tightly bound even at the level of appearances. Do not underestimate it. You've already seen what you are able to do together, after all.'

Hermione nodded. 'Does this have anything to do with why I was sent to Hogwarts rather than one of the other schools?'

'At its root, yes.'

'I was told the Department of Mysteries makes the decision.'

Alistair chuckled and said, 'The inverse, more like. But there's no point trying to understand it from an ordinary vantage point. Just the same as how Harry didn't need to understand why the prophecy existed. He just needed to live it.'

'So there was a prophecy!' exclaimed Zacharias.

'Of course there was,' snapped Hermione. 'Otherwise why would Voldemort try to kill Harry as a baby? But the details aren't important,' she said, mostly to protect Neville.

Alistair rose. 'You don't need to speak any longer with me. I'm just a spectator, whereas you're one of the principal players. I've enjoyed our conversation, but I'd much prefer you keep things in motion.'

Hermione and Zacharias both stood up, and she said, 'It's been interesting meeting you—I can see why Harry asked you to come.'

'Yes, I'm glad he did. He's a remarkable young wizard.'

Hermione saw Zacharias scowl, but he didn't comment as they walked away. 'I need another drink,' he said, heading up the stairs.

She peeked in the kitchen, expecting only to see house-elves, but two very pretty witches were at the table. 'Excuse me, I'm just spreading the word that Harry didn't realise the Chocolate Frogs all contained his card.'

The young women laughed. 'Yes, we've heard. Poor Harry,' said one of them fondly.

'Do you know him, then?'

'Yes, I'm Helena.'

'Oh! I was hoping I'd meet you—I'm Hermione.'

Helena smiled. 'I know. And this is Vanessa ... will you join us?'

'I'd enjoy that, but I'm supposed to spread the word about the Chocolate Frogs and I haven't been above the drawing room yet.'

'We already spread the word upstairs, and your boyfriend made an announcement on the roof. So please, have a seat if you like.'

'Yes, thanks,' said Hermione as she sat down. 'Helena, I really don't know anything about you except that Harry seems awfully taken with you.'

'I'm rather fond of him as well. He's nothing like what I expected.'

'What were you expecting?'

'I had no idea he was so witty, for one thing. And he's terribly sweet. I knew he had a good heart, of course, but I'd imagined it was more broadly noble and not so personal.'

'It's always been personal for him. Broad nobility is too abstract, and Harry's very concrete.'

'Yes. And he's also terribly vulnerable. It breaks my heart, really. I'd expected someone larger than life, but in some respects he's just a little boy. Not all respects, mind you,' she added, with a playful look towards Vanessa.

_Oh my,_ thought Hermione. _Is my mind in the gutter, or does Helena have something very special planned for Harry's birthday?_

'If you don't mind my asking, why aren't you with him right now? I know he'd like nothing more than to be dancing with you, or to introduce you to our friends.'

Helena sighed. 'I wish that were possible—I'd like that as well. It's difficult being apart from him. But there are so many people here, and he's incapable of not attracting attention. That's probably why he needs his Deathly Hallow—it's the only thing powerful enough to hide him.'

'I've never thought of it that way, but you're right. I gather you're not keen on being in the spotlight.'

'I've nothing against my own spotlight,' said Helena. 'But I'm not interested in someone else's.'

'That's unavoidable with Harry. It's been like that for Ron and me since we first became friends with him. But I don't think it's a reason to avoid him altogether.'

'No, of course not. But we're so young, and he's just discovering the world. I know he's fond of me, but there's no chance I'm going to be his one true love for all time. At best I'd be his girlfriend for six months or so, and then I wouldn't be any longer, but it would dog me for the rest of my life. I could discover twelve more uses for dragons' blood, but I'd still be known as that witch who dated Harry Potter.'

Hermione sighed. As much as she wanted Harry to be happy, she couldn't find the flaw in Helena's statement.

'It's a terrible shame,' continued Helena. 'He's simply lovely, truly everything a girl could want. And then there's the part of me that wants to protect him, the way he protected all of us. But that's not something that can happen from the outside.'

Helena glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. 'He has nightmares. All the time. I don't usually wake him—I just hold him or stroke him until he settles down again. And he curls into me just like a child, and I want to cry because I know he's never had that kind of comfort, except maybe from Ginny when they were together.'

_And it nearly devoured her,_ thought Hermione.

'The one real gift I've been able to provide is normalcy,' said Helena, 'and I think that's all he can accept right now. Obviously he's never going to have a normal life, between the Cannons and the _Prophet_ and everything else. But he can at least go out dancing and look dashing in robes and have sex for hours and all the rest. Thank heaven he quit the Ministry—the last thing he needs is to think about Dark wizards for the rest of his life.'

'Yes, you're right,' said Hermione. 'I thought he'd lost his mind when he told me he'd decided to quit his job and play Quidditch, but in hindsight it was a stroke of genius.'

Helena studied Hermione for a moment and then asked, 'Why were you and he never a couple? I know you and Ron Weasley were together for a long while, but why were you never interested Harry to begin with? I don't get the impression he dated much at Hogwarts.'

'Everyone asks me that, but he's always just felt like a brother to me. And it's the same for him—always has been. We're both only children, and we were each lonely for different reasons when we first met, so I think that's just how the bond formed.'

'Maybe it's better that way,' said Helena. 'As his friend you're less likely to leave him. Oh, he breaks my heart—he's such a dear.'

Hermione smiled at her. 'I'm glad I ran into you, Helena. I suppose we're the two most important women in his life right now, so it's only right we should meet.'

'I feel like I met you already, on Harry's and my first night together. I assume he told you about the Howler circumstances.'

_The Howler circumstances?_ thought Hermione with alarm. 'No, he didn't say a word about it. All he said was that I didn't awaken him.'

'That's true, he was definitely awake. Poor Harry, such a gentleman—I'm so sorry I've blown his cover. But no, he was decidedly occupied when it arrived.'

Hermione's eyes widened and she raised her hand to her mouth. 'Not ... during?' Helena nodded, and Hermione burst into guilty laughter.

'I'm sure you can imagine my reaction. Here I thought he was an upstanding young wizard, if you can get past the part where he'd just brought me home from a bar, and then Hermione Granger starts shouting at him about owning a slave and abusing him. I was afraid I'd been lured into Bluebeard's castle.'

Hermione was still laughing. 'That might be even worse than the Chocolate Frog debacle. How long did it take him to convince you he wasn't a monster?'

'Not long at all—we were able to pick up where we'd left off, and of course we had a good laugh about it later. He's terribly fun to mock, I'm afraid, but he seems to enjoy it.'

'I imagine he would, if it's done kindly.'

'I hope I could never be unkind to him—he's such a dear.'

'I'm glad you appreciate his good qualities,' said Hermione. 'I'm a little scared he'll turn into a commodity, as far as witches are concerned. Someone to be seen with, someone to spoil them and boost their ego. At Hogwarts, girls used to throw themselves at him all the time—he wasn't being entirely selfless when he hired charmed goblets for the party.'

'Oh god, did that ever happen to him in school?' asked Helena, horrified.

'No, but not for lack of effort. He managed to dodge them, but it was a near thing.'

'Thank goodness that never happened to him—he's had enough trauma.'

Hermione nodded soberly. 'I tend to forget about all his trauma. He's so good at hiding it, and the only parts he talks about are the things we experienced together. He's barely breathed a word to me about his family, for example. Has he said anything to you?'

'No, except to say there's a reason he never talks about them.'

'I met his cousin a few weeks ago—the one he grew up with.'

'His spoilt Muggle doppelgänger?'

'No, they don't look at all alike—you'd never guess they were related. Apparently he's improved, but he was a great bully growing up and I think he used Harry as a punching bag.'

Helena shook her head. 'It's just unthinkable. How is it possible that so many people have wanted to hurt him?'

'I know, I have the same reaction. It was awful in school, when the other students were so cruel to him.'

'And how many of those students are here tonight?' asked Helena bitterly.

'Quite a few, except for the marked Death Eaters of course. He really wants to bring people together, regardless of their past.'

'I suppose it wasn't enough to end the war,' said Helena. 'He wants to prevent the next one as well.'

'You're right—I never thought of it like that. Wizards really are horrible, aren't they?'

Hermione noticed that Vanessa was nodding vigorously. 'Yes, they are,' she said emphatically. 'They should require pure-bloods to intermarry every few generations.'

'Nobody's stopping you,' said Helena, before turning back to Hermione. 'Vanessa's as pure-blooded as they come, and her family is riddled with Death Eater sympathisers.'

'It's ghastly,' said Vanessa. 'Even now they're sceptical of Harry—they don't think he's trustworthy. Although none of them complained when he took down the lords.'

'How did you turn out differently, if I might ask?' said Hermione.

'I have no idea—I think I was just born contrary. My brother as well, thank Merlin.'

'I got to know Vanessa and her brother Marcus during the war—they helped with our charmed trunk operation.' She explained to Hermione how her family produced and distributed dozens of magical trunks to protect Muggle-borns. 'Marcus was particularly useful, because he worked for the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. He was able to forewarn people and get them in touch with my family.'

Hermione was deeply impressed. 'That's remarkable ... I wish we'd known at the time how many people were resisting. We felt so alone, you know.'

'Yes, that's what Harry told me. I'm so glad you're bringing people from different schools together—that old headmaster deserves to rot in hell for meddling like that.'

'I'd invite you to tell him off yourself, but he's been avoiding his frame ever since Harry interrogated him. You should have seen it—Harry was practically wielding lightning as he spoke.'

'I'd have loved to witness that. We were hassled at a nightclub last weekend by an oversized Muggle, and Harry took him down with just a few words. And not incantations, mind you.'

'That would have fun to watch, but I suspect I'd have been a third wheel.'

'Perhaps you would have been,' said Helena warmly. 'But don't let us keep you any longer ... you've no reason to be hiding tonight.'

'I hope you won't just hole yourselves up in the kitchen all night!'

'No, I want to see my friend Rebecca. She's here with George Weasley—they met the same night Harry and I did. And after that perhaps Vanessa and I will hide on the dance floor for a while. I was there briefly to make the Chocolate Frogs announcement and it's a madhouse, in a good way.'

'I should go there myself,' said Hermione, standing. 'I'm so pleased I met both of you. I'm sorry you won't be more of a fixture, Helena, but I think you've been good for Harry all the same.'

'I hope so. I've certainly enjoyed being with him, and I'll tacitly spread the word that he's a good egg.'

They hugged one another and Hermione went back upstairs, stopping next in the entrance hall. 'Annie! I'm so glad to see you. Are you having a good time?'

'Yes, this is a wonderful party.' She was with friends but turned away from them to talk with Hermione.

'Did you meet Harry yet?'

'No, I poked into the drawing room earlier and he was mobbed, so I decided to let him be. I imagine I'll meet him through Ryan some other time.'

'That was kind of you,' said Hermione. 'He's happy to meet the newcomers, but I suspect he's not having much fun at his own party. And then there was the Chocolate Frogs disaster ... you heard about that, right?'

'Yes, how mortifying! But everyone's had a good laugh about it, and I think it served as an icebreaker.'

'That's a silver lining. Have you seen much of Ryan tonight?'

'I saw him earlier on the rooftop, but the rest of us decided to head downstairs for a while. I can't get over the food ... where did all these house-elves come from?'

'They're on loan from Hogwarts,' said Hermione, with a hint of disapproval. 'They jumped at the opportunity, apparently.'

'They're a stitch! Before tonight I'd never seen more than one or two at a time, but here's an entire company of them. And the flowers—was that your idea?'

'No, that was Harry's. Everyone normally complains about how gloomy the house is.'

'I don't think anyone's complaining tonight,' said Annie. 'Have you noticed all the couples forming in dark corners? It seems the combination of threadbare opulence and young wizards in form-fitting robes wearing flowers is a powerful aphrodisiac. Is it true Harry just tucked some flowers in his buttonhole on a whim before the party?'

'Yes, our friend Luna spontaneously made him a boutonnière from lilies, in honour of his mother.'

'He's started another rage, all the wizards want them now. I think he's become the arbiter of postwar fashion.'

'Unbelievable,' said Hermione. 'Before he got his team robes I don't think he ever gave a second thought to what he wore.'

Annie was about to ask another question when she stopped herself. 'I'm sorry, I'm engaging in one of my biggest pet peeves: pressing you for information about Harry, the same way people to do me about Ryan.'

'Yes, I've experienced that since our first year at Hogwarts. And I suppose it's been that way for you since Ryan joined the Cannons?'

'No, long before that,' said Annie. 'You're forgetting he was the school heartthrob, and loads of girls saw me as their inside track.'

'Oh dear, that can't have been pleasant.'

'No, but at the same time it made me feel special, like I had a better chance than they did, since I actually knew him.'

'If you don't mind my asking, how were you able to get over him in the end?'

Annie looked up from her drink and said, 'It was at the end of our fifth year, and the summer afterwards. My crush had reached a fever pitch by then, and rampant hormones didn't help matters. I'd come to idealise him to the point where my version of him hardly resembled reality. But then ... something traumatic happened to him. I didn't know the details at the time, but I could see something was wrong. And that humanised him somehow, eliciting my compassion in a way that finally knocked me out of my fantasies.

'One afternoon that summer we went on a walk near some ruins, and we sat down and had a long talk that somehow closed the door on my old feelings. We didn't even talk about my crush, which of course we'd discussed at length previously. But I think our relationship matured that afternoon into the fullness of friendship and not just the old muddle it had been, for me at least.'

Hermione said, 'The traumatic event ... I assume you're referring to the Love Potion?'

Annie nodded. 'Yes. I didn't know whether he'd told you about it. I'm glad he did, in part because it means he's past his old feelings of shame.'

'I couldn't believe he'd felt it was somehow his fault,' said Hermione, 'but when he explained the nuances I understood how he'd reached that conclusion, even though it was invalid.'

'It was awful when he first told me, when we were eighteen or so. You'd think he was confessing to a horrible crime he'd committed—he couldn't even look at me. At first he could barely get the words out, but I think it helped that we were in his new flat and there was music playing, because he could periodically stop talking and allow the music to centre him.'

'Yes, he told me how helpful you were, and that you persuaded him to see a Mind Healer.'

'And thank goodness he did,' said Annie. 'It made such a difference. He was terrified to tell his parents, you know. What did you think of them, by the way?'

'I'm glad you warned me about Lucinda! I thought she was fantastic, and Walter as well, but I could easily have been thrown off balance.'

'I find that hard to believe; you're more than her match. Which of course makes you a good fit for Ryan.'

'Oh dear, are you saying I'm fulfilling some Oedipal role for him?'

'Good lord, no—you're nothing like Lucinda in that respect. But consider how different you are to the usual C-squared.'

'C-squared?'

'Chaser chaser. The kind of witch who Spellotapes Ryan's team photograph next to her bathtub and finds a lot of excuses to pick up items from the floor around him. Sorry, I assumed you'd heard the term before.'

'No, but I suspect I'll be hearing it from now on. Is that what people think I am?'

'Not even close! I doubt any C-squareds have been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, for example. You're probably the despair of most C-squareds. Ryan's anyway.'

'Are they organised? You make them sound like a club.'

'Not at all. But you may have observed that a higher percentage of his autograph seekers are witches, and they generally change out of Cannons orange before turning up.'

'I didn't even notice.'

'That's probably good—means you're not territorial. But you've nothing to worry about, of course.'

Hermione sighed. She wasn't worried about Ryan straying—if he could survive Gabrielle, surely he could handle a C-squared—but she didn't like being the focus of their envy or ire. 'Thanks for the warning. But here I've done exactly what you don't like, pressing you for information about Ryan. I feel I should make it up to you—is there anything about Harry you want to know?'

Annie laughed and said, 'I'm sure there are numerous sources in the building, and I expect to meet him myself anyway, so I won't bother you. Have you seen much of Ryan tonight?'

'No, not since the guests arrived.'

'Then why on earth are you talking to me? Get thee to the roof without delay!'

'I will. But I'm glad I ran into you—I hope we can see each other again soon.'

They hugged and Hermione made her way upstairs. When she reached the fourth floor and began climbing the narrow staircase to the attic, her path was impeded by Sally-Ann Perks.

'Are you all right?' asked Hermione. 'Do you need a comfortable place to sit down?'

'No, this spot suits me just fine,' said Sally-Ann.

Puzzled, Hermione said, 'If you insist, but I'd hate for someone to trip on you.'

'I'm very observant, so I don't think that will happen. But thanks for your concern.'

Hermione continued to the rooftop, where she emerged to find a topologically improbable number of people dancing. She scanned for Ryan's head above the crowd—he was only a couple of inches shorter than Ron—but she didn't see him anywhere. But then she spotted him crouching near the stereo.

'Ryan,' she shouted, not wanting to sneak up on him.

He looked up, and she was transported by his expression of delight. 'Hermione, finally! Have you been greeting guests with Harry this whole time?'

'No, but there was the Chocolate Frog debacle, and then I got sidetracked. But I'm here now ... how are you doing?'

He was having trouble hearing her, so he led her to the comparatively quiet area he'd charmed, off to the side. 'I'm sorry, what were you saying?'

'I asked how you were doing.'

He smiled. 'I've missed you, of course, but you can imagine how much I've enjoyed exposing your classmates to decent music. It's like watching a newborn foal standing up on spindly legs but then take off into a gallop.'

She followed his gaze to the dance floor, where she saw masses of the Hogwarts guests dancing enthusiastically. Neville appeared to be having a particularly good time, jumping about and lifting Hannah into the air at intervals.

'I've never seen a group so starved for Britpop,' he continued. 'Just you wait ... I can guarantee that within minutes someone is going to ask me to play "Girls and Boys" again.'

'Isn't that the one about rampant casual sex amongst holidaymakers?'

'Yes, and it appears to have set the tone. I don't know what things are like downstairs, but it's a veritable bacchanal up here. Someone discovered the house-elves can be summoned for food and alcohol, which means every need is being met. How many guest rooms does Harry have anyway?'

'We've never been certain,' said Hermione. 'As far as I've discovered, the answer to that question is always "one more."'

'I see. In any case, this bodes well for wizarding Britain's post-war repopulation effort.'

'Apparently. Do you suppose this is an aspect of the uni experience we've missed?'

'Undoubtedly. Shall we seize the opportunity?'

Having completed her hostess duties, she accepted a glass of beer from a house-elf, and before long she was entangled on the dance floor with Ryan. She knew it would have been more appropriate to dance apart from him, particularly during the fast songs, but she found she couldn't keep her hands off him very long.

They were regularly interrupted with requests, often but not exclusively for the song Ryan had mentioned, but otherwise she was able to enjoy a long stretch of dancing with her boyfriend._ Has it really only been two weeks? _she thought. _And only three weeks since Ron and I split up?_

Eventually they returned to the quiet area for a break from all the dancing. 'Have you managed to converse with anyone?' she asked.

'Yes—quite a few Hogwarts people introduced themselves, either as friends of yours or Cannons fans. Though there was one witch I'm not certain how to classify.'

'Do you remember her name?'

'Romilda something. She said she was in Gryffindor and that she and Harry were great friends, and that she was a huge Cannons fan as well. She didn't seem very receptive when I kept mentioning you, but then she asked me a question about the music and you know how I get when that happens. Eventually she became a bit ... tactile, so I made my excuses and left.'

'Oh dear, I should have warned you about her. First off, no, she's not a good friend of Harry's. He didn't even invite her to the party because in our sixth year she gave him a box of Chocolate Cauldrons spiked with a Love Potion, which he didn't eat, thank goodness, but Ron ate them months later and got the full blast of it. Fortunately Romilda was nowhere nearby, and Harry dragged him to the Potions professor for an antidote.'

Ryan paled. 'I hope she's given up the habit.'

'I have no idea, but she was almost certainly the inspiration behind the charmed goblets.'

They talked for a while longer before Ginny appeared, along with Blaise Zabini and a witch Hermione didn't recognise. 'Hermione,' said Ginny, 'I'm surprised you finally took a break from dancing—you seemed to be enjoying it so much.'

'Yes,' said Blaise, 'I think you demonstrated that the photograph in last week's _Prophet_ wasn't staged.'

'Why would anyone think it was staged?' asked Hermione, somewhat astonished to be conversing with Blaise Zabini.

'That was Draco's theory.' He looked at Ryan and added, 'Draco Malfoy is one of our Death Eater classmates, currently under house arrest.' Turning towards Hermione, he said, 'Draco decided that you and Harry cooked up the scheme together, to distract the public from your own torrid affair. According to the theory, Harry tapped Bellamy because he's the most newsworthy Cannon, other than himself.'

'I'm glad to hear he's making the most of his two-year sentence,' said Hermione dryly. 'It sounds like he's doing some real soul-searching.'

'If by "soul-searching" you mean committing _folie à deux_ entirely on his own, then yes, he's doing all sorts of soul-searching,' said Blaise. 'So did you really throw Ron Weasley over for Bellamy? If so, he seems to be recovering all right.' He indicated Ron and Janet, who had given up all pretence of dancing and were snogging in plain view.

Ginny looked at them appraisingly and said, 'It looks like Ron's technique has improved a bit since his Lavender days. Well done!'

Choosing to ignore Ginny's comment, Hermione said, 'No, that was the _Prophet_ living up to its usual standard. Ron was the first to realise that he and I weren't suited to one another. It came as a shock, naturally, but I'm grateful he figured it out before we were in too deep.'

'You mean before you were trapped in a marriage bond? I know Ginny dodged that curse as well,' said Blaise. 'I've never understood why magicals marry so young. It seems like a perfect way to stunt one's development, locking oneself down at the age of nineteen.'

Ginny rolled her eyes. 'Blaise is an expert on matrimony. Which husband is your mother up to now?'

'Yes, laugh all you like,' retorted Blaise. 'I happen to have far more dead fathers than Harry does.'

'I'm sorry, what?' said Hermione.

'Oh, you didn't hear about it,' said Ginny. 'Harry was drunk and chatty a while ago. Kept talking about having three dead fathers.'

Hermione shot Ginny a concerned look. 'Drunk and chatty?'

'Don't worry, he's squared away.'

'Triangled, more like,' said Blaise. 'Two witches.'

Hermione felt a hint of satisfaction that she'd assessed things correctly. 'I suppose if anyone deserves a good birthday, it's Harry.'

'Have you met her?' asked Ginny. 'Helena, that is—not the plus-one.'

'Yes, we talked for a while in the kitchen. Lovely person.'

Blaise started asking Ryan about the music, which predictably ensnared him, leaving Hermione with Ginny and her friend.

'I'm sorry, have we met?' asked Hermione.

'My fault!' said Ginny. 'Hermione, this is Wendy. Wendy, Hermione. She's one of my Harpies teammates.'

Warm greetings were exchanged, and Hermione asked, 'Have you been on the team long?'

'I started last year but I'm still a reserve Chaser, just like Ginny.'

'I learnt a new expression today,' said Hermione. 'C-squared ... are you familiar with it?'

Ginny laughed. 'I'm not surprised you heard that one. Obviously you're not a good example, but I'm certain Ryan has been bombarded with them over the years.'

'Are there C-squareds amongst the Harpies fans?'

Wendy said, 'It's a bit different for the Harpies, since we're all witches. The stereotypical C-squared is female and heterosexual, so in that respect the Harpies haven't any. But we attract a different following, both among witches and wizards.'

'I imagine a lot of the wizards objectify the players,' said Hermione.

'Yes, there's some of that, but not as much as you'd think,' replied Wendy. 'Certainly some of the male fans are only there for the cleavage, but a much larger portion appreciate the powerful female warrior aspect. And of course the Harpies have a strong lesbian following as well.'

'Yes, I imagine they would. When do you play the Cannons next?'

'Sometime in September,' said Ginny. 'But there's no chance I'll play.'

Wendy shook her head. 'I'm not so sure about that. They may want you in there to rattle Harry, particularly now that his main strategy is ramming into Chasers.'

'Did someone say "ramming into Chasers?"' asked Blaise. 'Yes, please!'

Ginny swatted him and said, 'Give it up. It's not going to happen. You'll have to find another filthy little blood traitor.'

'You're never going to let me live that down, will you?'

'Never,' she grinned. 'You've made your bed, and I'm not going to lie in it.'

Hermione was thirsty, so she wandered over to the area that had become a de-facto bar. She didn't see any house-elves, but there were a lot of used goblets on top of the parapet.

'Do you need a drink?' asked Sally-Ann. 'I can't finish this bottle of fruit pressé that the house-elves gave me.' She held up a half-full bottle.'

'That would be ideal, thank you,' said Hermione, taking the bottle. She used her wand to clean one of the goblets and filled it.

The goblet turned black. Hermione turned accusingly towards Sally-Ann, who simply said, 'Oops.'

Hermione pulled her wand out to immobilise her, but Sally-Ann was too quick—she stepped over the boundary to the neighbouring rooftop and immediately Disapparated.

Rushing to Ginny, Ryan, and the others, Hermione held up the glass and said, 'Someone just tried to give me Veritaserum.' They all looked in the direction from which Hermione had come. 'No, she already Disapparated.'

'Who was it?' asked Ginny.

'On the surface of things, Sally-Ann Perks.'

'Who?'

Hermione shook her head. 'An exceedingly shy Hufflepuff who'd politely declined Harry's invitation. Damn, I should have known! She had to have been Rita Skeeter.'

'Rita Skeeter!' exclaimed Ginny. 'And she was here all night?'

'Yes,' said Hermione, scowling. 'She must have found out somehow that Sally-Ann Perks wasn't coming and stolen her invitation, and some hair for Polyjuice Potion.'

'What's the big deal?' asked Blaise. 'Harry couldn't have expected everyone to stay quiet about what happened tonight. Someone was bound to blab to the press.'

'Yes, but that's not the same as Rita Skeeter having a front-row seat for hours.' Hermione looked at them, horrified. 'Oh my god, she was sitting on the staircase right near Harry's room. It was the perfect spot, both to monitor traffic to and from the roof and also to see who Harry went to bed with.'

'Two witches,' said Blaise admiringly. 'I know what tomorrow's headline is going to be.'

'Oh no—Helena,' said Hermione. 'She specifically doesn't want her name linked with Harry's. Did any of you hear her surname?'

'Yes,' said Blaise. 'Daphne said it was Strauss.'

'Ugh ... what do we do?' asked Hermione, looking up at Ryan.

'I'm not sure there's anything we can do,' he said. 'I don't see what you'll accomplish by interrupting Harry right now.'

With mock sternness, Blaise pointed his wand. 'I will duel anyone who tries to interrupt Harry. In my opinion, interrupting a threesome is a crime worthy of Azkaban—on a man's birthday, no less. No, absolutely not.' He shook his head for added emphasis.

'You've made your point,' said Ginny. 'But he's right, there's nothing we can do. Unless one of you has a controlling interest in the _Prophet_, I think we just have to wait. But we should at least slip a letter beneath the door to warn them.'

'Howlers,' said Hermione. 'Helena might receive Howlers.'

'Bugger, you're right,' said Ginny. 'Do you have any idea where she lives?'

'No, only that her family makes magical trunks.'

'Strauss Leather Goods, in Northampton?' asked Blaise. 'That has to be it—Strauss isn't a common name here.'

Hermione shook her head. 'We can't just turn up at her family business in the middle of the night and tell them their daughter's in the midst of a threesome with Harry Potter and that it's going to be all over the _Prophet_ tomorrow.'

'We could owl them a warning,' suggested Ryan. 'Tell them there's a high likelihood they'll receive unwanted owls tomorrow after the _Prophet_ comes out. I can go send that now if you like—Northampton isn't far from Cambridge.'

'Do we think that's a good idea?' asked Hermione, turning to the group, and everyone nodded. She gave Ryan a quick embrace and said, 'Come back soon.'

'Should we tell Ron?' asked Ginny. Ron was still on the dance floor with Janet, although they were actually dancing again.

'Yes, good idea.'

Ginny looked her in the eye. 'Is that all right?'

'Of course, it's fine. We've both moved on, and there was never any ill will.'

Ron and Janet were fetched and brought up to speed. 'Blimey, that was Rita Skeeter the whole time?'

'Yes,' said Hermione. 'Do you recall what Harry may have said in front of her?'

'Er, he was fairly chatty.'

'Anything confidential?'

'No, nothing like that,' said Ron, and Hermione and Ginny both exhaled. 'But she asked how much the party cost, and he said he hadn't a clue and that it didn't matter anyway.'

Hermione sighed. 'Well, it's no secret Harry's well off, particularly now that he's the Black heir. Anything else?'

'Just the thing about three dead fathers, and how much he was looking forward to shagging Helena.'

Blaise sniggered and said, 'Harry's going to have more fans than ever. In the space of a week he's taken down the lords, caught the Snitch for the Cannons, and had a threesome. In retrospect, Voldemort never had a chance.'

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. 'I think he'll survive this. But it'll be a shame if it hastens the end between him and Helena. That'll hopefully be the worst of it though.'

'Wrong,' said Janet. 'This will be prime taunting material.'

Wendy looked up and said, 'Bugger, you're right. It must be terrible for him already. Who do the Cannons play next?'

'Magpies,' said Ron. 'Harry's fucked—Gilstrap is notorious.'

Wendy turned towards Janet. 'You're going to have to prepare him. You and your teammates.'

Ron laughed and said, 'There's another task you were born for, Janet. Take the piss out of Harry all week, for the good of the team.'

Ryan returned soon after, and everyone decided to start dancing again. Eventually he and Hermione were ready to leave, and on the way downstairs they stopped on the third floor, where the bedrooms were.

He peered down the corridor and said, 'It appears that "one more" is a very high number. Do you think people are planning to stay the night?'

'I couldn't even say. Hopefully most of them will tiptoe down to the fireplace in the wee hours.'

'Do you suppose there will be a lot of babies christened "Harry" nine and a half months from now?'

'Anything's possible,' she said as she prepared a note for Harry and Helena. But when she tried sliding it under the door it wouldn't go. 'Blast, it's the goblin wards. Not even a note can get through. I'll have to send him a Patronus in the morning before the _Prophet_ arrives.'

'That won't be pleasant—normally the _Prophet_ arrives around seven o'clock, or maybe half past.'

Hermione sighed. 'Not to worry. I'm no Seer, but something tells me it'll be a late edition.'


	33. Chapter 33

When Harry awoke, Helena was still asleep with her arm wrapped around him. It was so pleasant that he simply lay there for a long time, enjoying her embrace. _This is heaven_, he thought, and a feeling of gratitude overtook him.

Eventually he rolled over, and he spent a while just looking at her. Her soft curls were disheveled, and he admired the way the morning light caught the strawberry blond colour. It wasn't like Ginny's vivid red hair or his mother's rich auburn—it was Helena's own colour and he found it enchanting.

He made a game of trying to count the faint freckles across her nose and upper cheeks. _Forty-four? Or did I miss those three? _Her nostrils flared very slightly as she breathed, and he deliberately synchronised his breath with hers.

_If only I could persuade her to stay with me,_ he thought. He knew his time with her was running out, perhaps only a few more weeks, if that.

He felt an overwhelming need to kiss her—on her forehead, her shoulder, the inside of her upturned wrist. He knew he oughtn't wake her but he did it anyway, and then he returned to his original vantage point to watch her open her eyes.

They were more grey than green, and their shape was different to his own. There were little flecks of colour inside the irises, and he watched them shift as her eyes began to focus. He never would have been able to see them before he'd had his vision corrected.

'Did you wake me on purpose?' she asked.

'How can you accuse me of something so dastardly?'

'Because I know what a greedy boy you are, and that you'll stop at nothing to get what you want.'

'That's true. They're always calling me single-minded,' he said, moving towards her, and they started the day as he'd intended.

'I wish Vanessa could have stayed,' he said afterwards. 'There's plenty of room, after all.'

'Vanessa wishes she could have stayed as well, I can assure you, but her parents aren't as liberal as mine. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd installed a charm to monitor her virginity. Or wards, perhaps.'

'What, like a rune somewhere? I didn't see any, and I investigated rather thoroughly.'

'You certainly did. And you deserve points for such a novel application of the Hovering Charm. If you ever sit your N.E.W.T.s you should ask for extra credit.'

'I can't possibly be the first wizard to discover that—the Hovering Charm was clearly made for threesomes.' _And for subduing trolls_, he thought idly.

She sat up and looked around. 'What time is it anyway?'

He looked at his pocket watch on the nightstand and said, 'Nearly eight o'clock.'

Helena shook her head indignantly before flopping back onto the bed. 'Not nearly late enough. We should go back to sleep.'

'But I'm hungry,' he whinged dramatically, and she laughed at him.

'Then ask Kreacher to bring us something.'

'No, I'm certain he was up all night and I don't want to bother him. But we can go have a look ourselves—there are bound to be leftovers, or I can even prove to you I know how to cook.'

'I'd like to see that,' she said, sitting up again. 'For all I know, your cooking skills are just talk.'

He pulled on his boxer shorts and asked, 'Do you want a dressing gown or pyjamas?'

'Did I see some glow-in-the-dark pyjamas on your shelf? If so, I want those.'

He fetched the Prongs pyjamas from the wardrobe and brought them to her, and when he saw her in them he felt another wave of affection. _How lovely it would be to wake up with her every morning_.

Putting on his dressing gown, he opened the door and they stepped into the corridor. She looked around and asked, 'Is the corridor longer than usual?'

'Yes, definitely.' Noticing that a number of the doors were still closed, he added, 'It appears the party isn't over yet.'

'I hope they aren't expecting you to cook for them. That would clearly exceed the bounds of the implied contract.'

They proceeded downstairs and eventually passed the portrait of Padfoot, who was curled asleep with an empty bottle of Firewhisky. 'I wonder where he got it,' said Harry. 'Do you think someone tried tossing it in like a treat?'

'You'll have to ask him yourself once he's awake.'

To Harry's surprise, there were several house-elves in the kitchen. 'Good morning, Mr Harry Potter!' squeaked one of them. 'Would Mr Harry Potter and his witch like breakfast?'

'Yes, please,' said Harry, and they gave the elf instructions.

They were drinking tea at the table when Darren strolled into the kitchen, dressed only in boxers. 'Morning, Snitchbottom—that was a great party. How are you doing?'

Harry was a little puzzled by Darren's nonchalance but replied, 'I'm well, thanks. Is there something I can help you with?'

'I was hoping to borrow a house-elf, maybe procure some breakfast for my companion and me. Fortunately it appears you have a few to spare, so with your leave I'll avail myself.'

'Be my guest,' replied Harry, relishing the absurdity of the situation.

They were surprised by the sudden arrival of Hermione's otter. 'Harry, I'm so sorry to bother you this early, but unfortunately time is of the essence. It appears Sally-Ann Perks was actually a Polyjuiced Rita Skeeter. The _Prophet_ hasn't arrived yet—we're anticipating a late edition—but we're particularly concerned for Helena, whose surname might be revealed. I can provide more details in person. Again, I'm so sorry.'

Harry immediately looked at Helena, who had turned pale. 'What do you need?' he asked. 'I can be at Gringotts in five minutes if you need wards.'

'I need to go home,' she said, standing. 'I have to warn them.'

He rose and said, 'Will you be back?'

'We'll see. I won't know until I get home.'

'I'm so sorry. This is all my fault.'

'Of course it's not your fault,' replied Helena. 'You can't help being newsworthy.' She kissed him quickly and hurried towards the stairs.

'Can I help?' asked Darren.

Harry ran his hand through his hair. 'I don't know, I can hardly think straight. I should probably reply to Hermione first.' He conjured Prongs and said, 'Hermione, yes, please come over. I'm in the kitchen.'

Hermione and Ryan arrived less than a minute later. 'Harry, I'm so sorry. Are you all right?' she said.

'I'm still processing. What happened? How did you discover it was her?'

'She tried giving me Veritaserum. The charmed goblet detected it.'

'And she got away, I assume?'

'Yes, we were on the roof, and she just stepped over the parapet and Disapparated.'

'Thank Merlin you didn't drink it,' said Harry. 'That would have been a disaster.'

'I know, I can scarcely imagine. Where's Helena?'

'She went home to warn her family.'

'We sent them an owl last night, to what we thought was her family business. Strauss Leather Goods in Northampton.'

Harry shrugged and shook his head. 'I've no idea, honestly. Who else knows about this?'

'Ginny, Ron, Janet, Ginny's friend Wendy, and Blaise Zabini.'

'Blaise Zabini?' repeated Harry, more bewildered than upset.

'Yes, he and Ginny are friends. But nothing more.'

'Right,' said Harry, who had begun pacing. 'I'm trying to remember what she might have overheard. I know I was talkative but I don't think I revealed anything classified, except possibly a bit of the prophecy.'

'There was a prophecy?' interjected Darren. The others looked at him and he said, 'Sorry, carry on.'

'I think I quoted the seventh month bit to Ginny, but that was all. Nothing about thrice defying.' Darren raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything.

'That's probably all right,' said Hermione. 'It won't mean anything out of context.'

'She kept asking me about Helena, and I'm certain I said her given name but never her surname.'

'You told Daphne her surname.'

'Blast! That was probably the only time it was spoken all night. She also asked how much the party cost, and I told her I didn't know, which is probably worse than if I'd provided a number. I'm sure she'll just make something up.'

'Did you mention Vanessa's name?' asked Hermione.

'Ugh, Vanessa! No, I don't think so, but how do you know it?'

'I met her last night, with Helena. I don't think I ever heard her surname.'

'I did, near the tapestry. Do you think Rita could have been Disillusioned?'

'I suppose we'll find out,' said Hermione.

The house-elf arrived with breakfast. 'I'm sorry,' said Harry, 'I should have offered you something. Are you hungry?'

'There you are!' came a voice. 'And yes, I'm very hungry.'

They all turned to find Romilda Vane, who was wearing a brassiere, knickers, and an unbuttoned man's shirt—presumably Darren's.

'Sorry to keep you waiting, Renata,' said Darren. 'There's been a bit of an emergency and I got distracted.'

'It's Romilda,' she said, putting her hands on Darren's chest, 'and if you get it wrong again I'll have to punish you.'

'Can we please focus?' said Hermione. 'First, I don't need any more breakfast, but Ryan might.'

'Yes, please,' he said, and a house-elf arrived to take his order.

'Next, you should probably eat something,' she said to Harry. 'I imagine you're rather hungry,' she added with a smirk.

He smiled in spite of himself. 'I am,' he said before sitting down to eat.

'Third, I assume Darren and Romilda aren't your only lodgers.'

'Based on the length of the third floor corridor, I doubt it,' said Harry between bites.

'Darren,' said Hermione. 'Could you please ask all the guests to leave?'

'Really?' said Harry. 'That seems inhospitable. I'd hate to interrupt them.'

'I agree,' said Darren. 'This is the future of wizarding Britain we're talking about. One instance of coitus interruptus could plant the seeds for the next war.'

Romilda, who had begun eating Helena's breakfast, burst out laughing. 'You're just too funny!'

Hermione sighed. 'Fine, they can stay. But I assume you'd rather they not have a front row seat. Is it better to contain them, or should we go to your bedroom?'

'Yes, my bedroom is still warded so that's probably our best bet.'

'Perfect,' said Romilda. 'I'm dying to see that enormous bed of yours. Everyone was talking about it.'

'Just brilliant,' groaned Harry. 'I assume it'll feature heavily in this morning's article.'

'That and your three fathers,' said Romilda. 'And how much gold you have.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Well, you weren't specific. The quotation I heard was "I've three dead fathers but no end of gold."'

'Bloody hell,' moaned Harry, his head in his palm.

'Nobody's going to care,' said Darren. 'You're the Black heir and you turned down Silver Arrow. They've figured it out.'

'What else has everyone figured out?' snapped Harry. 'Will there be a sidebar about the Dursleys?'

'Who?' asked Romilda.

'Forget it,' said Hermione. 'We should go upstairs.'

When they reached the fourth floor Harry entered his bedroom and everyone followed. 'Er, Romilda,' he said. 'I don't think we require your assistance.'

'I'm not leaving Darren,' she insisted.

Everyone looked at Darren, who simply shrugged and took Romilda's hand. Harry continued pacing, taking occasional bites from the plate he'd set on the bureau, Hermione and Ryan sat at the small table, and Darren and Romilda made themselves comfortable on the bed.

'How do you suppose Rita knew Sally-Ann wasn't coming? Could she have overheard it at Gringotts?' asked Hermione.

'Impossible,' said Harry.

'He's right,' said Ryan. 'They're bulletproof.'

'Yes, they wouldn't even help me retrieve my invitation when it got lost,' declared Romilda.

Hermione looked at Harry, who shook his head. 'There's no point,' he muttered.

'You told me here at the house,' she continued, 'so that's not a possibility. You have anti-Animagus wards, right?'

'Yes.'

'You told us at the pub,' said Darren.

'Bugger, you're right,' said Harry. 'That has to be it. I even told Gary their names, since he was in Hufflepuff.'

Ryan sat up. 'Shall I ward the pub?'

'What kind of wards?' asked Darren.

'Anti-Animagus,' said Hermione. 'She's got a beetle form—that's how she spies on people.'

'I'd have to look that up,' said Ryan. 'Do you know if anti-Animagus wards are complicated?'

'I don't think so, and there are dozens of books about wards in the library downstairs.'

'The locked room?' asked Romilda. 'May I come see it?'

'Yes,' snapped Hermione. 'Have a look at the Grimoire.'

'Hermione!' scolded Harry.

'I apologise,' said Hermione. 'Under no circumstances should you touch the large spellbook on the table.'

They exited the bedroom and went to the library together, and Harry opened the door. 'Wow,' said Romilda. 'This room is amazing. Why didn't you let us come in last night?'

'Because it's full of books on Dark magic,' said Hermione. 'Why do you think?'

Romilda pouted and turned to Darren, who put his arm around her rather inappropriately.

Hermione pulled a few books off the shelves and handed one to Ryan. Within minutes they found instructions in two separate books. 'Right,' said Ryan. 'I'll take care of it tonight after closing.'

They returned upstairs, where they encountered several people milling about the corridor. 'Harry, brilliant party!' called Suresh, standing in a doorway.

'Cheers,' replied Harry, momentarily forgetting his anxiety. He was glad people had enjoyed themselves.

Lyle's friend Connor stuck his head out from behind Suresh. 'Yes, thanks again.'

'Are there any house-elves running around?' asked Suresh. 'Or leftovers?'

'Try the kitchen,' said Harry. 'Bottom floor.'

They returned to the bedroom and Hermione asked, 'Should you instruct Kreacher to deliver the _Prophet_ as soon as it arrives?'

'Yes, good point—it's always delivered to the kitchen.' He turned his mind to the house-elf and thought, _Kreacher, I'm terribly sorry to disturb you. Would you please deliver the _Prophet_ to my bedroom as soon as it arrives. And perhaps you could send some of the other elves up and down the corridor to see if anyone's hungry._

_With pleasure, Master!_

_Cheers, off with you!_ thought Harry buoyantly. He had no idea why he wasn't depressed, but he decided to run with it.

'Mischief managed,' he said.

Hermione stared at him in amazement. 'Did you just communicate wordlessly with Kreacher?'

'Yes, it's my new trick. I've had it for several weeks now.'

A gong sounded, and Ryan's breakfast appeared on the table. Moments later several more trays appeared over the bed, where Darren and Romilda had made themselves at home.

'Are these silver?' asked Romilda.

'No,' said Hermione. 'The silver ones were stolen during the war.'

'You should should get new ones, Harry,' said Romilda. 'Seeing how rich you are.'

'This is my life now, isn't it?' said Harry, with a fresh wave of exasperation. 'Because Merlin forbid I go a single week without some new target on my back. Do you think they'll start calling me Lord Black again?'

'I wish they would,' said Romilda. 'I liked it.'

'Lord Black is dead and buried,' said Darren. 'Harry Potter-Black, on the other hand ...'

'I'm not changing my name.'

'Don't you want to rehabilitate House Black?' persisted Darren. 'I thought it was your godfather's dying request.'

_No, Sirius's dying request was to take the prophecy and run,_ thought Harry irritably.

'He's right,' said Hermione. 'That's unquestionably the fastest way to rehabilitate House Black.'

'These are wizards we're talking about,' said Harry. 'It doesn't need to be fast. I'm not changing my name.'

'I think you should change it,' announced Romilda. 'You're too rich to have a boring surname like Potter.'

'You could change it to Peverell,' suggested Hermione.

'Or Mimsy-Porpington!' exploded Harry. 'Why are you all ganging up on me like this?'

'We're trying to pass the time until the _Prophet_ arrives,' said Darren. 'Do you reckon there's any beer left?'

'I can't get over this bed,' said Romilda. 'Did you buy it somewhere? It must have cost a fortune.'

'No, it came with the house,' said Hermione. 'Generations of Dark wizards were conceived there.'

'Really?' exclaimed Romilda, running her hands over the bed. 'That's fascinating.'

There was a knock at the door. 'Harry?' said Helena's voice.

He turned and opened the door. 'I'm so glad you're back. How are you? How did everything go with your family? Please, come in.'

She looked around. 'I see you've gathered spectators. And you've found some more inmates for your enormous bed.'

'It's awfully comfortable,' said Romilda. 'But I suppose you knew that already.'

'Helena, I believe you've met Hermione. These are my teammates Ryan and Darren. And for reasons I can't fathom, this is Romilda Vane.'

'I'm sure I'd be pleased to meet you under different circumstances,' said Helena. 'But I'm currently experiencing a waking nightmare.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry. 'How did things go with your family? Apparently Ryan sent a letter last night to the shop.'

'Yes, my grandfather found it this morning, and so they already reinforced the wards. They were still fairly strong from the war, and of course Charms are our specialty.'

'And your parents?'

Helena looked around the room, clearly uncomfortable speaking in front of a crowd, but then she muttered, 'Oh, what's the point.' In her normal voice she said, 'They'd figured out I was seeing someone, obviously, but I don't think they'd have guessed in a hundred years it was you. And they're not bothered by the threesome, considering I'd initiated it. Although you might have trouble with my brothers if they see you. Overprotective, you know.'

Harry sighed. 'I didn't even know you had brothers.'

'How would you? I never told you,' she said, running her hand tenderly through his hair.

'I never asked,' he said quietly.

'Sorry, I couldn't hear that last bit,' said Romilda.

'Romilda!' snapped Harry. More quietly he said to Helena, 'Do you want me to ask everyone to leave? I'm happy to, if that's what you'd prefer.'

'No, I should get accustomed to having an audience. And I'll admit they're diverting.'

'Was that you in the photograph, with the robes?' asked Romilda.

'Yes.'

'I can't believe you didn't want to be seen with Harry Potter. That's every witch's dream nowadays. Of course I was ahead of the trend.'

'Oi!' cried Darren.

'Obviously I like you best,' she said to Darren, pulling him into an embrace.

'Excuse me, could you please refrain from snogging in my bed?' asked Harry. 'There are plenty of other rooms if you're desperate.'

Darren looked at Romilda hopefully but she pulled away and said, 'No, I'd rather watch. We can snog later.'

The _Prophet_ still hadn't arrived, so people found ways to pass the time. Ryan and Hermione went to the roof to retrieve the stereo system, and Darren and Romilda played Exploding Snap on the bed. Harry and Helena sat at the table, where a house-elf had provided breakfast for her.

'Tell me about your brothers,' said Harry.

'They're three and five years older than I am. Both of them work in the shop—I imagine they'll take over the business someday.'

'Aren't you interested in that as well?'

'It's fine for now, but I'd rather teach Charms. I've been pursuing a Mastery in conjunction with my work.'

'You're so amazing,' he said. 'I shouldn't be surprised, of course—I already knew you were brilliant.'

'You are too, Harry.'

'No I'm not. Hermione's the brilliant one. I'm the weapon.'

'I should never have told you that,' said Helena. 'You're much cleverer than anyone gives you credit for, yourself especially.'

'I don't even have my N.E.W.T.s. And, frankly, I hope I never have to sit them.'

'N.E.W.T.s aren't what make a person clever, any more than magical strength is what makes a person powerful.'

'Oh, Helena ... I'm going to miss you.'

'I'll miss you too, Harry.'

'You're not splitting up, are you?' asked Romilda.

Harry gazed longingly at Helena, his eyes large with emotion. She looked at him tenderly, and he responded by comically batting his eyes, as he'd done during their unsuccessful attempt to apply her false eyelashes.

'Yes, I'm afraid so,' said Helena.

'But why?' asked Romilda. 'Don't you know how rich he is?'

'He lives in an enormous townhouse and has a house-elf, not to mention he's a league Seeker and a lord. So yes, I'd worked it out.'

'Didn't he buy you anything, then?' asked Romilda. 'Or give you something from the family vault?'

'I think there's a cursed tiara,' suggested Harry.

'No,' said Helena. 'Just dinner. And champagne once.'

'No wonder she's leaving you,' said Romilda.

Hermione and Ryan returned. 'Anything yet?' she asked.

'No, not a peep,' said Harry.

'Merlin, it's nearly ten o'clock,' said Hermione, looking at her wristwatch. 'I don't think the _Prophet_ has ever arrived this late.'

'I reckon it'll be good,' said Darren.

There was a gong, and another tray appeared. On it lay the rolled-up _Prophet_, along with a vase of flowers.

Everyone just looked at it for a long moment. 'Shall I make copies?' proposed Hermione.

'Yes,' said Harry glumly, 'unless we all want to read it together in my enormous bed.'

Hermione duplicated the newspaper before Romilda could protest, and each couple unrolled their copy. The headline blared:

_PLEASURE TIMES TWO: Harry Potter's Sex-Filled Birthday Bacchanal_

_By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_

_Last night Harry Potter's opulent townhouse was the scene for a decadent orgy attended by scores of young witches and wizards, culminating with the host's sensual encounter with not one but two stunning witches._

_Nearly two hundred guests descended upon the Black family townhouse—which still retains the flavour of centuries of Dark magic—to celebrate Harry Potter's nineteenth birthday. The young hero, who suffered so much during the war, has decisively claimed its spoils and assumed the mantle of the most envied wizard in Great Britain, if not the world._

_Clad in elegantly tailored robes—charcoal with green trim—Harry had a vast array of potential partners to choose among. To this end he greeted guests for hours, holding court beneath a massive tapestry depicting the Black family tree, and he willingly received the aggressive advances of a fourteen-year-old Veela and a sultry, dark-haired classmate before finally selecting two gorgeous witches to share the ecstasies of his scandalously large bed._

_No expense was spared in Harry's night of debauchery, and the host was by no means the only one to experience hedonic bliss. Dozens of couples found each other as the night progressed, and an endless series of guest rooms were claimed for intimate exploration. _

_Many couples, however, eschewed privacy and chose instead to cavort in plain sight, whether in alcoves, armchairs, or on the roof, which hosted a frenzy of foreplay disguised as dancing. Alcohol flowed freely, served by dozens of house-elves on loan from Hogwarts—itself a shocking act of favouritism from Headmistress Minerva McGonagall._

_Although Harry now enjoys every conceivable privilege, not least the staggering fortune left to him by his godfather, Sirius Black, his triumph is marred by the tragedy that defines him: the murder of his parents just months after his first birthday. His tongue loosened by Firewhisky, Harry spoke freely of his loss, referring not to one but three dead fathers. Although he unmistakably resembles James Potter, his presumed biological father, Harry's choice of words raises important questions about his late mother's relationship with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, and whether their surrogate fatherhood was in fact a tribute to her. It was revealed at the end of the war that she had similarly ensnared Severus Snape, late headmaster of Hogwarts and longtime spy against He Who Must Not Be Named._

_Regarding Lily Potter, née Evans, Harry created a sensation by wearing a lily-of-the-valley boutonnière in her memory. As the night progressed, numerous wizards were seen adorning their own lapels with blooms appropriated from the many vases and floral displays throughout the house. Wizarding florists should prepare for a flood of requests for boutonnières henceforth, as Potter's newfound foppery has clearly set a standard._

_Many guests exclaimed over the extravagance of the event, which was richly catered by the aforementioned elves. And this was no casual gathering, as would be more appropriate for one so young—quite the opposite. Harry splashed out in the grandest style possible, engaging Gringotts to handle all security measures, from portkey invitations to charmed goblets protecting guests from Love Potions and other dangerous draughts. When asked about the cost of the event, Harry was unable even to recall the number. He said, ''I don't know, a lot. Doesn't matter of course. Drop in the bloody bucket. I've three dead fathers but no end of gold."_

_And here lies the pain at the heart of what appears to be a charmed existence. For all his current sensual indulgences, Harry is forever burdened with trauma and loss. When entering his specially warded bedroom just prior to his night of rapture in the arms and legs of two dazzling witches, he announced, 'Nothing but the best for Lord Black! Except for family, of course—I really drew the short straw there. But at least I have two hot witches.'_

_As to the aforementioned partners, the rampant speculation over the identity of Harry's girlfriend here ends: the envied young witch is Helena Strauss, 19, of Northamptonshire. Golden-haired with a touch of ginger—a reminder of Harry's auburn-haired mother and his former girlfriend, the flame-haired Ginevra Weasley—Helena received special commendation on her Charms N.E.W.T. in 1998. With brains as well as beauty, she sets a high bar for the many witches yearning for a spot in Harry's capacious bed._

_The second witch remains unidentified, but she was equally lovely with dark hair and eyes, and a voluptuous figure. Harry enjoyed a feast for all senses on the night of his nineteenth birthday, and his twentieth year will surely be filled with innumerable carnal delights._

_And yet Harry's insatiable needs were in plain view. When separated from Helena, he moaned incessantly for her, enquiring repeatedly as to her whereabouts and expressing a strong desire to couple. And in her absence, he made advances on a new acquaintance, declaring, 'You're a fit bird! Maybe I'll owl you when Helena dumps me.'_

_Why, you might ask, would the lovely Helena spurn the Saviour of the Wizarding World? Alas, the combination of his traumatic past and his remarkable accomplishments has produced a young man with a shockingly large ego. Gone is the humble boy of yesteryear—replaced instead by an unapologetically proud young wizard, who wears his arrogance as a tribute to one of his dead fathers. Amid the vast array of sweets and pastries served in the palatial dining room was an enormous pyramid of Chocolate Frogs, each one containing Harry's own card. Guests were appalled by the display of egotism but perfectly willing to avail themselves of Harry's self-aggrandising hospitality._

_The party was well attended both by Harry's Hogwarts classmates and by a number of guests who attended other schools, presumably Beauxbatons or somewhere in North America. One of the more surprising guests, in contrast to the underage Veela, was a superannuated vampire, accompanied by two enthusiastic thralls. This raises questions both about Harry's judgment—in exposing scores of young adults to such an unsavoury lifestyle—and also about how he made the vampire's acquaintance in the first place. We may be witnessing only the first step of Harry's descent into irretrievable dissipation._

_The _Prophet_ nevertheless wishes Harry an exceedingly happy birthday, just shy of his twentieth, and we also congratulate him on catching the Snitch for the Chudley Cannons three weeks in a row._

Harry was mute with horror, and Helena took his hand and began stroking it gently.

'Sweet Merlin, are those numbers accurate?' exclaimed Darren.

Harry looked up in a daze. 'What numbers?'

'In the sidebar,' said Darren. 'Blimey!'

Helena pointed out a sidebar Harry had missed, which claimed to reveal his expenses and net worth. The cost estimate for the party was way too high, and they trebled the value of the Potter legacy. Worst, however, was the number provided for the Black holdings—Harry suspected it was centuries out of date.

'Good lord, no! They're not even close!'

'You mean you're even richer than that?' asked a wide-eyed Romilda.

'No, those numbers are massively inflated. Oh my god, are people actually going to believe this?'

'They might,' said Ryan. 'Honestly, that's about what I would have guessed.'

'Are you serious? You really thought I had that kind of money?'

'It's common knowledge that the Potters were well off, and I knew you were the last of them. And the Blacks are legendary—older than Stonehenge and utterly without scruples.'

'Perhaps,' said Hermione, 'but they were completely irrational for the last hundred years or so. When the goblin gave Harry the ring, he told us they'd squandered nearly everything.'

'So what's the real number then?' asked Romilda.

'Originally it was in the same range as the Potter number, but I gave away a third of it.'

'Are you crazy?' exclaimed Romilda. 'Why would you do that? You're only ordinary loaded now.'

'To support my godson, who's also related to the Blacks. But why are we even talking about this?' he said, resuming his pacing. 'I can scarcely wrap my brain around what I just read.'

Hermione looked furious. 'You just read an appalling heap of libel and slander. I hardly even know which part is the worst—I'm inclined to say it's the accusations of egotism, but then there's the bit about your insatiable sexual needs, not to mention the insinuations against your mother.'

'The bit about your sexual needs wasn't that far off,' smirked Helena, and Harry smiled in spite of himself. 'Who's that fit bird you're going to owl after I've gone?'

'Wouldn't you like to know!' he replied suggestively before his misery returned in full force. 'Ugh, and the Chocolate Frogs! I thought everyone knew it wasn't on purpose.'

'Of course everyone knew!' snapped Hermione. 'She just omitted that detail because the article was juicier that way.' She set her jaw and added, 'I should never have let her out of that jar.'

'What on earth should I do about this? Do I have any recourse?'

Hermione shook her head glumly. 'Have you ever had recourse when she's lied about you?'

'There was the thestral diatribe last year,' offered Darren. 'I'd say you won that round.'

'A lot of people attended the party, Harry,' said Ryan. 'Surely they'll spread the truth. And nobody thinks you're arrogant like that.'

'Andrew Gilstrap does,' grumbled Harry. 'He's going to have a field day with this.'

'You've nearly a week to prepare,' said Darren. 'We can help.'

'I'm certain you will. But how do I even set the record straight? I'll be eaten alive if people believe all this!'

'Talk with the Cannons publicity team tomorrow,' suggested Ryan. 'I'm certain they can pressure the _Prophet_ to print a retraction.

'I know all about the _Prophet_'s retractions,' scowled Hermione. 'They print them in charmed type that gets a little blurry when you try to read it.'

Harry was rereading the article. 'I can't even believe this. She accuses me of spending hours greeting guests for the sole purpose of choosing a sexual partner.'

'That's my favourite part!' said Romilda. 'She called me sultry!'

'You most certainly are,' growled Darren, pulling her towards him again.

'_Aguamenti!'_ cried Hermione, shooting a spray of water at the bed. 'If you're going to stay here, you need to behave.'

Darren burst out laughing. 'Ryan, she's brilliant. Can you hit us with a Drying Charm?'

Harry was shaking his head as he continued to read. 'She literally calls the party an orgy! I was just trying to bring people together.'

'And you succeeded,' said Darren admiringly. 'That was the best party I've ever attended. You packed a bunch of oversexed young magicals into a pure-blood pleasure dome. This party will go down in history, make no mistake.'

'And Professor McGonagall!' continued Harry. 'Do you think she'll get into trouble?'

'I doubt it,' said Hermione. 'The Hogwarts Board of Governors is friendly now that Augusta Longbottom's in charge.'

'Snitchbottom?' asked Darren, only to be ignored.

'Oh, and did you notice the reference to Beauxbatons and schools in North America?' said Hermione. 'Clearly there are wards on the _Prophet_ building as well. I can't believe how insidious this is!'

'You and Bill Weasley will get to the bottom of it,' said Ryan reassuringly.

Harry was still reading, and he shook his head in disgust. 'The only positive thing I can say about the "three fathers" paragraph is that she doesn't dispute my actual parentage, though I should perform Unforgivables on her for what she implied about my mother. And did she really need to mention Snape?'

'She always needs to mention Snape,' grumbled Hermione.

'And even worse, in the next paragraph she calls me a fop! I wasn't even wearing my floral waistcoat!'

'No, you wore actual flowers,' said Darren. 'Fantastic choice ... you really have huge bollocks for someone your size.'

'Someone my size?!' cried Harry indignantly. 'There's no correlation with height!'

Everyone looked at Helena, who started laughing. 'I have no complaints at all.'

'I want to see this floral waistcoat,' declared Romilda. 'Is it in the wardrobe?' Without waiting for an answer she got out of bed to investigate.

'And then all this about my arrogance! Am I really that bad?'

'No,' said Hermione. 'I mean, you're a good deal more confident than you used to be, and I think joining the Cannons has brought out your natural swagger, but you're certainly not the egomaniac she's depicting.'

'That's a relief,' replied Harry. 'Promise to hex me if I ever get anywhere near that bad.'

'Trust me, I will.'

Romilda emerged from the wardrobe holding the floral waistcoat. 'Oh Harry, I love it! Promise me you'll be photographed in it soon—I'll add it to my wall.'

'That is nice,' said Helena, examining the waistcoat. 'You really have exquisite taste.'

Harry looked at her pleadingly. 'Would you be seen with me in it?'

'Oh, Harry ... we should talk after this.'

Harry's shoulders slumped. 'All right.'

'But if you break up with him, everyone will think it's true,' said Romilda. 'That you think he's insufferable.'

Harry looked up again hopefully, but Helena said, 'People will believe what they like, regardless of what I do. But I'll spread the word privately that you're not egotistical, and I'm certain others will do the same. I only wish there were a way for you to get your version out without going through the _Prophet.'_

'We can't exactly blackmail Rita Skeeter into interviewing you for the _Quibbler_ again,' said Hermione.

'Weasley's Wizard Wireless!' exclaimed Harry. 'Lee and George are interviewing me on their inaugural broadcast on Tuesday. There's probably an advertisement in today's paper.'

'Are you certain that's a good idea?' asked Ryan. 'There's no broadcast delay.'

'I know, I'm going to suggest to Lee that he develop one for future broadcasts. But this is a perfect opportunity to demonstrate I'm not some raging twat.'

'You may be right,' said Hermione. 'I suspect Lee and George are already well-liked because of the shop, so if they're heard conversing with you and maybe taking the mickey, people will realise you're nothing like the person Rita Skeeter described.'

'They'll certainly have a lot of listeners,' said Darren. 'Everyone's going to want to hear your response.'

Harry was rereading the end of the article and angrily blurted, 'That cow! Did you see this at the end, where she wishes me a happy birthday?'

'What about it?' asked Hermione, looking at her newspaper.

'"_The _Prophet_ nevertheless wishes Harry an _exceedingly_ happy birthday, just _shy_ of his twentieth,"' _he quoted, with emphasis on the words _exceedingly_ and _shy_. 'She did that on purpose—I kept describing Sally-Ann as exceedingly shy, even though she wasn't at all. Merlin, I hate her!'

'She just gets worse and worse,' agreed Hermione.

Darren nodded. 'Why do you suppose today's edition came out so late? I was expecting pages and pages of incriminating evidence, but this was just one article and a sidebar.'

'I have two theories,' said Hermione, prompting sniggers from both Harry and Ryan. 'One is that she spent a lot of time looking for photographs or dirt about Helena. But obviously she came up empty, other than that bit about your Charms N.E.W.T.—and I'm envious, by the way. And then I suppose they must have researched how much gold the Blacks had.'

'That must have taken a while,' said Harry, 'considering their data is probably from around the time they bought the lordship. What's your second theory?'

'That she delayed it as long as possible just to make us twist in the wind, since she knew I'd found her out.'

'That is just like her,' grumbled Harry. 'You don't think I have grounds for a legal complaint, do you? She invaded my home after all.'

'I doubt it,' said Hermione. 'You opened your house up to nearly two hundred people, and you didn't have a strict guest list. I suspect the only one with grounds for complaint is Sally-Ann Perks. But something tells me she won't pursue it.'

'Yes, I'm told she's rather shy.'

Darren turned towards Romilda and said, 'Things seem to be wrapping up. Can we go back to our room now?'

'All right,' she said. 'But then let's go to Diagon Alley—I want to see you try on floral waistcoats.'

As she dragged him away, Darren saluted Harry and said, 'Brilliant party, Snitchbottom. Don't worry about Rita Skeeter—we're all behind you.'

'Cheers, I appreciate it.'

Hermione and Ryan departed as well, leaving only Harry and Helena.

'How are you doing?' he asked. 'I know this affects you the most.'

She sat down on the edge of the bed. 'I think I'm still in shock. I'm relieved they didn't find a photograph, and thank heaven they left Vanessa out of it. Although it might have been good for her in the long run ... I think she'll be much happier if her family disowns her. They already disinherited her elder brother for being a blood traitor.'

'I suppose last night was a symbolic act of rebellion for her,' said Harry soberly.

'Yes, I knew she'd jump on the opportunity partly because of that. But she was already sexually adventurous, as you probably gathered.'

Harry lay down on the bed and sighed. 'Oh, Helena ... does this really need to be the end? Is it that awful, having your name linked with mine?'

She lay down and turned to face him. 'No, of course not. And I'm terribly fond of you. But we're so young, and you've only just escaped the Ministry and Albus Dumbledore and everyone else who tried to contain you. I don't want to be yet another trap.'

He put an elbow on the bed and lifted himself up partway. 'But what if I want to be trapped? I can't imagine anyone I'd rather be trapped with, even Ginny. You're so amazing, Helena ... I could kick myself for saying this would only be a fling.'

'It wouldn't have made a difference either way. You need to grow up—we both do.'

'Why can't we grow up together? I'm serious ... I want to be with you.'

She smiled wistfully. 'You're a day late.'

'What do you mean?'

'You were supposed to propose on your nineteenth birthday.'

'That's true. But you kept hiding from me.'

'Harry, if we were twenty-one and you'd already been playing for the Cannons several years, and you'd learnt who you are a bit better—and I'd learnt more about myself—then I'd like nothing more than to be seen with you in your floral waistcoat, or whatever you've made fashionable by then. But if we date now, we'll both be stunted in one way or another, and I won't let that happen.'

'May I hold you to that?' he asked.

'What, stunting ourselves?'

'No, when we're twenty-one. If we're both still single on my twenty-first birthday, you'll go out with me. We can even go somewhere Muggle the first night, to ease you into it.'

'All right,' she said. 'But I'm going to extract a promise from you in return.'

'What's that?'

'No proposing to anyone between now and then. Feel free to move in with her and anything else you like, but I don't want you locking yourself into a marriage bond until you're good and ready. I'm afraid you're a little too prone to falling in love, and I don't want anyone taking advantage of you.'

He sighed. 'You mean now that everyone thinks I'm richer than the Queen?'

'Or a league Seeker, or the Boy Who Lived, or whatever new epithets you acquire by then.'

'I notice you left out "Lord Black."'

'Yes, I think that one's truly dead and buried.'

'Like Sirius, you mean,' said Harry glumly. 'And my other dead fathers.'

'Oh, Harry. You've known so much loss ... I can scarcely imagine it.'

'I can't imagine the alternative,' he said. 'I'm still astonished that Ron and Hermione survived the war. That feels almost like a bigger miracle than my own survival.'

'I'm glad you have them, Harry. And your teammates as well. Although I could do without Romilda.'

'I didn't even invite her to the party! She tried to give me a Love Potion back in school.'

'Are you serious? That's awful!'

'It barely registered at the time—I had so much else going on. But yeah, I suppose it was.'

'I hope you'll be careful, Harry. Is there a way you can protect yourself? Perhaps the goblins have something portable, like a ring.'

'When I have such an attractive ring already?'

'Oh right, I've never seen it in real life. May I?'

He revealed it to her. 'Oh my god,' she choked. 'That is truly ghastly. Can you talk to the snake at least?'

'No, I lost the ability to speak Parseltongue when Voldemort died.'

'That's a shame. But fortunately you found other uses for your tongue. In fact, we should probably be grateful Rita Skeeter didn't overhear your newest nickname.'

'Good point. And here I was relieved she didn't hear anyone call me Snitchbottom, considering the backstory she'd undoubtedly provide. But if she'd heard the other one ...'

'At least you'd finally be famous for the right reason,' said Helena, and they both smiled.

They eventually went out for lunch at a Muggle restaurant and walked through a park for several hours, holding hands and stopping for the occasional kiss. She returned home to check on her family and then came back at teatime dressed for dinner.

'How are things at your parents' house?' he asked.

'We've received more than a few Howlers, but my mother set the wards to cause them to fall from the owls' grip on arrival, meaning they could be destroyed.'

'I need that ward,' declared Harry. 'I should have the goblins add it when they clear the house tomorrow.'

'I'm glad you didn't have it a fortnight ago. That's become a cherished memory.'

'I'll cherish all my memories with you, Helena,' he said tenderly.

'As will I.' She looked him over for a long moment—he was still wearing the Muggle clothes he'd grabbed that morning when they were waiting for the _Prophet_. 'I want to see you in your robes with the floral waistcoat,' she declared.

'But you won't go out with me.'

'Are you a Black or not?' she demanded. 'Surely they dressed for dinner.'

'Should we eat in the dining room then? I think all the lodgers have finally gone.'

'That sounds lovely. Are there any Chocolate Frogs left?'

He stuck out his tongue at her before taking her hand and leading her up to his bedroom. 'You have to tell me if the waistcoat is too much,' he said from the wardrobe.

'You can always trust me to share my unvarnished opinion.'

He emerged in the dove grey robes and floral waistcoat, along with a very smart pair of shoes. They were more wizarding than Muggle, with a rather pointed toe.

'Oh, Harry,' she exhaled. 'Absolutely impeccable. But it needs one final touch.' She pulled a rosebud from the vase Kreacher had sent up with the _Prophet_ and slid it into his buttonhole. 'Now it's perfect. Those robes are even better than the white ones.'

'They were ivory,' insisted Harry.

'Of course they were,' she laughed. 'Do you remember that first morning, when I predicted what a splendid _roué_ you'd be?'

'A shameless seducer? Yes, I rather liked that.'

'Now you're dressed perfectly for it, though you've been an appallingly poor _roué_ in every other respect. Really, you practically proposed to me after a fortnight—completely unacceptable. You'll have to try much harder if you want to keep your promise and stay unmarried for two more years.'

'If it means I get you in the end, then definitely.'

'No, try to forget about me between now and then. Go live your life and keep developing your swagger, as Hermione called it. Get yourself photographed with another witch as soon as possible, if only to take the heat off me. And go seduce a few Muggles as well, to reassure yourself that celebrity isn't your only draw.' With a tilt of her head, she added, 'And I beg you, fall in love a few more times. Just don't propose to anyone.'

'And what will you do these next two years?' he asked.

'A good deal of the same, I suspect—including the part about witches. As you've seen, I'm not entirely averse to them. And I'd like to complete my Mastery, which will require original research. I'll root for the Cannons, of course, and perhaps I'll even attend a match if I can ever get tickets.' He started to speak and she said, 'No, I'll get them on my own. I won't appear in your herd, and I don't trust myself to only be your friend.'

'Are you sure I can't tempt you with that cursed tiara? It's just sitting there in the vault, though suppose I should bring it to the Ministry one of these days.'

'No, but I'm certain Romilda would take it off your hands, cursed or not.'

'I reckon there are a lot of Romildas in my future.'

She nodded. 'But minus the Love Potion, I hope.'

'Yes, I'll go to Gringotts this week.'

They had dinner in the dining room—it was comprised entirely of leftovers from the party, which had required a heated negotiation with Kreacher. In the end, Kreacher agreed to serve leftovers and allow Master to cook his own breakfast the next morning in exchange for two hours' confinement in the bookcase Harry had previously identified.

'Do you realise that was the first time I ever set eyes on Kreacher?' said Helena. 'I've only had circumstantial evidence for his existence until now.'

'Are you at least satisfied I'm not mistreating him?'

'Yes—this hereby completes your audit. Our investigations department is most thorough.'

'I hope you'll notify Hermione. She's had some concerns.'

'I know—that's what triggered the audit in the first place.' Helena smiled and added, 'I'm glad I got to meet her. She and I spoke for a while last night, you know.'

'Yes, she mentioned it but didn't provide details.'

'That's just as well, since we mainly talked about you. In your best interest, of course.'

'That's what interfering gossips always claim. Did you reach any conclusions?'

'Only that you're the dearest boy who ever lived,' she said affectionately. 'But I also need to apologise—I made reference to the Howler incident, and of course the entire story came out. You were so sweet to keep her in the dark like that, but naturally I had to wreck it.'

'Oh dear, was she upset?'

'Only slightly mortified, but mostly amused.'

'That's a relief. And it's just as well she found out—it's really too good a story to keep secret.'

'It is. Perhaps you and I should exchange Howlers every now and then, for old times' sake.'

'I'd like that.'

After dinner he led Helena to his bedroom one last time, and for a while they only spoke. Helena shared many of the details of her life she'd kept private, and Harry was grateful to hear them. He told her about Sirius and Remus, and he even showed her the Marauder's Map, which wasn't very exciting to look at during the summer, but it felt like a nice way to introduce her to his father—all three of them.

He told her about the night Cedric died, and how awful he still felt about it. She assured him it wasn't his fault, and even though he'd heard the words before, he appreciated hearing them from her. He told her about Snape, and about the awful discovery that he'd loved Harry's mother and had devoted his life to her memory. He recounted Snape's dying wish to look once more into Lily's eyes, and when Helena cried, Harry felt his own tears as well.

They eventually stopped talking and communed physically, falling asleep afterwards in each other's arms. When he awoke she was already dressed, and he didn't have time to prepare the elaborate breakfast he'd planned. Instead he made a simple English breakfast and she commended his cooking, with a promise to inform Rita Skeeter via Howler.

He walked her upstairs to the formal fireplace, even though the kitchen had a fireplace as well, and they tearfully said goodbye. After a final kiss, she took a pinch of Floo powder and said, _'Gartenhütte,'_ before disappearing into the flames.

Bereft, he walked to the entrance hall and spent a while watching Padfoot chase a butterfly. He never caught the butterfly, to Harry's relief, but instead danced playfully around it, jumping up on his hind legs and waving his front paws about. The butterfly eventually flew beyond the edge of the frame, out of sight, and the disappointed Padfoot curled onto the ground.

Harry tried to cheer him up by tossing him a treat, which landed on the ground in front of his snout. At first he seemed uninterested, but then his nostrils flared and he downed it with a mighty chomp. He rose and looked out at Harry in the proper begging posture the trainer had taught him, and Harry threw him another, and then another after that. He caught them eagerly, and by the time Harry was ready to leave for practice, Padfoot seemed content once more.


	34. Chapter 34

_Author's Note: _

_I created a guide to the original characters and posted it on my bio. Thanks for the suggestion!_

-––—––—––-

When Harry entered the Cannons building before practice, he was surprised to see a large sign floating in mid-air next to Lara's desk. It said:

_1\. The Blacks squandered most of their fortune before it reached Harry, and the Potter number was grossly inflated as well._

_2\. The Chocolate Frogs thing was a complete accident._

_3\. The vampire was just Alistair, and he wasn't going to hurt anyone._

_4\. Harry greeted guests out of sincere hospitality, and not to pick a sex partner like some kind of creepy count._

_5\. The party was indeed an orgy, but the underage Veela was not involved._

_6\. Yes, Harry had a threesome, but it was his birthday and he saved the wizarding world for Merlin's sake._

_7\. His bed is indeed enormous._

Harry felt some of his tension dissipate as he read it. 'Thank you, Lara. I assume this was your doing?'

'I handled the execution, but the concept was all Darren.'

'I'll have to thank him as well. How are you this morning?'

'I'm fine, but how are you?'

He sighed. 'I've been better. I've also been worse, but that's not saying much.'

'No, I suppose not. Is there anything I can do to help?' she asked.

'Honestly, just seeing that sign did me a world of good. But I also need to talk to the publicity department about how to handle this. Would that be Susanna and Thaddeus?'

'Yes, I'll be glad to set that up. Would you prefer a meeting before lunch or after practice ends this afternoon?'

'Before lunch is probably better, since we never know how long the practice match will last.'

When Harry entered the locker room, Owen was there. 'How are you doing, Harry?'

'Physically I'm fine.'

'And emotionally?'

'Like I was struck by two Bludgers at once, if you'll pardon the metaphor.'

Owen nodded. 'Yeah, Ryan gave me a heads-up. Would you like to get lunch today?'

'Is there somewhere private?'

'Good question. Any suggestions?'

'We could go back to my house and have Kreacher prepare something. I need to meet with the publicity team first, but with Kreacher we can order in advance.'

'That sounds good. Are you ready for Tuttle this morning?'

'Ugh, not at all.'

They walked outside and waited in front of the benches. Harry was greeted by successive teammates who told him what a great time they'd had at the party, and that they were spreading the word far and wide about how inaccurate the article was.

'I must have Floo-called twenty different people yesterday to set the record straight about the Chocolate Frogs and tell them you're not at all arrogant,' said Renée. 'And mind you, I started by calling the biggest gossips I know, so the news will get around.'

'Cheers, I appreciate it.'

Tuttle appeared, and Harry felt his tension return. 'First thing: Potter, you can relax. I read the sign and I'm not worried that you and the underage Veela you seduced are about to become thralls. As long as you work your arse off in practice, you can have a threesome every bloody night.

'But we've a huge task this week: We need to taunt the living shit out of Potter so he's ready for Gilstrap. He's the most bloodthirsty Seeker in the league, and Potter's a raw hunk of dragon meat. Leave him be during breaks, but anytime you're over the pitch, he's fair game.'

Harry felt his chest clench. 'Wait,' he blurted, without even knowing what he intended to say.

'Do you have an objection?'

'Yes. Nothing about Helena. Not today. I need a day.'

Tuttle looked at him and nodded. 'Fine. One day.'

She spent a while detailing everything they'd done wrong against Puddlemere and then set them to running laps—ten rather than the fifteen she'd required the previous week.

Harry was relieved—he normally liked running, but he was desperate to get back onto his broomstick. He also had a tendency to brood whilst running, and he had far more than the usual amount of brooding material that morning.

Fortunately Janet decided to distract him. 'Every time you start feeling maudlin, Snitchbottom, I want you to repeat these words to yourself: "I threw the best party of all time."'

'Thanks, Janet. That's kind of you to say.'

'I'm not being kind—have you met me? I'm saying it because it's the truth. That party is going down in history. Future students will be assigned essays about its influence on wizarding Britain. Epic poetry is going to be written about it. Songs will be sung. Children will be named after it.'

'You mean the ones conceived there?'

'That'll just be the first generation. But then they'll procreate in their own gloomy pure-blood bedrooms—you've started another trend—and their progeny will be named for it in turn.'

'What would that name even be?' asked Harry. 'The party didn't have a name.'

'They'll be called "That massive party where Harry Potter shagged two witches."'

'That seems unwieldy. Is there a nickname?'

'There are plenty to choose from, really. You could do "Massie," or "Partenia," or even "Shagwitch."'

'I notice you've omitted both "Harry" and "Potter."'

Janet shook her head. 'Too many of them running around since the war ended. Same with Hermiones. But not a lot of Ronalds, sad to say—I'm inclined to take it personally.'

'You two are still getting on, then?'

'Yes, he's a joy to torment. But not a pushover, mind you—he's got that wonderful ginger temper. And he's the perfect combination of cocky and insecure, which gives me any number of buttons to push.'

'I honestly can't decide whether you're the best or the worst thing to happen to him,' said Harry. 'I suppose time will tell.'

'Indeed,' she said, nodding sagely. 'So … two witches. Did it live up to the hype?'

'Merlin yes. At least Rita Skeeter can never take that away from me. Though I should state for the record that I only shagged one of them.'

'What, is the other one waiting until the third date before she finally gives it up?'

'No, she's a pure-blood, and not the Weasley blood-traitor variety.'

'Interesting ... sticking it to Mummy and Daddy by debasing herself for Harry Potter. This could be a whole new market for you, if you don't mind working around the main entrance.'

'We'll have to add that to my sales literature.' With a sigh, he added, 'It's over with Helena.'

'So I gathered. I'm sorry.'

'I am too.'

'What's your next step?' asked Janet.

'Do you mean am I heading to Penumbra tonight or waiting until tomorrow? Apparently that's all I'm fit for.'

'Nonsense, Harry. Do you have any idea how many witches would love to be seen with you?'

'You mean they're willing to overlook my colossal ego because I'm richer than the Queen?'

'Exactly! Consider it a one-witch-at-a-time campaign to show the world who you really are. Or two witches at a time, as you've proven yourself capable. I'm certain numerous pairs of best mates are crafting plans to gain access to your enormous bed.'

Harry shook his head. 'If you had told me during the war that this would be my life, I can't even imagine how I'd have reacted. I hadn't yet been with one witch, let alone two at a time.' He sighed again and added, 'But I could be with ten witches and I'd still just want Helena.'

'Poor Harry, you really are a romantic bugger, aren't you?'

'So it seems. Helena forbade me from proposing to anyone before my twenty-first birthday.'

'You didn't actually propose to her?' asked Janet, alarmed.

'Not in so many words, but essentially yes.'

'Harry, you need to be careful. Most witches intend to marry before they turn twenty, and you're the biggest prize out there. I hope Helena extracted a blood oath from you not to propose to anyone, because otherwise you're too susceptible.'

'No blood oath, but she's encouraged me to embrace being a shameless seducer.'

'Now we're talking! Back to Plan A! That should scare the aspiring wives away.' Harry frowned, and she continued. 'Not forever. Thanks to the double standard shared equally by Muggles and wizards, you can be as promiscuous as you like, but all will be forgiven when you decide to settle down.'

'I may as well enjoy it then,' said Harry dourly. 'It'll be a distraction if nothing else.'

'If it's only a distraction, you're doing it wrong.'

'I'm not doing it wrong. That's never been the issue, trust me.'

'There's the old fighting spirit! But take the long view … you have two years to shag your brains out and then you can propose to whoever you wake up with on your twenty-first birthday. Everyone wins!'

Harry sprinted ahead of her. Janet was right—he hardly had a dismal life ahead of him. At worst he was facing two years of experimentation and then he could still have Helena in the end. He could wear his robes in public, and as long as everyone already thought he was an attention-seeker he might as well enjoy the attention.

Hadn't he earned this? He'd certainly suffered enough, and he'd also accomplished more than nearly any wizard his age, excepting N.E.W.T.s of course. Even Rita Skeeter hadn't denied his achievements. He knew he was at risk of becoming arrogant, and he never wanted to resemble the egomaniac the article had depicted, but he could surely trust his friends and teammates to keep him in check.

He felt a little better during the rest of his run, and his mood improved significantly when he mounted his broomstick for the flying exercises. His body responded automatically during the first drill, so he was hardly paying attention when Darren flew next to him and said, 'Are you hungry, Potter? I have some Chocolate Frogs on me. I hear you're a fan ... or do you only like your own?'

Harry was momentarily taken aback, but he quickly adjusted. 'It's really the only way to enjoy a Chocolate Frog, but you'll never know since you're just a rank-and-file Chaser.'

'Ouch!' replied Darren. 'Did you kill Voldemort with your tongue?'

'No,' interjected Ryan. 'Hermione did most of the work. Harry just took the credit.'

'Hermione worked on Voldemort with her tongue? That's news to me,' said Harry, and Ryan looked like he wasn't sure whether to hex Harry or burst out laughing.

'At least my girlfriend didn't flee the second her name appeared next to mine in the _Prophet_,' retorted Ryan.

'That's a violation, Bellamy,' said Darren. 'No Helena references until tomorrow.'

'I can take it,' said Harry. 'Hit me with your worst.'

'Like how she finds you so distasteful that she's giving up her shot at the Black millions?' offered Ryan.

'Or how you're such an insufferable egomaniac that you ignore her needs and just go down on yourself?' added Darren.

'Nice one,' said Harry. 'And anatomically challenging.'

'Nah, I've heard there are charms for that. I'm surprised you didn't learn them at Hogwarts,' said Ryan.

The trainers called another drill, which rearranged the flyers, and Harry was soon thrown together with Gary and Suresh.

'Did you enjoy parading your wealth in front of all your old classmates on Saturday?' asked Gary. 'Good thing Draco Malfoy wasn't there, considering you stole it from him.'

_Maybe his mum shouldn't have betrayed her Head of House,_ he thought bitterly, remembering how Narcissa Malfoy had used Kreacher to deceive Harry, leading to Sirius's death.

'The ring chose me, mate,' said Harry, raising his middle finger even though the ring was concealed.

'Yeah, and I hear your mum chose Sirius Black when your dad wasn't around,' replied Gary.

'Or maybe while he was around,' added Suresh. 'Lupin too. Did Black have access to the enormous bed when your mum was still alive?'

'That would mean Harry has sex on the same bed as his mum and her lovers,' observed Gary. 'And you do have a thing for redheads ... Oedipal much?'

'That depends on whether he fucks them or just tries to breastfeed. He got shortchanged in that department,' said Suresh.

Harry was overwhelmed—he wasn't used to two-on-one taunting.

'That's why you needed the voluptuous witch,' said Gary. 'I heard Helena's flat-chested. Nice arse though.'

'Helena's off limits,' said Suresh, and Harry didn't correct him.

Gary started to speak but Harry shot out of formation into the open air, just to clear his head. _Is this what Saturday's going to be like? If so, I'm screwed._

He ignored the team drills for a short while and just zoomed around, expanding into a broad sense of awareness. He set the intention not to get rattled, no matter what they threw at him. He'd survived far worse than this, after all.

When he rejoined the manoeuvres, Owen and Lyle found him. 'You're never going to be happy, you know,' said Owen simply. 'You're too damaged.'

Harry was stunned. He didn't reply.

'Your life was over when your parents were killed and Dumbledore sent you to live with your relations. You've been his tool since the day you were born.'

'You're right,' said Harry, feeling oddly calm.

'And it's going to get worse,' continued Owen. 'Right now you can still convince yourself that maybe the right witch will solve your problems, or winning the league cup, or getting enough approval from strangers. But it won't be long before you realise it's all meaningless, and that it'll never fill the void. You might as well sign up as a thrall right now.'

'Sweet Merlin, that is the coldest fucking taunt I have ever heard!' exclaimed Harry. 'Are you dead inside?'

Owen burst out laughing, and Lyle said, 'Seriously, I was only going to hassle him about the flowers.'

'Yes, I suppose Potter feels at home with flowers because they die so quickly,' said Owen.

'He should probably have a standing order for funeral arrangements,' added Lyle.

'You turned down Silver Arrow, but perhaps you should endorse coffins,' continued Owen.

Harry felt himself detach from what they were saying and allow the sensations of flying to overtake him.

'At least he'll never run out of coins to place over the corpses' eyes. "_Three dead fathers but no end of gold_" ... what a bloody wanker.'

'Maybe you can buy a new father. I reckon a vampire won't die on you.'

'How much did you pay those two witches anyway?'

Harry's heart was pounding, and it wasn't just the usual adrenaline from flying. All of this was too raw.

'Aren't you going to say anything, Potter, or do you only communicate by special statements to the _Prophet_?' asked Owen. '"I, Harry James Potter, am a colossal egomaniac whose mother fucked every rich wizard she could get her legs around."'

'Do you think she offered to fuck Voldemort too? It would take a madman like him to turn her down.'

Harry lurched his broomstick to the left—it was too much. He tried clearing his mind, expanding into awareness, and surrendering to the physical experience of flying, but nothing worked. His anger and frustration were overwhelming, and he wanted to punch something.

Ignoring the team drills, he shot high into the air and then angled downwards into a Wronski Feint. His perceptions slowed down and he was able to consciously register the earth's rapid approach. With unerring reflexes he turned out of the feint at the last moment and let out a primal yell as he skimmed the ground, shooting back upwards to rejoin his horrified teammates.

'Harry, are you all right?' asked Owen, flying alongside him.

'No I'm not all right. My life is a bloody sideshow thanks to Rita fucking Skeeter.'

Tuttle blew her whistle before amplifying her voice. 'No more taunting. Drills only.'

Harry exhaled, and the trainer called for one of the more enjoyable drills. Harry still felt brittle, but his body led him automatically through the movements and his breathing became steady again. A silence filled him, and he was reminded of the calm after a violent thunderstorm.

The drills didn't elate him as they normally did, but he felt oddly peaceful by the time Tuttle blew her whistle again. But when all the players landed, she didn't address the group—she walked up to Harry and spoke to him in a normal voice.

'You're doing a fine job, Potter. You've been dealt a tough hand, but we're all here with you. You're a Cannon, and we take care of our own.'

He nodded. 'Thank you, that means a lot.'

'Talk to Susanna and Thaddeus—they'll get you sorted. Go on then.'

He walked to the building and headed straight for the shower. The flow of water was soothing, and he tuned out the voices of the other players when they arrived a few minutes later.

Once he'd dressed, he walked to Susanna's office, where he found her and Thaddeus waiting for him. 'Harry,' she said, 'please, have a seat.'

He sat down and said, 'I'm sorry I've made your job more difficult. Rita Skeeter has been after me for years, and it gets worse every time.'

'You don't need to apologise,' said Susanna reassuringly. 'This was the _Daily Prophet_'s doing, not yours. Let's see if we can't straighten things out.'

'But how? _Prophet_ retractions are a joke, and I've no legal recourse.'

'_Prophet_ retractions aren't entirely useless—you can read them if you squint a bit, and they're generally worth the effort. Radio presenters tend to make a big deal out of them, and we can help things along by sending out rebuttal statements and setting up interviews.'

'Interviews? I've heard some of those presenters and they're nearly as bad as Rita. I wouldn't trust myself to keep my temper—I lost it in practice this morning.'

'Yes, the Wronski Feint. Darius nearly had a heart attack,' said Thaddeus.

'Sorry about that—I needed to blow off steam.'

'But about the interviews,' continued Susanna. 'I didn't mean you—I meant Tuttle and some of your teammates.'

'Really? They'd be willing to do that?'

'Yes, a number of them already volunteered. In addition to Tuttle, we're planning to send Bellamy and Barrowmaker. They have good reputations and they're likely to keep their heads. Well, maybe not Tuttle, but the presenters certainly won't be able to put words in her mouth.'

'Merlin help them if they try,' smirked Harry. 'You know about my upcoming broadcast, right? There was an advertisement yesterday.'

'I saw that,' said Susanna. 'Interesting choice ... are you certain they'll be friendly? They run a joke shop, after all.'

'Lee and George? I've known them for years, and George in particular is like family. They'll take the piss but they won't try to corner me.'

Thaddeus nodded approvingly. 'Yes, that might be ideal. You'll be at ease with them, but they'll be irreverent enough that nobody will think it's just flattery. And I'm certain they'll have a huge audience—this is really perfect timing for launching their programme.'

'There's a silver lining, at least,' said Harry. 'Is there anything else we need to discuss?'

'Yes, should we include anything about your personal life?'

'You mean Helena?' he said, sighing. 'No, she'd hoped to stay out of the papers entirely, so I certainly won't mention her now. We've split, unfortunately, but not for the reasons stated. And she asked me to be photographed with another witch as soon as possible, though I can't say I'm keen to get started whilst everyone thinks I'm an insufferable twat who's richer than the Queen.'

'No, you mightn't meet the most disinterested witches right now, but that's going to be a hazard regardless. Would it help if we set something up for you?'

'You mean find a witch for me? That sounds a bit tawdry.'

'No, nothing like that,' said Susanna. 'It's a common practice to pair an aspiring model with an athlete, for mutual public relations benefit. Traditionally it was to hide the athlete's homosexuality, but I'd say you've nipped those rumours in the bud.'

Thaddeus laughed and said, 'And then some!'

'Are you certain this is a good idea?' asked Harry. 'It seems rather obvious.'

'It is obvious,' said Susanna, 'but if it's your goal to distract from Helena it's the cleanest method, and the witch won't have any expectations beyond having her photograph taken with you.'

'All right. When do you have in mind?'

'We could probably line something up for tonight if you're impatient, but otherwise I recommend waiting until Wednesday or Thursday.'

'I'd just as soon wait. I'm liable to start blubbering tonight, which might ruin the effect.'

'Fair enough. Do you have any preferences?'

'You mean what she looks like?'

'Yes. Height, race, colouring ... that sort of thing.'

'Anyone but a ginger, I suppose. I don't need any more Oedipal accusations.'

'And someone taller is all right?'

Harry shrugged. 'I'm a Seeker. Nobody expects me to be tall.'

'Excellent, I think that covers everything,' said Susanna. 'You must be famished, so don't let us keep you any longer.'

'Cheers. And I'm grateful for your assistance—growing up I always had to go it alone, and even the Ministry wasn't much help this past year.'

'It's our job,' said Susanna. 'And believe me, you've done wonders for the team already, so don't feel you're a burden.'

Harry left feeling a good deal better than when he'd arrived, and he found Owen waiting outside the building. 'Harry, I want to apologise. I know I'm supposed to taunt you, but I went too far.'

'You were just doing what Tuttle asked, and certainly Gilstrap isn't going to pull any punches.'

'No, but that doesn't mean I needed to start full-throttle.'

'It's fine. I'm sorry if I scared you with that feint.'

'You scared the daylights out of me, to be quite honest. That was some amazing flying, but Merlin, don't ever do that again!'

'It was either that or punching someone. But we should get going—our curries are probably ready by now.'

'Excellent. Side-along?'

'Yes,' replied Harry, extending his hand, and moments later they were in his sitting room. 'Welcome to the weekday version of Grimmauld Place ... the kitchen is right through here.'

Owen looked around and said, 'I still can't believe this was the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.'

'This is nothing—you're seeing the cleaned up version. It used to resemble Borgin and Burkes,' said Harry, referring to the Dark artefacts purveyor in Knockturn Alley.

'I can't say I've ever been there,' said Owen, 'but I can imagine.'

As soon as he saw them, Kreacher bowed and said, 'Are Master and his guest ready for lunch?'

'Yes, thank you,' replied Harry. An assortment of curries appeared on the table, along with naan and pilau rice.

'Joanne would give her eyeteeth to have this kind of help around the house,' said Owen, sitting down and beginning to load his plate.

'I certainly appreciate having Kreacher around, although it's been a long road getting here. He was openly hostile for several years, even after he became bound to me.'

Owen shook his head in astonishment. 'Does nothing come easily for you?'

'Flying. And gold, as everyone's now discovered,' he added with a sigh. 'Since I learnt I was a wizard, that is.'

'Were your Muggle relations poor?'

'No, not at all—they just didn't share anything with me. Growing up I hadn't two brass farthings to rub together, so you can imagine my surprise when I found out I had a vault full of gold.'

'That must have been overwhelming.'

'It barely registered next to everything else I learnt that day: that I was a wizard, that my parents weren't drunks who'd been killed in a car crash, and that everyone believed I'd defeated some evil wizard as a baby. But of course the biggest news was that I was leaving for Hogwarts—that I was escaping.'

'My god, Harry ... I can scarcely wrap my head around what you're describing, as a father especially. The idea of my girls losing Joanne and me before they were old enough to talk and being tossed into a household like that—even without the Voldemort aspect.'

Harry shrugged. 'What can I say? I made some Seers very angry.' He explained Ron's theory to Owen, who couldn't dispute its likelihood.

'For some reason, it feels like everything in my life has accelerated since I joined the Cannons,' said Harry. 'For example, I don't think I was on the cover of the _Prophet_ nearly this often when I was working for the Ministry, and Ginny took a lot longer to break my heart than Helena did.'

Owen nodded slowly. 'I don't think that's a coincidence, actually.'

'How do you mean?'

'You're spending a lot of time on a broomstick, and you've learnt to quiet your mind and expand into greater awareness. That's bound to stir things up.'

'I'm still not following you.'

'When the mind becomes more stable, buried material will begin rising to the surface.'

Harry thought for a moment and said, 'That makes sense. But what does that have to do with all the external things I'm experiencing? It's not as if Rita Skeeter arose from my unconscious.'

'No, but you're stirring things up faster than they might have been otherwise, and that has ripple effects. For example, am I correct to assume you wouldn't have considered hosting a big party, say, six weeks ago?'

'It never would have crossed my mind, even if I had known about the other schools. The idea of inviting all my old classmates over would have been unthinkable.'

'Right. But now you're behaving much more radically, and the world is responding in kind. I know I experienced something similar.'

'Really? Not Rita Skeeter, surely.'

'No, that's your reality. Mine involved Bludgers.'

'Good lord! That seems rather extreme—is that what I have to look forward to?'

'I daresay you've already had your Bludgers. No, I suspect yours will be more interpersonal, now that your walls are coming down.'

'I suppose they are. I never imagined I'd feel this close with people I hadn't fought alongside.'

'I'm glad you've overcome that, and I'm not just speaking personally. It would be awfully limiting not to be able to connect with people without some kind of mortal peril.'

'It was. I'm ashamed to admit I didn't try to make friends with the other Auror trainees. Most of them had war experience—warding buildings, protecting Muggles, and so forth—but none of them fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, and I had no history with any of them. Perhaps if Ron hadn't been there I might have made an effort, but that's not what happened.'

'You're being too hard on yourself. You were still in the early stages of grief when you started Auror training, so it's normal you wouldn't be at your most outgoing.'

'Thanks for pointing that out ... perhaps you're right. And thanks also for offering to give radio interviews on my behalf—Susanna told me just before lunch.'

'Oh, she decided to put me on the air? I left her a note but haven't yet spoken to her.'

'Yes, you and Ryan. And Tuttle as well. I'm tremendously grateful, you know—I'm certain I'd just make things worse.'

'You do have a tendency to speak your mind,' said Owen. 'You certainly made an impression on my friend Fiona, at the party.'

'Oh, Merlin! I meant to apologise about that. I'm so sorry if I made her uncomfortable.'

'Nonsense, you made her night! She'd been nervous about attending, since we're rather older than most of your classmates, but you reassured her quite convincingly she's not past her prime.'

Harry raised his eyebrows. 'Shall I owl her then? After things settle a bit, that is.'

Owen frowned and said, 'I'm the wrong person to ask, since I'm rather protective towards her, the same as you probably are towards Hermione. She's a war widow with a child, and I don't want anyone toying with her.'

'Understood. I'd feel the same way if Darren had been sniffing around Hermione. I'll just have to settle for whoever Susanna lines up for me.'

'Are you serious?'

'Yes, Helena asked me to be photographed with someone else as soon as possible, and this seemed the easiest method. Do you think it's a bad idea?'

'No, it makes sense. Just be careful not to give Gilstrap any more fodder.'

'I'm certain he has plenty already,' sighed Harry. 'What else can you tell me about him?'

'He's a strong flyer—not quite as good as you and Routledge, but better than most Seekers—and his spotting is about average. But he's a master manipulator, and that's what you'll need to watch out for.'

'A manipulator? How does that differ from taunting?'

'Apparently he's got a strong push-pull, meaning he doesn't taunt relentlessly the entire time, which is good considering he's an inveterate tracker. He'll glue himself to you at the start of the match and follow your every move. I learnt all this from Routledge, incidentally—we spoke for a while at the party. He said Gilstrap will stop attacking periodically and interact as if you're mates, just long enough for you to lower your guard. But then he'll hit you even harder than before.'

'How do I defend against that?'

'You can't let him draw you in. It'll be hard to avoid, of course, since it's only natural to allow human connection when someone's offering it. But you need to maintain strong peripheral awareness, with the intention not to let him manipulate you. You're much stronger than he is, ultimately.'

'All that and trying to spot the Snitch,' groaned Harry. 'I'm doomed.'

Owen shook his head. 'You're not doomed. You might be more vulnerable to his approach than most Seekers, but you also have more ammunition.'

'What's that?'

'You're a bloody cannon when you set your mind to it, and I don't mean the Chudley variety. He's going to taunt you for being arrogant, amongst other things, and you need to show him you've earned the right.'

'Are you kidding? You want me to play into his hands like that?'

'To be honest, I think he's underestimated you. My impression is that he's bought into the prophecy rumours a bit too strongly, and he thinks you didn't actually accomplish anything because it was foreordained.'

'People really believe that?'

'I'm afraid so. It makes you less intimidating, and it bolsters their own ego.'

'But I'm not special. The only reason I could defeat Voldemort is because he marked me as an equal,' said Harry, pointing to his scar. 'That's why I could speak Parseltongue, and why I had special insight into his motivations and activities. Don't repeat that, by the way—it's as classified as it gets.'

'Understood. But did the prophecy say you'd definitely defeat him?'

'No. It only said I had the power to do it.'

'Exactly. You need to own your accomplishments and crush him with them. And not just defeating Voldemort, mind you—everything. You're a better Seeker than he is, and now that you've beaten Routledge people are saying you might be the best in the league. I suspect Gilstrap does just fine with witches, but he knows you'd have first pick.'

Harry was shaking his head. 'I can't talk like that. I'd be as bad as the person Rita Skeeter depicted.'

'This isn't real life—this is Quidditch. You can do it for a few hours without turning into a monster. I'll help keep you in check off the pitch, and I'm certain your mates will as well.'

Harry was slightly disturbed to notice a powerful welling of energy in his chest, similar to what he'd felt when he'd challenged that Muggle in the nightclub, only much stronger. _I slew a Basilisk, _he thought._ I banished a hundred Dementors. I united the Deathly Hallows. I defeated Voldemort. _He smiled, remembering Janet's words: _And I threw the best party of all time._

Owen observed him and said, 'Yes, I can see the change in you. Gilstrap won't stand a chance if you can bring that.'

Feeling like a cobra ready to strike, Harry asked, 'How do I turn it off? I can't very well give a radio interview like this tomorrow night.'

'Love,' replied Owen. 'Think of everyone you love, including everyone you've never met but whom you love nonetheless. Imagine the children you'll have one day, or the people who might as well be your children, for all you want to protect them.'

Harry felt the energy soften but not diminish, and it no longer felt combative. 'Remarkable,' he murmured, and a wave of powerful love radiated from him. 'Though I'm not sure I can give a radio interview this way either.'

'You'll revert to your usual self when you're with your mates. Although your usual self might not be qualified to appear on a live broadcast either,' said Owen, chuckling.

'No, probably not.'

After lunch they returned to the training grounds, and Harry flew brilliantly. Owen taunted him hard during the practice match, and the other players joined in as well, but Harry was unaffected. He startled Owen with some of his pronouncements—the other Seeker hadn't known he'd been the Master of Death, for example—and Harry was the first to spot the Snitch.

'Well done,' said Owen after they landed. 'That was terrific. We'll keep practicing this week, but I reckon you'll be able to handle Gilstrap.'

'Thanks, that was ... intense. I can't say I've ever talked to anyone like that—I hope you'll forgive me.'

'I'm fairly certain you talked to Voldemort that way, but I'll allow it. All's fair above the pitch, you know. Now practice turning it off again.'

'Yes, working on that now,' said Harry. He looked around at his teammates as they gathered at the benches and allowed strong feelings of love and gratitude to arise. They'd all made him feel welcome on his very first day as a Cannon, and he didn't take that for granted.

And Tuttle, whom he was beginning to realise was a truly brilliant coach. He was deeply touched she was going to defend him on the radio, not least because he knew she'd have no compunction about calling him an egomaniac if she thought it were true.

Yes, he was taking his knocks from Rita Skeeter, but it would soon blow over as it always did, and he'd be free once again to enjoy the peace and good fortune that had seemingly found him at last.


	35. Chapter 35

Hermione walked stiffly into her parents' kitchen on Monday morning. 'Good morning,' she said to her mother, who was seated at the table.

'Good morning, Hermione. How are you? You look a bit creaky.'

'That's how I feel as well, unfortunately—I did rather too much dancing on Saturday night, and it's caught up with me. It seems I've become too sedentary since leaving Hogwarts.'

'I suppose that's the downside of magical transport,' said her mother. 'You aren't walking to bus stops and transferring through tube stations like most people.'

'I've realised that, and I can see it's a problem. Lucinda was right—I need to start exercising regularly if I don't want to be dependent on pain potions for most of my life. Do you have any suggestions?'

'We can probably rule out horseback riding,' said Emily. 'But I'm sure there are any number of options at the leisure centre.'

Hermione felt a wave of discomfort—she had long made a practice of avoiding the nearby leisure centre. Her primary school tormentors used to congregate there, and the lack of teachers meant no one was around to stop them from teasing her.

'It's been years since I set foot inside,' said Hermione. 'What sort of facilities do they have now?'

'They improved it quite a bit while your father and I were in Australia. Now there's a 30-metre swimming pool, and quite a large gym with weights and cardiovascular machines. They also have fitness classes, which I'm always meaning to attend. The timetable should be in the folder next to the fridge.'

'I can't see myself attending a fitness class,' said Hermione, 'but perhaps Ryan could show me how to use the machines.' _And protect me from bullies,_ she thought.

'Good idea. And maybe you and I could develop a habit of going there together—I suspect it would be good for both of us.'

'I'd like that.'

She'd felt closer to her parents since their evening with the Bellamys. Emily and Daniel were deeply affected by the story of how Walter's parents had been murdered, and although Hermione knew she wasn't forgiven for what she'd done, they seemed to understand her motivations better. It had also been a relief to discuss her own grandparents, whom she'd scarcely mentioned in the previous year.

'May I invite Ryan to dinner tonight?' asked Hermione. 'If we're going to talk about the situation with Nan and Grandpa, he'll have a lot to contribute.'

'I imagine he would. But would takeaway be all right? I have a late appointment this afternoon and won't have time to cook.'

'He'll eat anything, particularly if it's spicy and comes in vast quantities.'

Emily chuckled. 'Yes, I can believe it. We should be ready to order by half six, so make sure he's here by then, or else we'll have to surprise him.'

Hermione's morning continued as usual, travelling to the Ministry via Floo and riding the lift to her department. But she received more than the usual amount of sidelong glances, and she quickly realised why.

'He had no idea about the Chocolate Frogs in advance,' she announced, 'and the _Prophet_ grossly exaggerated his net worth. And if he were anywhere near that arrogant, I'd let him have it.'

There was a collective sigh of relief, but also a new round of whispers. 'What about the threesome?' asked a wizard in the back.

'Er, that part is true,' said Hermione. 'But he didn't select them from the guests the way Rita described it.'

'And the vampire?' someone asked.

'There was no danger—the thralls were there to keep him in check. He was very interesting, actually. Former Gryffindor.'

'Oh, it was Alistair,' said the wizard. 'That's different.'

Hermione's announcement had the desired effect—that morning she noticed more than the usual quantity of people standing around gossiping, and her sharp hearing caught the phrases_ 'didn't know about the Chocolate Frogs'_ and _'not nearly that rich.' _She also observed that a number of wizards, both young and old, were wearing flowers.

During their team meeting, Octavia announced that Director Ragnok had approved the written manifest of goblin artefacts the Ministry proposed returning. The next step was for Hermione to arrange a time for Harry to make the delivery. His name drew more whispers, prompting Hermione to repeat her lift announcement. She was dimly aware of some other inaccuracy in the article, possibly involving the schools, but she couldn't recall the details.

She'd arranged to take a long lunch, during which she joined Minerva and Bill in Hogsmeade at the Three Broomsticks. 'How are you?' she asked the headmistress. 'I hope you're not in any hot water about the house-elves.'

'No, not at all,' said Minerva. 'Although I never expected to see my name in an article with the words "_Sex-filled bacchanal_" in the headline.'

Bill chuckled and said, 'Poor Harry—I hope the article didn't upset him too much. Rita Skeeter certainly has it in for him.'

'She really does,' grumbled Hermione. 'It turns out she also added Veritaserum to the bottle of Firewhisky she gave him. Thank Merlin he didn't drink any.'

'No, it sounds like he saved his drinking for later,' smirked Bill. 'But is he doing all right?'

'He wasn't pleased—he was mortified in fact. I should state for the record that he doesn't have nearly as much gold as the sidebar alleged.'

'I didn't think so, but with the Blacks you never know.'

'How did Gabrielle take the news about the threesome?' asked Hermione.

'She was delighted, actually. She's very French and expects him to be a seasoned man of the world by the time she's old enough for him.'

'He seems to be heading that way,' said Minerva. 'Hermione, do you think he's all right? This seems like a lot of change in a short interval.'

'I think so. He's rather heartbroken over Helena, unfortunately, but he's bound to recover quickly with everything else happening in his life. And his teammates seem to be a good influence, for the most part.'

Minerva sighed. 'We were so focussed on just keeping him alive all those years—I don't think we dared anticipate what he might need in the aftermath, in order to recover.'

'I suppose it's a good problem to have,' said Bill. 'But anyway, we're here to talk about the Hogwarts wards, and how the process is going.'

'I was wondering why you wanted to see me,' said Hermione. 'What's going on with the Hogwarts wards? Is something the matter with them?'

Bill sighed. 'Minerva, as you can see, someone tampered with the Ministry wards as well.' He turned to Hermione and said, 'There are wizarding schools in Britain other than Hogwarts.'

Hermione blinked and shook her head quickly. 'Yes, of course. I got zapped again by the Ministry wards. Normally Ryan rings when he gets home from practice to remind me.'

'I'm certain that's not the only reason he rings,' said Bill wryly. 'Anyway, how are things going at Hogwarts?'

'We've made good progress,' said Minerva. 'We found the correct spot on the anchor stones, and Filius used a charm to verify that the wards were added during Phineas Nigellus's tenure. Bathsheda was able to remove them without any damage.'

'Excellent. Have you noticed any effect?'

'I still can't remember the other schools whilst I'm inside the castle, but you'll notice I didn't need reminding just now.'

'Good point, yes. So now it's just the secondary wards inside the pipes.'

'Yes,' said Minerva with a heavy sigh. 'But I still can't think of a way to locate all of them, much less remove them. If only Harry still spoke Parseltongue.'

'Are there any other small creatures who could fit, and who would be willing to cooperate with us?' asked Hermione.

'Not that I'm aware of. Fairies would fit, but they're far too capricious, and they don't like metal.'

'I can't believe I'm suggesting this,' said Hermione, 'but could a house-elf shrink to fit?'

'No,' said Minerva. 'I already asked Tufty.'

'Ghosts,' declared Bill. 'A ghost could do it.'

'Good thought. A ghost could help us locate the wards. But unfortunately they wouldn't be able to remove them.'

'Peeves could,' suggested Bill.

'You can't be serious! He'd probably add more wards, and flood the castle in the process.'

'Myrtle!' cried Hermione. 'Moaning Myrtle could do it. She's sometimes corporeal.'

'You're right,' said Minerva. Her eyes grew wide and she added, 'Which means she'd also be able to interrupt the pipe that's supplying the potion.'

'Good lord, she could fix everything,' said Bill. 'Do you think she'd be willing?'

'Good question,' said Hermione. 'She's not what I'd call cooperative.'

'Can we even talk to her outside the castle?' asked Bill. 'I thought ghosts can't usually travel beyond whatever building they haunt.'

'Myrtle can. Harry said he saw her in the lake during the Second Task.'

'Interesting. I wonder if that's related to her corporeality. But no matter ... how do we find her?'

'As far as I know she's usually in the second-floor girls' lavatory,' said Minerva. 'We'll need to ask if she'd be willing talk to us somewhere outside the castle.'

'We should eat lunch first,' said Bill, 'but let's go find her afterwards.'

Their food soon arrived, and they discussed their strategy for dealing with Myrtle. Hermione prepared written instructions for what they'd say to her, since they wouldn't be able to remember everything once inside the castle, and Minerva resolved to contact Minister for Magic Angela Budgeon to discuss the wards at the Ministry and the _Prophet_.

After eating, they went to Hogwarts and eventually found themselves outside Myrtle's bathroom. 'I'm not certain why I'm supposed to go into a girls' loo of all places,' said Bill. 'But apparently it's important, according to Hermione's notes.'

They entered and Hermione took the lead. 'Myrtle?' she called. 'Are you there? It's Hermione Granger.'

Myrtle passed through a closed stall door. 'What do you want? Why are you here during the holidays? Have you come to make fun of me?'

'Of course not, Myrtle. How are you doing?'

'How do you think I'm doing? I'm a ghost in a loo. Nobody wants to be a ghost in a loo.'

'I'm sorry, Myrtle. That was very insensitive of me. But I have a favour to ask.'

'I should have known,' grumbled Myrtle. 'Nobody ever visits me unless they need something.' She flew off and dove miserably into one of the toilets, causing water to splash on their shoes.

'It's a very important favour,' persisted Hermione. 'You would be doing something of historic value.'

Myrtle's head peeped over the rim of the toilet. 'Historic value?'

'Yes,' said Bill. 'They'd surely write about you in books.'

Myrtle narrowed her eyes. 'I know you. You're another Weasley. I was hoping your brother Fred would stick around and haunt the loo with me, but apparently he made a clean exit.'

_Merlin, that's a relief_, thought Hermione.

'I'm sorry to hear that, Myrtle,' said Bill. 'I think Fred would have made a splendid Hogwarts ghost.'

'Perish the thought!' exclaimed Minerva. 'He was enough trouble when he was alive. We'd have a second Peeves on our hands.'

'I think we're getting distracted,' said Hermione. 'Myrtle, would you be willing to talk with us somewhere outside the castle?'

'This is a trick!' cried Myrtle. 'You're trying to get rid of me.'

'No, of course not. It's just something we can't discuss inside Hogwarts.'

'Why not?'

Hermione had no idea how to respond, but Bill rescued her. 'It's top secret. It's essential that none of the other ghosts find out.'

'If no one can find out, how will I ever get written about in books?'

'Nobody can know in advance,' said Hermione. 'But after it's done, you'll be a heroine.'

'I don't believe you,' said Myrtle, who was still mostly submerged within a toilet. 'But I admit I'm curious, and that almost never happens when you're a ghost.'

'Will you meet us somewhere outside the castle, then? It doesn't need to be far—anywhere outside the stone walls is fine.'

Myrtle thought for a moment and said, 'How about the broomshed, near the Quidditch pitch?'

'That's perfect,' said Hermione. 'I imagine you can get there faster than we can, but we'll meet you straight away.'

When the three living humans arrived at the broomshed, Myrtle was hovering with an annoyed expression. 'I was ready to leave—I didn't think you were going to come. I thought it was another trick.'

'No, of course not. It just took a while to get here. But now we can tell you the whole story. Minerva, would you like to explain?'

'It was your discovery, Hermione. You should tell her.'

'All right. Myrtle, we've discovered that there are wards on Hogwarts and elsewhere that prevent people from knowing about the other wizarding schools in Great Britain.'

Myrtle looked puzzled. 'But there aren't any other wizarding schools in Britain.'

'No, that's just it. There are actually more than thirty other schools,' said Hermione. 'But the wards have prevented us from knowing about them until very recently.'

'Other schools in Great Britain?' Myrtle's eyes grew wide behind her enormous glasses. 'I must say, this answers a lot of questions I've had about wizarding society! Are they all boarding schools like Hogwarts?'

'No, they're mostly day schools.'

'I could have gone to a day school? I might still be alive if I'd gone somewhere besides Hogwarts!' She flew angrily about the broomshed and even knocked some of the brooms from their hooks.

'That was my reaction as well,' said Hermione. 'And they even offered summer electives on Muggle subjects.'

'I could have studied Muggle subjects during the summers?' cried Myrtle.

'Exactly!' said Hermione. 'It's an outrage, isn't it?'

'It is! But what do you want me to do about it?'

'Quite a lot, actually. We've solved the first part of the problem, which was to remove a memory-modifying ward from the anchor stones. But it turns out there are numerous secondary wards inside the pipes, so we're hoping you can find and remove them.'

'Without destroying the pipes,' added Minerva.

'Did you study Ancient Runes?' asked Bill.

'Of course I did,' snapped Myrtle. 'I was in Ravenclaw, after all.'

'Yes, naturally,' said Hermione. 'The second part of the task, and the most important one, is to find and disconnect a pipe leading from the lake into the castle's water intake system. It's adjacent to the Slytherin dungeons apparently.'

'I know the place,' said Myrtle. 'I've often wondered about that pipe.'

'Are you willing to help us then?' asked Hermione.

Myrtle looked coolly at her. 'What's it worth to you?'

'What do you mean, what's it worth to me?'

'You heard me. I want something in return.'

'But there's nothing we can give you,' said Bill. 'You're a ghost.'

'You don't think I know I'm a ghost?' snapped Myrtle. 'I realise you were all Gryffindors, so you're probably daft, but I assure you I'm not.'

_The Sorting Hat offered me Ravenclaw_, said a small voice in Hermione's mind, but she didn't repeat it aloud.

'I apologise, Myrtle,' said Hermione. 'Of course you know you're a ghost. But we're not aware of anything we can offer you in return.'

'I can think of something,' said Myrtle, smiling. 'I want to go on a date with Harry Potter.'

All three of them were stunned, and Myrtle took advantage of their silence to continue. 'I want to go on a date with Harry Potter. I saw the articles in the _Prophet_—I want him to wear robes and flowers and take me out on a date.'

'Where could he take you?' asked Hermione tentatively. 'How far are you able to travel from Hogwarts?'

'I don't know. Definitely not Diagon Alley, which is unfortunate, because I'd love to go to that French restaurant. But I could probably manage Hogsmeade.'

Bill turned to Hermione and Minerva. 'They have private rooms at the Three Broomsticks. He could take her there.'

'No,' said Myrtle. 'It has to be in public. And I want to be photographed as well.'

'Do ghosts even show up in photographs?' asked Minerva.

'I don't know,' said Myrtle. 'But we'll find out.'

'And you won't help us beforehand?' asked Bill.

'I might look around the pipes, just to satisfy my own curiosity. But I won't fix anything until I go on my date. And I want the _Prophet_ to run an article about it.'

'But why?' asked Hermione.

'So Olive Hornby finds out, of course.'

'I thought she was dead.'

'She is,' said Myrtle with satisfaction. 'But some of her friends are still living, and if she can see them she'll surely learn about it.' She looked at them squarely. 'So what's it going to be?'

'We can't give you an answer yet,' said Minerva. 'It's up to Harry.'

'I can wait,' replied Myrtle, folding her arms.

Hermione sighed. 'All right, I'll talk to Harry this week and owl Minerva his reply. Thank you for being so cooperative.'

'I hope Harry is cooperative too,' said Myrtle, waggling her eyebrows.

Minerva walked Bill and Hermione to the Hogwarts gates. 'We certainly made progress, but do you think Harry will agree to a date, in public?'

'I'm sure he will,' said Hermione. 'He feels as strongly about the problem as we do. But heaven help him when this appears in the _Prophet_—the other Seekers will tear him to pieces.'

'Yes, you're right,' said Minerva. 'As much as I'm a Magpies fan, he should definitely wait until after Saturday's match. Gilstrap is apparently a menace in that regard.'

Bill smirked and said, 'At least she didn't demand a threesome.'

Minerva chuckled and Hermione laughed out loud. 'Good point,' she said. 'I'll have to use that on Harry in case he protests.'

After saying goodbye, she returned the Ministry for the afternoon and then went home to wait for Ryan's call after practice.

She didn't have to wait long. 'Hermione, I've spoken with my mother, and she has some ideas about charms for repairing the tapestry. She's at home, so we can meet there if you like. I'll wait for you in the back garden.'

'That's perfect—see you soon.'

Hermione followed the protocol he'd taught her and Apparated into the garden shed. The flame was green, so she stepped out and found him standing there, ready to embrace her.

'Hello,' she said after they'd kissed. 'How was practice today?'

'A bit brutal, actually. We were instructed to taunt the hell out of Harry, and he took it rather hard at first.'

'Oh dear. I can't say I like that aspect of Quidditch.'

'Normally it's more fun than anything, but with Harry it's entirely different. And it's only going to get worse now that he's proven he's such a good Seeker. If he were mediocre the others wouldn't bother.'

'He wouldn't be playing league Quidditch if he were mediocre. Even if some team wanted to hire him just because he's famous, he wouldn't have done it.'

'Certainly not,' said Ryan. 'Shall we go inside?'

'Yes, though the garden is so beautiful that I hate to leave it.'

They walked inside and found Lucinda sitting at the dining room table, engrossed in one of several open books. Without looking up she said, 'Hermione—I'm glad you've come. I think I have just the spells you'll need.'

Hermione was surprised Lucinda didn't acknowledge Ryan, but she knew she herself had tunnel vision when books were involved. 'That's great news,' she replied.

Lucinda looked up. 'It's an interesting problem, but the solution is actually quite simple. I know Harry's had some very proficient casters in the house, but they were never going to succeed using a Latin-based charm.'

'Of course! The tapestry is bound to be Middle Eastern!'

'Exactly. So you'll need a Turkish or Iranian charm—I've found both.' She handed Hermione a piece of lined paper torn from a spiral notebook. 'The wand motions are similar ... if we had a Persian carpet lying around I'd scorch it just for the fun of repairing it, but unfortunately we haven't.'

'That's quite all right,' replied Hermione, moving her wand to match the diagrams Lucinda had copied for her. 'Do you want to witness the repairs on the actual tapestry? I'm certain Harry would like to meet you.'

'I'd love to see it, but what I really want is to look through his library. Do you know if there are any books on healing? They're a bit hard to come by, unfortunately.'

'Yes, there's a whole section—I should have thought to mention it. I imagine Harry will be home tomorrow afternoon between the end of practice and his broadcast at seven o'clock. Would you be available sometime in there?'

'For a chance at the Black family library, I'll make the time. They must have remarkable old spellbooks.'

Hermione lit up. 'There are healing charms and potions in the Grimoire!'

'You've seen their Grimoire? How did you manage it?'

'We fooled it into believing Harry and I are married. Nothing serious, it only required a few drops of Harry's and my blood on a charmed detection plate.'

'That's good—I'm certain Ryan would be heartbroken if it turned out you were married. He's awfully sensitive for such a hulking beast.'

'I'm right here, you know,' interjected Ryan.

'Of course you are, dear,' said Lucinda, who stood up to give her son a kiss. 'How are you? Did you enjoy today's bout of Quaffle-tossing?'

Hermione had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. 'Yes, Mum. And how was your brewing?'

'No brewing today, just charms, charms, and more charms. But I wish I had someone to experiment on—it would be unethical to practise on pets. And I can't make your father sick for scientific purposes. I'm ashamed to admit I've caught myself wishing he were more accident-prone.'

'Should I ask if my parents are willing?' asked Hermione.

Lucinda's eyes lit up. 'Now there's an idea! Two more middle-aged Muggles to play with ... do they have any ailments?'

'My father has a bad shoulder from an old rowing injury, but otherwise they're pretty sound, as far as I know.'

'That could be fun, I've been working on charms to repair muscles and tendons. Do you think he'd be up for it?'

'I don't know. Is there any risk of it going wrong somehow?'

'I shouldn't think so. I certainly haven't had that problem when I've worked on Walter. But please don't exert any pressure on my behalf—it's your father's decision entirely.'

'I'll ask him tonight. I confess I've been thinking about how you might help them, ever since I first learnt about your project.'

'It would be nice to treat people without having to modify their memories,' said Lucinda. 'I always dread that part. You know how it is ... that horrible lost look after you've done it.'

Hermione sighed, remembering how her parents had looked that awful morning. 'Yes, I don't think I could ever forget it.'

Lucinda shook her head in disgust. 'And to think there are wizards who use memory charms as a matter of course, simply because they can't be bothered to use a ticket machine or wait their turn in a queue.'

Hermione nodded uncomfortably, recalling the time she Confunded Cormac McLaggen to keep him off the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

'Hermione, don't we need to go to your parents' house now, for dinner?' asked Ryan.

She began to say, 'No, we have a solid–' until she noticed the look in his eyes. 'Oh right, they want us there early.'

Lucinda burst out laughing. 'I wasn't born yesterday—go on then.'

Hermione was blushing but managed to say, 'I'll ring you to confirm tomorrow evening. Thanks again for finding those charms, and I'll ask my father whether he's willing for you to work on his shoulder.'

'Wonderful, I'll talk to you soon.'

After a very pleasant hour at Ryan's flat, they arrived at Hermione's parents' house to look at the takeaway menu and place their order. Ryan offered to go collect it, which drew praise afterwards from Daniel.

'I never expected to meet a wizard who knows how to drive,' he said approvingly. 'Hermione doesn't know how, and I don't think Harry does either.'

'Arthur Weasley knows how to drive, and some of Ron's brothers do as well,' protested Hermione, leaving out the part where Ron drove his father's charmed Ford Anglia when he was twelve.

'Yes, but wasn't that an enchanted car? Arthur told me how many modifications he'd made—I'm certain a child could have driven it. Ryan, by contrast, appears to have brought our manual-transmission Vauxhall home in one piece.'

Hermione smiled, proud of her boyfriend. 'Yes, you're right that hardly any wizards know how to drive. I should probably learn how.'

'Would you permit me to add some safety charms to the car?' asked Ryan. 'Nothing too invasive—just some frame and glass reinforcements, and also Cushioning charms.'

'Could you really?' asked Emily. 'That would be tremendous.'

'Yes, I'd be happy to, and I can show Hermione the particulars. Though I'm certain she could work them out on her own,' he said affectionately.

'Actually,' started Hermione, 'on a related topic ... Lucinda has been training herself as a Healer for several years, with the goal of extending Walter's lifespan and keeping close friends and family in better health. She'll have to modify the memories of everyone but Walter, but she feels it's the lesser of two evils compared with letting someone die slowly of cancer.'

'Oh my goodness,' exclaimed Emily. 'Is that permitted? Treating Muggles, that is?'

'No,' said Ryan. 'That's why she's teaching herself—if she were to train formally she'd have to take an oath never to treat Muggles beyond basic first aid.'

'One of the reasons I mention it,' continued Hermione, 'is that she's looking for guinea pigs. Dad, if you're willing, it sounds as though she can fix your shoulder.'

'Really?' said Daniel. 'That is interesting. Is there any risk of side effects? I assume there's not much research on how magical healing affects Muggles.'

'Actually, there are numerous anecdotes about successful Muggle healings,' said Ryan. 'From before the Statute of Secrecy was established. In fact there's a connection between the two, since magical Healers were being overrun.'

Daniel looked at Emily and asked, 'How would you feel about it? I know you're squeamish about having too much magic around the house.'

'I haven't a leg to stand on, now that I've engaged Hermione to enlarge our closets and the lounge. I'll leave it up to you.'

'I suppose I should sleep on it, but my immediate answer is yes, by all means. I'd resigned myself to having a bum shoulder—I don't let it stop me from doing anything, but I'd much rather be shot of it.'

'My mother will be glad to hear it. I'll leave you her phone number so you can arrange a time. She can come here, of course.'

'House calls and everything!' exclaimed Emily. 'That might be more surprising than the magical healing part.'

Their conversation eventually drifted to Hermione's grandparents, and how the relationship might be salvaged. 'It's pretty bad,' admitted Hermione. 'I haven't seen them in years, and the last time we even spent Christmas together was when I was twelve. Ever since then I spent Christmas either at Hogwarts or with the Weasleys.'

'Really, not since you were twelve?' asked Ryan, surprised. 'I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me. I know you were already helping Harry fight Voldemort at that age.'

'Yes, I was,' said Hermione. She was a little hurt by Ryan's reaction, but she was also glad he'd stated the reason she'd avoided spending holidays with her family.

'It was hard for us, letting her stay at Hogwarts over the holidays,' explained Emily. 'But we knew how important her friends were to her, and we didn't want to interfere with that.'

'What she's not saying was that I hadn't any friends before I went to Hogwarts, and they were relieved I'd finally made some.'

Ryan looked at her tenderly. 'I'm so sorry you went through that. It's no wonder you threw yourself so fully into the wizarding world.'

'Yes,' said Emily, 'I suppose she'd have kept up her Muggle side if she'd been treated better. But you didn't even get on well with your cousins, did you?'

'The twins? No, they were never very nice to me.' Hermione had twin cousins a year older than her, a boy and a girl. 'How did they turn out, by the way? I've never even asked.'

'They're both at university now. Jenny's reading maths at Bristol and Albert is studying law at the LSE,' said Emily.

'And I'm the drug-addicted family dropout,' said Hermione, looking down at her plate.

'That can't possibly be what they think,' said Ryan.

'It's not far off,' said Emily. 'I haven't said anything specific to my parents in a while—they no longer ask—but they've deduced she's not at university, and they probably doubt she even sat her A-levels.'

'Oh, Hermione!' exclaimed Ryan. 'And to think, in the wizarding world you're a hero and a role model.'

'Not always. I was "Undesirable Number Two" after all.'

'That hardly counts.' Ryan turned to Daniel and Emily and asked, 'How do we fix this? Can I help in some way?'

'I suppose it couldn't hurt to bring around a clean-cut boyfriend,' mused Emily. 'What's your cover story?'

'My Muggle counterpart read history at Durham University, and now I have an exceedingly boring job as a junior researcher at a Cambridge think tank, courtesy of an unnamed friend of my father's.'

'Why Durham?' asked Daniel.

'It was nowhere near where any of my friends were attending university.'

Emily looked at Hermione and said, 'I don't think we can just plop you directly into a prestigious university, but it would be nice to get you back on track. Do you think a Further Education college would be plausible?'

'You mean say I'm taking my A-levels next June, and then proceed to university after that?'

'That could work,' said Ryan.

'It's a bit ironic, considering I had eleven O.W.L.s and will probably have ten N.E.W.T.s, but that's just my wounded pride talking.'

'Yes, and it's ironic that Ryan's Muggle relations think he's a junior researcher when he's actually a star athlete,' observed Emily.

'What's wrong with being a junior researcher?' protested Hermione. 'That's essentially what I am.'

'You're right, dear. I apologise.'

'But what about the interim?' asked Daniel. 'As far as your parents know, Hermione's been living on the streets since she finished attending her dubious boarding school.'

'That's not so far from the truth, at least during what should have been my seventh year. But we can hardly say I was living in a magical tent whilst fighting a war.'

'No, certainly not. But perhaps you were living with friends and working? That was when we were in Australia, you know,' said Emily.

'Couldn't she have come to Australia with you?' asked Ryan.

'No,' said Hermione. 'When I memory charmed my grandparents, I specifically made them believe only my parents had moved. I didn't want Death Eaters hunting down my parents in an attempt to find me.'

'I think your best cover story is an estrangement,' said Ryan. 'That reduces the need to make Hermione look like she hit rock bottom.'

'That makes sense,' replied Emily, nodding. 'I knew kids who couldn't get along with their parents and went their own way for several years before reconciling.'

'And it suits Hermione's independent streak,' added Daniel. 'She's certainly capable of taking care of herself, even without magic.'

'Do you think she could skip the FE college, then, and go straight to university?' proposed Ryan. 'She'd already be a year into it.'

'You're right, good idea. We could just claim an estrangement and say that she'd returned and already had a year of university under her belt. What do you think?'

Hermione looked up hopefully. 'I must say, I prefer that to the drug-addicted street-urchin scenario.'

'You'd make an adorable street urchin,' said Ryan, smiling. 'Though I'd just as soon leave out the drug addiction.'

'Agreed,' said Daniel. 'And where do you fit into all this, Ryan?'

'Are you saying I could have met him in Cambridge?' she asked excitedly.

'That's not what I was saying, but it makes sense, now that you mention it.'

'Do you think that would be convincing?' asked Emily. 'My mother would want to brag if Hermione were enrolled at the University of Cambridge, and someone might be able to poke holes in the story.'

'It wouldn't have to be one of the old colleges,' said Hermione. 'We could pick one of the newer ones.'

Emily nodded thoughtfully. 'Yes, that might dampen her enthusiasm a bit. I'm certain she'd be relieved you were at university at all.'

'Are you sure you're all right with this?' asked Hermione. 'It puts more of the blame onto you and Dad.'

'It seems only fair we distribute it,' said Daniel, 'considering we can't blame the actual culprit.'

'Voldemort, you mean?'

'I was going to say "evil wizards," but yes.'

Hermione felt a burden lifting—one she hadn't realised she'd been carrying. 'Merlin, what a relief! I never thought we'd come up with a solution this easily.'

'There's another problem,' said Emily. 'Your language. You can't just blurt out "Merlin" all the time.'

'Oh dear, you're right. Although it's such an ingrained habit by now.'

'My mother had to train herself out of it,' said Ryan. 'Fortunately I never picked up much wizarding slang, mostly because she stopped me whenever I started.'

'Any suggestions?' asked Hermione.

'You could say "mercy,"' said Emily.

'Or _"merde,"'_ suggested Daniel.

Hermione smiled. 'I suppose Fleur is always telling me to practice my French. All right, I'll see what I can do. But you have to point it out when I slip up.'

'Do we need a swear jar?' asked Daniel.

'Perhaps, but which currency would she use?'

'Wizarding, of course. One Sickle for every slip-up,' replied Ryan.

'She'll never learn at that rate,' said Daniel. 'I say Galleons.'

'That's more than five pounds!' protested Hermione.

'Fine, three Sickles. That's about a pound.'

Hermione nodded. 'What do we do with the funds raised?'

'That all depends on how often you take Merlin's name in vain, and how quickly you replace it with good old-fashioned blasphemy,' replied Daniel, and everyone laughed.

'Ryan, we're depending on you to keep her honest,' said Emily. 'I'm certain you hear more exclamations from her than we do.'

'Mum!' cried Hermione, turning beet red. 'You're incorrigible!'

'I think we're getting some insight into how the estrangement started,' said Daniel.'

'You mean Mum drove me away with her lurid insinuations?' scowled Hermione. 'That seems highly plausible.'

'Don't make that face at me,' said Emily, grinning. 'I've earned the right to tease you and I'm taking full advantage.'

'Fine. But that means I get to stay with Ryan tonight.'

Ryan's eyes popped open, and his very happy look of surprise elicited laughs from both Hermione and her mother. 'May I clear the table?' he asked, by way of changing the topic.

'Yes, and you can do the washing up as well,' said Daniel, who didn't appear amused.

'Oh, Dad ... admit you like him a thousand times better than you did Ron.'

Daniel mumbled something about 'multiples of zero,' and Hermione swatted him. 'Ryan, you seem to be very good for Hermione,' said Daniel. 'And yes, I'll ring your mother tomorrow about my shoulder. I'll be very interested in whether that works.'

Before she and Ryan left through the fireplace, Hermione hugged both her parents and said, 'Thanks for being so accepting of Ryan ... I know it's hard for you, Daddy. And I'm glad we've formed a plan for Nan and Grandpa.'

'I am too,' said Emily. 'They'll be so happy to see you again—I'll gladly take some of the blame to help make that happen.'

When Hermione and Ryan arrived at his flat, she gave him a big hug and said, 'Thank you. I literally might never have seen my grandparents again if I hadn't met you. I hope you'll come meet them, in the role of my wonderful boyfriend who attended Durham University and has a tedious job at some think tank.'

'I'd be honoured to. And I hope you'll meet my Muggle friends as well.'

'So they'll stop throwing women into your path?'

'No ... so they can see for themselves how wonderful you are, and how happy you make me.'

Hermione beamed up at him, and they spent a very sweet evening together before eventually curling into bed. As she drifted to sleep she imagined introducing Ryan to her grandparents, and telling them she'd taken care of herself and started university, and hadn't been a disappointment after all.


	36. Chapter 36

Harry arrived at practice on Tuesday morning with little time to spare, but Lara detained him at the front desk.

'I can't talk,' he said. 'Tuttle will crush me if I'm late.'

'No, she knows I need to speak to you first—she said you should start running as soon as you can and just stop when the others have finished.'

He relaxed. 'All right, what is it?'

'It turns out your owl post is too much for the existing staff to handle, so Darius decided to engage someone full-time.'

'A full-time staff-person, just to handle my post?' asked Harry, incredulous.

'Yes. There's been an increase in fan mail for all the starters, and some for Owen as well, so it's better to have someone completely dedicated to yours. And don't apologise for the added hassle or expense—team revenue has gone through the roof since you signed on, so it's only natural there'd be some added cost.'

'All right. Am I to help select them, or does Darius have someone in mind?'

'She's been hired already and today's her first day. I'm to introduce you.'

'Oh, I see! Is there anything I should know in advance?'

'Yes,' said Lara, with a very serious expression. 'I want you to remember the Cannons' ironclad rule: no fraternising. No matter how tempted you are, or how much she tries to reel you in, you need to keep your distance.'

Harry swallowed. 'Noted. But she can't be worse than a pubescent Veela, surely.'

'You'll see,' said Lara, leading him down the hallway. She knocked on a closed door and said, 'He's here. May I send him in?'

'Yes,' came a crisp voice through the door.

Lara opened the door to reveal a severe-looking elderly witch wearing a pointed hat, which didn't entirely cover her iron-grey hair. She had a stern, heavy brow and a tightly-closed jaw. 'Mrs Thwip, may I introduce Harry Potter?' said Lara, preparing to return to her desk.

'Yes, I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Potter,' she said firmly.

'Please, call me Harry.'

She shook her head. 'No, I prefer the formal style of address. I'll call you Mr Potter and you may call me Mrs Thwip.'

'Of course. It's very nice to meet you, Mrs Thwip.'

She was standing behind a large desk with numerous trays stacked on top, and there were several crates on the floor next to it. It appeared she was in the middle of sorting the post, because letters were flying from the trays one by one and arranging themselves into different categories. He read some of the labels and saw: _Business proposals, Fan mail from children, Fan mail from adults, Charitable requests, Marriage proposals, Non-matrimonial propositions_, and multiple sub-categories of hate mail.

'That's quite a lot,' he said. 'And you're able to sort it automatically like that?'

'Yes, up to a point. Some letters are trickier because they fall into more than one category.' She indicated a larger crate behind the desk, labelled _'Manual sort.'_

'I can see you've a lot of experience with this sort of thing,' observed Harry.

'Indeed I do. Mr Sprott asked for the best of the best, and it seems I fit the bill. My previous employers include Celestina Warbeck, Gwenog Jones, and Gilderoy Lockhart.'

'Lockhart!' exclaimed Harry. 'He used to make me help with his post, back at Hogwarts.'

'Yes, that was after I sacked him.'

'You sacked him?'

'Yes, and the others as well. I don't tolerate nonsense.'

'Er, are you certain you're willing to work for me? I suspect you'll eventually want to sack me, for one reason or another.'

'Perhaps. But you've impressed me so far as someone who speaks his mind. Rather too much, perhaps, but that's better than too little.'

'Fair enough,' he replied. 'Is there anything I can do to help you get started?'

'Yes, I'd like to establish some ground rules. Please, sit down.'

He sat opposite her at the desk, and she used her wand to clear a path between the trays so they could see each other.

'It's entirely up to you whether you want to respond to anything personally. I understand you're a very busy man,' she said, with a slight cough.

'Er, I'm certain I'll want to reply to some letters personally. I've already started telling people to write to me in care of the Cannons, since my home address is fully protected.'

'Yes, of course. Please tell me in advance which letters you're expecting, so I can flag them specially.'

He told her about the letter he was expecting from Connor about werewolf rights, as well as a few other people he'd told to contact him through the team.

'Will you want to respond to fan mail from children?'

'Yes, as much as time allows. I can't necessarily write long replies, but I'd like to send something personal, to prove I read it.'

'There are charms to replicate your handwriting, if you'd rather I take care of those.'

'That seems a bit dishonest,' replied Harry. 'I'm sure I can write a few lines.'

'As you wish, Mr Potter. In that case I assume you'd prefer to sign photographs yourself.'

'Yes, as time allows.'

She looked at the piles and said, 'Right now I estimate perhaps four hours a week.'

'Blimey!' he exclaimed. 'But that's all right ... I usually have hours to kill on Saturday mornings before a match, and the occasional evening as well.'

'Are you interested in hearing about business proposals and investment opportunities?' she asked.

Harry sighed. 'I assume most of those arrived since Sunday's _Prophet_?'

Mrs Thwip nodded.

'My first thought is that you should just Vanish them. But perhaps a form response would be a better deterrent.'

'Very good. I'll write up something for your approval. What about charitable requests?'

'Could you provide a summary so I don't need to read every single letter?'

She nodded. 'Yes, that's easily done. I assume you've no interest in marriage proposals?'

_No, I'm not allowed for two more years,_ he thought. 'That's correct. Is it better to send a form response or just to ignore them?'

'A firm rejection is normally best, signed by me,' she said. 'A letter from you might be considered encouragement.'

'Right, I can see that. Yes, as you suggest.'

'And non-marital propositions?'

'You can't be serious—of course I'm not interested.'

'Are you certain? A lot of them include photographs.'

Harry's eyes shot open but he shook his head quickly. 'No, absolutely not. Have any of your clients actually ... responded to that sort of letter?'

He could have sworn he saw her smirk, but when he looked again her expression was steely composure. 'It would be unprofessional for me to say.'

'It was Lockhart, wasn't it? Of course it was—no need to answer.'

She remained impassive and said, 'Over the next week or so, I'll compile the most frequently asked questions, so you can prepare responses. Then I'll include them in typewritten replies.' She paused and added, 'What about hate mail?'

'Er, what do you propose? Is it ever instructive?'

'As a rule, no. But the percentages can be revelatory.'

'I'm sorry, how do you mean?'

'For example, one week forty percent of hate mail might involve anti-Cannons sentiment, and twenty percent might be political—particularly in your case.'

'And some people might just be opposed to wearing flowers,' suggested Harry.

'Yes, precisely.'

'Right. I suppose the overall trends could be interesting. Would it be hard to compile that information?'

'Not at all,' she said. 'I can provide a summary every fortnight.'

'That sounds perfect, thank you. It's clear you know what you're doing—I'm glad Darius brought you on board.'

She nodded. 'I believe that concludes our business, Mr Potter.'

He rose and said, 'I can see I'm in good hands, Mrs Thwip. Thanks again, and welcome to the team.'

Harry felt unexpectedly relieved as he walked back to the entrance and out to the pitch. He'd never had any kind of steward before, excepting Dumbledore, who was less a steward than an overreaching meddler. _He meant well,_ said a voice in his mind, and another voice added, _I wonder how many marriage proposals he turned away._

He worked hard during practice, and his teammates taunted him brutally again. This time Helena was fair game, which was an added challenge, but he survived. In the practice match that afternoon, he and Owen spotted the Snitch simultaneously, but Harry was closer so he made the catch.

'Nice work, Snitchbottom,' said Darren. 'I'm feeling better and better about Saturday.'

'That's good, because I'm tempted to curse you with a new orifice after what you said about Helena and those thestrals. But I can wait until Sunday.'

After practice, Harry went home and took a nap before Hermione and Lucinda were to arrive. He'd slept poorly the previous night, but that afternoon his enormous bed worked its magic and he slept soundly for an hour. He rose and changed into a set of everyday robes, plain but well cut. He was tempted to wear one of the boutonnières his florist had provided as a courtesy—in thanks for having created a new furore—but he didn't want to give Lee and George further ammunition.

_Oh screw it_, he thought. _I like flowers. _He selected an orchid—pink and spring green—and slid it into his buttonhole. _Who cares if they call me a ponce? I'm going out with a model tomorrow night!_

Susanna had informed him after practice that they'd arranged a date with a witch who was successful in the Muggle modelling world but wanted to appear in wizarding publications as well. Susanna showed him her photograph and he was truly dazzled. Apparently she had a Muggle fiancé, so there was no possibility for romance, but he was sure he'd enjoy himself anyway.

He knew it was childish to take satisfaction in being linked with a model, but it flattered the part of him still stuck on Privet Drive, ignored and sneered at by his classmates for being less than nobody. He realised it was odd that his fame in the wizarding world had never scratched that itch, but there it was.

At six o'clock he stood in front of the formal fireplace to receive Hermione and Ryan's mother, Lucinda. Hermione was the first to arrive, and naturally her eyes went straight to the boutonnière. 'You devil!' she exclaimed.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Orchids have a particular meaning, you know.'

'Do they? I don't know anything about the meaning of flowers.'

'You should learn it,' said Hermione. 'Apparently wizards take great stock in that sort of thing, and orchids symbolise male fertility.'

'Oh, heavens! I can't say that was my intended message, particularly for a radio broadcast with Lee and George. Do you think they'll say anything? I certainly don't need to wear it tonight.'

'No, you can't remove it now—your robes will look hopelessly plain by contrast. And I doubt they'll say anything—George isn't that type of pure-blood.'

Lucinda arrived and stepped commandingly into the room. Her eyes caught Harry's boutonnière before she extended her hand. 'I'm Lucinda Bellamy,' she said. 'It's a pleasure to meet you. Ryan tells us you're nothing like what the _Prophet_ depicts.'

'I'm relieved to hear it, and I'm happy to meet you as well. May I offer you anything?'

'You can offer me a crack at the Black family bookshelves, but I'll settle for the tapestry to begin with. Where is it?'

'It's just upstairs, follow me.'

They walked past Padfoot, who was inexplicably balancing a beach ball on the tip of his nose, like a seal, and they headed upstairs to the drawing room. 'Oh my goodness, yes! Now this is a tapestry!' exclaimed Lucinda. _'Toujours pur_ ... unbelievable. Are you sure you want to restore this thing?'

'I'd like to at least try. Seeing as I'm planning to upend nearly everything else about House Black, it only seems fair to give the tapestry one last chance to prove itself.'

'Fair enough,' said Lucinda. 'Did Hermione tell you about the charms?'

'Yes, she said we'd need something Middle Eastern, to match the tapestry. Would you like to go first?'

'I'd be glad to, although I suspect you're the only one who can fix it. But there's one way to find out. Where shall I start?'

Harry looked at Hermione, who said, 'Start with one of the names we don't care about, just in case there's a problem. Like that scorch mark over there.' She indicated someone who was only distantly related to both Sirius and Harry.

Lucinda aimed her wand, which Harry noticed was as long as Voldemort's, and performed a simple motion. _'Haliyi Tamiret,' _she said in a clear voice. Nothing happened.

Squaring her shoulders, she performed a similar motion and incanted, _'Iislah al-basat.'_ Again, there was no result. 'This seems to be a job for the Head of House,' she said to Harry.

'Do you suppose I should make the ring visible?' he asked Hermione.

'I don't imagine it's necessary, but it can't hurt.'

He revealed the ring, which prompted Lucinda to start laughing. 'Good lord, what a monstrosity! Promise me you'll never start a fad for those. I'd be delighted to see Ryan in robes—other than orange ones, of course—but if he ever wears something like that ring I'll have to curse it off.'

'I can guarantee I'll never reveal this ring in public if I can possibly help it,' he said. 'Could you walk me through those charms please?'

She showed him the wand movements for the first charm. 'This one is Turkish, which seems like the best bet. The other is Arabic.'

Harry aimed his wand at the scorch mark Hermione had selected and said, _'Haliyi Tamiret!'_ Clear light surged from his wand and connected with the tapestry, causing the scorched area to glow temporarily.

'I think it's working!' said Hermione, clutching Harry's arm. 'Look at that, you can see the fabric weaving back together.'

They all stared in fascination as the scorch marks faded and the colours regained their original hue. After a minute, a name began to appear.

Hermione read aloud. 'Priapus Maximus Black ... oh my word!'

Lucinda laughed out loud, and Harry asked, 'What's so funny?'

Hermione was blushing but said, 'It basically means "huge erection." I assume his parents wanted to ensure they'd have grandchildren.'

'It didn't work,' observed Harry. 'It looks like the line ended with him.'

'I have another theory,' said Lucinda, still sniggering. 'Methinks our friend Priapus didn't fancy the witches. Certainly a name like that would have made him popular among a select crowd.'

'That would explain why he was obliterated from the tapestry,' said Hermione. 'Do you want to try someone else? Sirius perhaps?'

'Yes, I'd love that,' said Harry. He repeated the charm, and they watched with satisfaction as Sirius's name reappeared, along with a gold border identifying him as Head of House.

Harry's eyes grew misty as he read his godfather's name. 'Lucinda, I can't thank you enough.'

'Yes you can,' she said. 'Let me into your library.'

'Of course, I'm sorry to keep you waiting.'

'It's just next door,' said Hermione. 'I'll take you there and show you the Grimoire as well.' They left, and Harry proceeded to restore the tapestry. He silently asked Kreacher to send up some sandwiches, which soon arrived.

He took his time at the repairs, waiting for each name to reappear before fixing the next one, wanting to savour the experience. He was delighted to restore Andromeda's name and watch Ted Tonks's name gradually appear, and then their daughter's underneath. _Nymphadora Vulpecula Tonks_, he read with amusement.

Next he restored the two blots Andromeda had identified as his great-grandparents—Dorea Black and Charlus Potter. It was remarkable to see his own surname appear on the enormous tapestry, and he felt more closely connected to the Blacks than before.

Hermione had returned, and they watched the process together in awed silence. And then the next generation followed: _Fleamont Potter _and _Euphemia Hart_.

'Fleamont!' exclaimed Hermione. 'What kind of name is that?'

Harry laughed and said, 'Apparently it's my grandfather's name. No wonder I never heard it before—I doubt anyone could say it with a straight face. Do you suppose I should name my firstborn after him?'

'Good luck finding a wife who's willing to name a child Fleamont. I'd sooner go with Priapus.'

'Severus Priapus,' smirked Harry. 'He might have been a little more cheerful with a name like that.'

He was still smiling but grew teary again as his father's name began to form. _James Balthazar Potter._

'Now that's a name!' said Harry approvingly. 'Balthazar Priapus!'

'Or Balthazar Maximus,' suggested Hermione. 'So many to choose from.'

They were stunned silent, however, when Harry's mother's name began to appear. _Lily Rosamond Evans_, read the tapestry, and Hermione took Harry's trembling hand.

'Look!' she cried, pointing at the legend on top of the family tree.

Harry was amazed to see that the word _'pur'_ had been replaced. _'Toujours puissant,'_ pronounced Hermione. 'Forever powerful.'

The new tapestry was a sight to behold, with bare patches filling in and names shifting to make room for restored branches. And Harry could see the beginnings of his own name. First the gold outline formed, indicating his status as Head of House, and then the letters became visible.

_Harry James Black._

His jaw dropped. 'Are you fucking kidding me?'

Hermione was astonished as well. 'But your father and grandfather both appear as Potters! Perhaps it's because you're Head of House?'

'Bloody hell—I can't let anyone see this. Can we move a bookcase in front of it? Or maybe I can find the spell Walburga used to scorch the thing.'

'It doesn't mean anything,' said Hermione unconvincingly. 'It's just a tapestry.'

'Just a spooky omniscient tapestry that knows about my mother's Blood Status,' muttered Harry. 'Do we know where this thing keeps its brain anyway?'

'Walburga knew your mother's Blood Status, and she's not even sentient. Don't worry about it.'

'Ugh, I suppose you're right. I should head to Diagon Alley anyway—it's nearly time for the broadcast. But you and Lucinda can stay if you like.'

'No, I'm planning to go to Ryan's and listen to your interview, and Lucinda already has a heap of books she wants to borrow, so we'll leave right after you do. Good luck!'

'Cheers, I'll need it.'

'You'll do fine. Rita Skeeter set such a low bar that you only need to be remotely tolerable.'

'Remotely tolerable,' repeated Harry, nodding. 'I think I can handle that.'

He travelled by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and then walked in plain sight to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, knowing that Lee and George were hoping for a crowd. But he needn't have bothered, because the shop was already packed.

'Excellent,' said George, who was waiting near the door. 'We were starting to worry.'

'Sorry, I got caught up in a project and lost track of time. Where do you want me?'

George started leading him through the crowd, shouting, 'Make way for the Man Who Lived … seriously arrogant wizard coming through,' which elicited laughter and cheers. In a normal voice, he told Harry, 'Lee constructed a soundproof broadcasting booth, which also serves an as enclosure for our friend Walburga.'

'Good idea!' said Harry. 'Why didn't we ever think of that, when she was still stuck to the wall?'

'Because destiny led her into my loving clutches,' declared George. 'I haven't told Rebecca yet that my heart is already claimed, poor thing.'

Before Harry could ask how things were going with Rebecca, they arrived at the booth. There was a coin slot outside with a sign that said:

_Meet Walburga Black, mother to the famed mass murderer Sirius Black! Three Sickles for as long a visit as you like (up to an hour, at which point the management reserves the right to to take you to St Mungo's). Warning: Not for tender souls. She will insult you in every possible way. NO REFUNDS._

Harry was relieved to note that someone had written _'exonerated'_ between the words _'famed'_ and _'mass murderer.'_ 'Is she earning her keep?' he asked.

'Is she ever!' exclaimed George. 'I'd offer to buy you dinner sometime, but there's hardly any point, considering you're rich as Croesus. He had a Philosopher's Stone, you know, until he was murdered and it was lost. But I digress ... let's get inside and discuss the broadcast.'

Harry and George took their seats next to Lee in front of a complicated and somewhat makeshift-looking device, with carved runes and several crystals sticking out. Walburga was hanging on the wall behind them, fast asleep.

'Harry, so glad you made it,' said Lee. 'I'd like to go over a few things before we start.'

'I assume you got my letter?'

'Yes, and we also received a summary from the Cannons publicity department. We'll be glad to touch on the main points and try to clear up any gross misunderstandings. But you know we're not going to tread lightly, right?'

'No, of course not. I wouldn't be here if you did,' replied Harry. 'One request though: Nothing about Helena. She doesn't want her name in the media, and I'm honestly rather sensitive on the topic myself.'

'Yes, I'm so sorry,' said George. 'Rebecca told me about it.'

Harry nodded. 'And one other thing—the Cannons are playing the Magpies this weekend, and their Seeker is known for his vicious taunts. So please don't provide any fresh ammunition.'

'Understood,' said Lee. 'Now about your language ... our licence with the Ministry is fairly permissive, so you can say "bollocks" and "bloody" as much as you like. But try to avoid the F-word, if you can manage, otherwise we'll have to pay a fine.'

'Noted.'

'And is it all right if we reunite you with your adopted grandmother Walburga?' asked Lee.

'Good question. She's taken to chiding me about my loose morals, but I suppose the cat's out of the bag. So yeah, go ahead.'

'Brilliant,' said Lee. 'And thanks so much for agreeing to appear—I know how much you value your privacy.'

'What privacy?' replied Harry, only a little bitterly. 'On the contrary, I appreciate the chance to set the record straight.'

George was looking at his pocket watch. 'One minute,' he declared, before conjuring several drinking glasses. He filled them with water and Harry took a long sip.

'No Veritaserum, I hope?' he asked.

'Merlin, no! But don't give us any ideas,' replied George.

Lee held up his hand and said, 'On five,' before counting on his fingers. 'Good evening,' he announced, 'and welcome to the inaugural broadcast of Weasley's Wizard Wireless!'

Harry could see that the crowd was cheering wildly, but he couldn't hear them from inside the booth.

'My name is Lee Jordan, and my partner George Weasley and I are thrilled to introduce tonight's guest, whom I know you're all waiting for.' More cheers from the crowd, and he said, 'So allow me to introduce the man who needs no introduction, the Chudley Cannons' undefeated Seeker ... the Saviour of the Wizarding Robes ... the Boy Who Lives It Up ... Harry Potter!'

'Thank you, Lee,' said Harry, embarrassed. 'I must say, that was quite an introduction, but I'm glad to be here.'

'And we're glad to have you,' said George. 'You've caused quite a stir of late, haven't you?'

'I didn't mean to! I just wanted to bring young witches and wizards together.'

'You certainly succeeded,' said Lee. 'I counted twenty closed doors in your guest corridor before I left. I think it's safe to say you've changed the course of wizarding history, simply by helping create a new crop of wizards.'

'Surely they used Contraception Charms,' said Harry. 'Not everyone is as inept as George's parents were. Sorry, by the way, in case they're listening.'

'They most assuredly are,' replied George, 'and I think I hear a Howler heading your way at this very moment. But let's get back to the party everyone wants to hear about. I understand you had an uninvited guest.'

'I did,' said Harry indignantly. 'Rita Skeeter illegally impersonated my classmate and then attempted to dose Hermione and me with Veritaserum.'

'Right,' said Lee, 'although it appears you didn't need any truth serum to speak your mind. You were rather loose lipped.'

'I didn't reveal any classified information, thank you very much.'

'And what a disappointment that was!' proclaimed George. 'I can't be the only one dying to know what Voldemort's private nickname for you was. Obviously your pet name for him was "Riddle," which in retrospect should have warned us what an arrogant twat you'd become.'

'Am I really that bad?' asked Harry. 'The Chocolate Frogs were a complete accident, you know.'

'Of course we know that,' said Lee. 'And this brings us to our first point, so I'm going to ask all our listeners to repeat after me: Harry Potter ... did not know in advance ... that the Chocolate Frog Cards ... were all of him.'

'Thank you!' said Harry. 'I was completely mortified when I found out what had happened.'

'Next time, you should arrange that all the Chocolate Frogs contain the card for a single obscure wizard, like Crispin Cronk,' suggested George.

'Wasn't he the one they sent to Azkaban for keeping Sphinxes in his back garden?' asked Lee. 'That hardly seems like a reason to get his own card.'

'No, it's not as if he brought robes back into fashion, like our esteemed guest. But getting back to our guest, and his allegedly massive self-esteem, what do you have to say about Rita's claim that you have the biggest head since my elder brother Percy?'

'I'm not certain I'm qualified to answer,' said Harry. 'I didn't think I was that bad—surely Ron or Hermione would have said something.'

'I think they're both distracted by your exceptionally fit teammates,' said George. 'But I'll speak on your behalf, for old times' sake. Admittedly you're no longer the clueless git we so fondly remember, but you're hardly the monster depicted in the article. And I daresay you've earned the right to scuff your head on the sides of doorways from time to time.'

'That seems like a rather equivocal response,' said Harry. 'Lee, what do you think?'

'George is just taking the piss ... you're fine. But let's move on to the most burning question: the numbers! Were they accurate?'

'No, not even close!' said Harry.

'So you're even richer than that?' asked George.

'Very funny. No, they were grossly inflated. The Blacks pissed away almost the entirety of their fortune before I received it, and the Potter number was way too high as well.'

'Now that's a disappointment,' said Lee. 'I'm certain more than one member of our listening audience is currently brewing a Love Potion with your name on it, and now they're wondering whether it's worth the trouble.'

'Don't bother,' said Harry. 'I went to Gringotts this week and they informed me that the Black family ring is specially charmed to protect the wearer from Love Potions. Apparently it will whisk me into the presence of my bonded house-elf, who will be compelled to administer an antidote.'

'Interesting. It seems the Blacks wanted to protect their holy pure-blood seed from attempts at miscegenation,' said George. 'And speaking of the Blacks, I think it's time to introduce our next guest, who has quite a history with her current Head of House. Harry, I understood you and Walburga shared a love nest for several years.'

'Yes, on and off. But she was just too clingy—in the end I had to bring in an expert to forcibly remove her.'

'Witches, are you listening? Don't get too clingy with Potter, or this could happen to you. Remember the protocol: you get one night in that enormous bed, but after that it's up to him whether you're allowed to return,' said Lee. 'Harry, do you at least provide breakfast, or do you chivvy them out the fireplace before dawn.'

'Generally I provide breakfast, yes. My standard practice is to offer a choice between breakfast in bed or to cook something myself.'

'Such a gentleman!' proclaimed George. 'But let's hear from everyone's favourite portrait, Walburga Black. I'm certain she'll have strong opinions about your hospitality.'

Lee tapped his wand against the portrait. 'Good evening, Mrs Black. We've brought an old friend of yours to visit.'

Her eyes slowly opened, and they bulged in fury when she recognised Harry. _'You!'_ she cried. _'The architect of my current exile, all because you wanted to flaunt your manhood unobserved!'_

'Hang on,' asked Lee. 'Are you implying that Harry kicked you out because he wanted to prance about starkers?'

'_No,'_ she said, to Harry's great relief. _'But he's turned the sacred house of my fathers into a sybaritic playground for half-blood abominations like himself.'_

'Can't you forgive me, Walburga?' asked Harry. 'I'm sure if my half-bloods and I try hard enough, we'll eventually produce a pure-blood.'

'_Impossible! You will never overcome the stain of your Mudblood mother. The Blacks are ruined forever!'_

'And, there we are, listeners,' said Lee, silencing the portrait with his wand. 'As promised, you may present our advertisement at the shop between now and Sunday to receive a ten-percent M-word discount, courtesy of the Lady Walburga Black.'

'Does she know what I did to the lords?' asked Harry.

'Yes, and she was furious,' said Lee. 'She threw a jar of pickled thumbs at me, and it smashed against the front of her canvas. But remarkably it reassembled itself by the following morning and was back up on the shelf.'

'In the portrait, that is. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes does not carry pickled thumbs,' noted George.

'Yes, thanks for that clarification,' said Lee. 'And now, I'd like to paint a picture for our listeners. Harry, would you be so kind as to stand up, for our in-store audience?'

Sighing heavily, he rose, and Lee continued. 'Harry is currently wearing a very smart, if plain, set of wizarding robes, a flower in his lapel, and—if I'm not mistaken—Doc Martens.'

'Yes, that's correct,' said Harry, sitting down. 'What's your point?'

'My point is that you've set the fashion world on its ear these past few weeks. You were not noted for your sense of style back at Hogwarts.'

'I think he was a little distracted,' said George. 'He couldn't very well say, "It looks like Voldemort will be abducting me at half six ... which cravat shall I wear?"'

'Very true,' said Lee. 'But now you seem to be making up for lost time. Would you care to comment? I know there's been considerable speculation on the reasons for the change.'

'I liked the fit and quality of my Cannons robes,' explained Harry. 'The shop gives team members a discount, so I thought I'd go see what else they had.'

'Did you hear that, listeners? He was enticed by a discount. More evidence that Harry Potter is not, in fact, richer than the Muggle Queen. But Harry, there must be a deeper meaning behind your new look.'

'Don't be so sure,' said George. 'Remember he recently got his eyesight fixed, so he might only have noticed just how slovenly he used to be.'

'Cheers,' said Harry. 'But there may be some truth to that. I never paid any attention to what I wore until I joined the Cannons and started going out more often. It turned out I only had one smart outfit, and I knew my teammates would start taking the piss.'

'Yes, but that doesn't explain the flowers,' persisted Lee. 'Listeners, he's currently wearing a very snappy little arrangement featuring what looks like an orchid, if I'm not mistaken.'

'Wait a minute,' said George. 'I used to know about the language of flowers ... my great aunt Muriel has an explanatory print in her guest toilet. Let me think ... orchids ...' His eyes shot open. 'You devil!'

'I swear, I didn't know until Hermione pointed it out earlier this evening. But she insisted I leave it on.'

'Listeners, for those of you not fluent in the language of flowers, allow me to inform you that orchids symbolise male virility.'

Lee burst out laughing, and Harry could see that the audience was doing the same. 'I like flowers, all right? I did a lot of gardening growing up.'

'Mate, you defeated Voldemort,' said Lee. 'Wear all the flowers you like.'

'Thank you! That was my primary motivation, after all.'

'But you have to admit, it's a bit foppish. Rita Skeeter said the same thing,' said George.

'I'm not a fop, I'm a dandy!' declared Harry before realising what he'd said. 'Oh, bugger.'

George and Lee doubled over with laughter, and some members of the in-store audience were leaning on one another to keep from falling down.

When Lee regained his composure he said, 'If Andrew Gilstrap is out there listening—and I'm certain he is—you can thank us by doing all your Christmas shopping this year at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. We also carry glow-in-the-dark pyjamas featuring Harry's legendary Patronus, Prongs. But Harry,' he continued, 'what the hell was that? You're a dandy?'

'This is all Hermione's fault. She explained the difference between dandies and fops, which apparently I'm now to explain to you. Fops were an eighteenth-century phenomenon, relying on powder and wigs and flouncy clothes to cover up their poor hygiene. Dandies, however, came later, and practised excellent hygiene—they made it popular, in fact—and they made a point of dressing impeccably.'

'Speaking as someone currently trapped in a very small booth with Harry, I can vouch for his exemplary personal hygiene. Full marks! Ten points to Gryffindor,' cried George. 'He is also not wearing any powder, and that could only be his own hair—Merlin knows they'd never make a wig like that.'

'Although that could be a great product for the shop,' suggested Lee. 'Harry Potter wigs. C'mon Harry, we'd even give you a portion of the revenue.'

'Absolutely not. You know how I feel about endorsements.'

'That's right—you turned down Silver Arrow. Which was kind of a mistake, seeing how you're not nearly as rich as we were led to believe. Are you sure you won't reconsider?'

'No, the only thing I'll endorse is my florist, which I'll do free of charge. Livingston's, on Diagon Alley.'

'Excellent, I'm certain you've guaranteed yourself a steady stream of lapel decorations from now on,' said George. 'But we still haven't covered a lot of the allegations in Rita Skeeter's article. What about the part where you greeted guests for hours, for the sole purpose of casting your nocturnal adventures?'

'That was decidedly untrue. My nocturnal adventures were cast in advance. I was merely trying to be a good host. And shame on Rita for insinuating that!'

'She also made some shocking insinuations about your mother,' noted Lee.

'Yes, she did,' said Harry indignantly. 'Not only did Rita insult my mother—who literally gave her life for me—she also insulted two of my dearest friends, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. They aren't here to defend themselves, but I can assure you there was never anything lurid about their relationship with my mother. Rita's the one with her mind in the gutter.'

'And you're a perfect angel,' said George. 'A veritable choir boy.'

'Naturally,' said Harry, blinking his eyes innocently.

'Ladies, you're currently missing some major eyelash fluttering,' said Lee. 'Harry, I'm starting to see why Snape fell head over heels for your mum.'

'Now what about the vampire?' asked George. 'Sorry about the abrupt change of topic, but we still have a lot of ground to cover.'

'That was Alistair, and he wasn't going to harm anyone,' explained Harry. 'The two thralls were there on purpose, to absorb his excess charisma, which allowed him to converse normally with the other guests. He has a well-established reputation as a Light vampire, and he was even a Gryffindor long ago. I met him once before and thought he'd be an interesting guest.'

'He was very interesting to the _Prophet's_ audience,' observed Lee. 'But I'm glad to know that I and your fellow guests were in no actual danger. And the Veela?'

'I'll speak to that,' said George. 'She's the younger sister to my brother's wife Fleur. Yes, she has a crush on Harry, but let's face it—who doesn't? I'm told he behaved very properly towards her.'

'Thank you,' replied Harry. 'I didn't date fourteen year-olds when I was fourteen, so I don't see any reason to start dating them now.'

'Yes, you were exceptionally inept with the witches back at Hogwarts, weren't you?' said Lee.

'I was distracted! You try chatting up witches when you've got a madman chasing after you!'

'Fair enough,' said Lee. 'But fortunately you've found a way to make up for lost time ... two witches at once! Or do you deny the allegation?'

'I don't deny it. But I won't comment on it either, out of respect for the witches in question.'

'Gratitude, more like,' said George. 'And listeners, he's blushing! In fact, his colour now matches the virility orchid on his lapel.'

Harry could see that some members of the audience were hooting appreciatively, and he started laughing as well._ What an absurd situation,_ he thought.

'This really is a far cry from Potterwatch,' said Harry. 'That was Lee and George's last radio programme, you know.'

'Honestly, we're doing a much better job watching you now than we ever did on Potterwatch. We were mostly grasping at straws back then,' admitted Lee.

'So were we,' said Harry. 'I can't believe this is my life now. Talking about phallic flowers on the radio instead of searching for—' He stopped himself abruptly. 'Oh dear, I nearly gave away a huge secret. Hermione probably had a heart attack just now—Ron too. I should probably wrap things up. Did you have any last questions, other than asking me to complete that sentence?'

'Yes,' said Lee. 'Our listeners want to know more about that bed of yours. Did you buy it somewhere? Are you willing to endorse it?'

'No, it came with the house, and I'm horrified to point out that our friend Walburga had sex on it at least twice. But we cleared the Dark magic from it, and it's remarkably comfortable. I've slept on some seriously crap beds in my life, and I refuse to give this one up merely on principle.'

'There you have it,' declared Lee. 'All your questions answered, and then some! I can't imagine any of our listeners are disappointed with tonight's interview, and Harry, I'd like to issue a standing invitation for you to join us on the air whenever you like.'

'I had a great time, and I'll very likely take you up on that offer, particularly if you invent that delay button I was telling you about.'

'You've got it,' said Lee. 'See you next time, mate. But listeners, stay right where you are, because we've lots more entertainment coming up.'

Lee continued announcing and George stood to let Harry out of the booth, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up. When Harry exited the booth and closed the door, the in-store audience gave him a huge round of applause.

'I knew the _Prophet_ was talking bollocks, describing you like that,' said a wizard wearing a Cannons t-shirt. 'And good for you, having fun on your own birthday.'

'Cheers,' said Harry, making his way to the door. He noticed what seemed to be a disproportionate number of witches in revealing clothing, several of whom he found attractive, but he deliberately didn't catch anyone's eye. He was still feeling fragile over Helena and had decided to wait until at least Saturday before finding someone new.

Once outside, he Apparated home to Grimmauld Place, and he sent his Patronus to get Hermione's opinion on the broadcast. Her otter arrived soon after with the following message:

'_Yes, you nearly gave me a heart attack, but fortunately you stopped yourself in time. And I practically wet myself laughing when you explained the difference between dandies and fops, but I was very proud as well.' _There was a pause and she added,_ 'Ryan says, "Great job, Snitchbottom."'_

He also sent Ron a Patronus, and Ron's dog delivered his reply:

'_Are you trying to kill me? Because you nearly did—but good save. And Janet split a side over your phallic orchid and she's preparing to mock you roundly about it. She's also very disappointed you don't prance starkers around Grimmauld Place. I reckon George and Lee are thrilled about the interview, though we'll never hear the end of the contraception thing from Mum.'_

Kreacher insisted on serving him more dinner, since he'd only eaten sandwiches before, and afterwards Harry responded to fan mail. He felt much better than he'd expected to so soon after Rita's article—it was a relief to know he'd always be able to defend himself on Lee and George's broadcast, no matter what the _Prophet_ threw at him. He wished he could ask Helena what she thought of it, since she'd surely been listening, possibly with Rebecca. Hopefully she appreciated his respect for her privacy.

_Merlin, I miss her,_ he thought. He missed waking up with her most of all, and how much fun they had together, but at least he wasn't at loose ends the way he'd been after breaking up with Ginny.

This time around he had Quidditch practice to keep him entertained, and a date with a model the following night. He'd been instructed to wear something that wouldn't clash with a blue dress, which ruled out his Cannons robes of course, but he had plenty of other outfits to choose from. He was tempted to surprise everyone with a Muggle outfit, and he had half a mind to go to Thimble's or even Savile Row to order a three-piece suit, just to create future mischief.

On his way upstairs he stopped in the drawing room to look at the enhanced tapestry. There were a surprising number of Blacks still living who had never been there before, and he supposed he should reach out to them. He wanted to turn the Blacks into a Light family, and the disinherited progeny were likely prospects. Perhaps he'd draft a letter and ask Mrs Thwip to send it out.

He looked again at his own name on the tapestry—_Harry James Black—_and shook his head in frustration. _I'm not changing my name,_ he thought defiantly. He was the last of the Potters, for one thing, and it would be a slap in his father's face to let the name die out. And he certainly wasn't a Black—the Blacks were Dark wizards like Phineas Nigellus, who'd probably caused the last two wars with his unforgivable tampering.

But then he looked at all the other Blacks who'd appeared on the tapestry that evening. Maybe he should get to know them before ruling out a name change. 'Harry Potter-Black' wasn't too awful, except for how pretentious it sounded, like 'Justin Finch-Fletchley.'

_I don't need to make a decision tonight,_ he thought as he walked up to his bedroom. _The name 'Harry Potter' has done the job for nineteen years, and a little longer won't make a difference._


	37. Chapter 37

Harry had expected his teammates to mock him about orchids and dandies that morning, and they didn't disappoint. When Darren and Suresh emerged from the locker room in their flying robes, each of them had affixed an orchid to the lapel.

'Snitchbottom, only you could find a way to make flowers macho,' said Suresh approvingly. 'I hope you know you're now a gay icon as well as a straight one.'

'Anything to bring wizards together,' replied Harry.

'Is it true you have a date tonight with a model?' asked Darren.

'Yes, we're going to a wizarding restaurant in Manchester called Cottonopolis.'

'Nice! I haven't been yet, but apparently it's the next big thing. I assume the meal will be free?'

'It will be, and I'm all right with that. They'll get a ton of publicity out of it, after all.'

'Good for you, Snitchbottom—it's time you realised your own worth. Have you seen her photograph yet?'

'Merlin yes, oh my god. She has a fiancé though, so I'm not getting lucky, but it'll be a pleasure just to stare at her.'

'Do us both a favour and find out whether she has any model friends looking for partners in peak physical condition,' said Darren. 'Muggle or witch—I'm not fussed, as long as she's completely perfect from head to toe.'

'That's very deep of you, Darren. How are things going with Romilda?'

'She's a handful, in every sense of the word—lots of fun, and an absolutely epic shag. She's of age, thank goodness, but she's five years younger than I am, and that's a bit iffy even for me. I'll probably keep her around another couple of weeks and then send her back to Hogwarts with a signed Quaffle she can show off to her mates. C-squareds love that sort of thing.'

'C-squareds ... yes, Hermione taught me that term. Is there an equivalent for Seekers?'

'No. "Seeker seeker" makes sense, of course, but S-squared doesn't roll off the tongue the same way.'

They continued chatting until they reached the pitch, but as soon as they were aloft Harry's teammates turned hostile. Or they at least tried to, but Harry felt so much better after the broadcast that they couldn't rattle him. Even the Helena taunts didn't bother him, and the dandy jokes were just plain funny.

'Hey Potter, will you be bringing breeches and plumed hats back into fashion as well?' shouted Gary.

'Do your homework, Wisenborn—dandies wore trousers, not breeches,' said Suresh.

'Are we really discussing Regency menswear above the pitch?' asked Renée.

'Yes, and it's about damn time,' said Janet. 'But remember, the fastest way to set off Snitchbottom is to call him a fop. Fop, fop, fop! Go powder your wig, you bloody ponce!'

'Helena dumped him because of his poor hygiene, you know. The perfume and freshening charms couldn't cover it any longer,' added Darren.

'She also got frustrated because she wanted a good shag but Harry kept offering her orchids,' said Janet. 'They're a symbol, Snitchbottom, not a substitute!'

That afternoon the practice match ended quickly—Harry caught the Snitch after only half an hour—but Owen's relentless taunting made it feel much longer.

'If your mum could see you now, she'd be downright embarrassed. Here she went to the trouble of fucking rich men to leave you a fortune, stringing along some poor bastard to keep you alive, and finally sacrificing her life for you, only to have you repay her by acting like a complete prat on the radio. Everyone was just laughing at you, you know. You used to be a hero, but now you've turned into a bloody joke.'

That last one hurt, but Harry didn't respond. He renewed his intentions and allowed broad awareness to overtake him.

'Your mates said you weren't arrogant, but they're just humouring you for free publicity. That's all you are to anyone now—a fucking commodity. Come to think of it, that's all you've ever been. You were Dumbledore's commodity too.'

_That's true_, thought Harry. Dumbledore wouldn't have given him the time of day if not for the prophecy.

'You think you're so special because you and your mates had a top secret mission during the war. _"Oh dear, I nearly gave away a huge secret. I'm so special, I'm Harry fucking Potter."_ You know, the rest of us didn't have a bloody prophecy telling us what to do—we had to figure it out for ourselves.'

'Trust me,' said Harry, 'you really didn't want a bloody prophecy, unless you fancy growing up without parents and being targeted your entire childhood by a maniac.'

'Potter, I don't think you even realise how arrogant you sound. And I reckon your friends have given up pointing it out. They all grew up with parents, so they'll have normal lives, but you're just going to be stuck. So enjoy your bloody robes and flowers, because that's all you get.'

Harry was exhausted by the end of the short match, and Owen immediately apologised to him. 'I'll be glad when we're done with Gilstrap, because I'm tired of acting like such an arsehole day after day.'

'I agree,' said Harry. 'I haven't felt this much impending doom since the war.'

'It's just a game. Don't let him get to you—at the end of the day you're Harry Potter and he's Andrew sodding Gilstrap. I've met your friends and they think the world of you, so don't let him convince you otherwise.'

'Thanks, I appreciate that.'

Harry was glad to have some time to relax before his date that night. He'd slept poorly again, and he was worried his nightmares were becoming more frequent. But he slept soundly that afternoon and woke up refreshed at six o'clock. He washed and then fruitlessly moved his hair around before changing into sleek, pinstriped robes.

He'd instructed Kreacher to ask the florist for a blue boutonnière, and they obliged by sending a half-dozen to choose from. Harry's favourite was a thistle, and according to the book about flowers he'd found in the library, thistles represented bravery, loyalty, and endurance. _That seems appropriate,_ he thought. He wasn't a Hufflepuff, but he'd presumably proven his loyalty, and hopefully his bravery and endurance were beyond question.

His date, whose name was Laetitia Weston, was to arrive at half past six, giving them a chance to talk before appearing in public. She arrived right on time and stepped gracefully from the fireplace, extending her hand. 'Harry,' she said, 'it's lovely to meet you. I'm Laetitia.'

Harry shook her hand but then took a moment just to admire her. She was very slim and taller than he was, even with flat heels, but she wasn't at all gangly. Her skin was reddish brown, and her dark, slanted eyes were utterly captivating. But her most striking feature was her hair: an enormous cloud that put Hermione's pre-Grimoire locks to shame.

'I'm very glad to meet you, Laetitia, and I'm looking forward to our evening.'

'Likewise. I couldn't believe it when my agent told me who she'd lined up for me. I'm certainly grateful for the opportunity, for a variety of reasons.'

'Yes, I understand you want to establish yourself as a wizarding model, in addition to your Muggle career?'

'That's right. The money's much better on the Muggle side, but the work is harder and longevity is almost nonexistent. Wizards, on the other hand, are much less youth-obsessed than Muggles, so my agent is hoping I can line up a longer-lasting career on the wizarding end for when my other jobs dry up.'

'Surely you have time before that happens!'

'I'm twenty-four, which means I'm reaching my sell-by date.'

'Are you serious? And that's considered too old?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'Well, I hope you won't mind spending the evening with a mere nineteen year-old.'

She laughed and said, 'I won't, if you don't mind being seen with an old spinster.'

'Hardly! But I understand you're engaged?'

'Yes, to a Muggle, which means he's not considered a suitable escort in the wizarding world.'

'That's a shame—I assume he knows you're a witch?'

She nodded. 'As of a few months ago. He started dropping hints about ring-shopping, and I wanted to make sure he'd be all right with the truth.'

'What would you have done if he hadn't been?'

'It would have been ghastly, but I suppose I'd have been required to Obliviate him and break things off. But fortunately he took the news just fine.'

'That's good. My teammate Ryan's father is a Muggle, and apparently he and his wife have an equal partnership.'

She smiled and said, 'I'm always glad to hear about wizards with a non-magical parent—it gives me hope for my own children. I can't say I'm entirely comfortable with the prospect of a non-magical child, but I love Eric and I'm willing to take the risk.'

'Does your family accept him?'

'They're not thrilled, to be quite honest, but at my age they're just grateful I'm getting married at all.'

Harry shook his head in amazement. 'I don't know if I'll ever fully understand wizards,' he said. 'By the way, did your agent explain why I wanted a date?'

'She didn't provide details, but she said you wanted to be photographed with someone new.'

'Yes, my girlfriend Helena didn't like publicity, and she asked me to be photographed as soon as possible with someone else, to draw the focus from her. You're aware of the risk of negative attention, I assume?'

'I am, and I'm fully protected. It's a necessity in my line of work—stalkers, you know.'

'I'm sorry, that sounds awful.'

'It is, but I'm much less vulnerable than a Muggle would be. If someone follows me into a dark alley or corridor, I can always Disapparate in a pinch.'

'That's true. May I show you around? We're not expected at the restaurant for another quarter hour.'

'I'd certainly enjoy a tour, particularly after reading about your house in that dreadful article. I should never have read it, but of course I couldn't stop myself.'

'That's what keeps Rita in business, I'm afraid.'

He introduced her to Padfoot, and she was delighted when he caught the dog treat she tossed him. 'I can't believe this is the Animagus form of Sirius Black. I'd never have been frightened of him if I'd seen him like this.'

'I know. It's a shame he didn't live to see himself exonerated. He's the closest thing I ever had to a father, that I can remember anyway, and I still miss him terribly.'

She looked at him tenderly and said, 'That's so sweet, Harry. I can't believe Rita Skeeter twisted your affection into something so perverse.'

'That's what she does,' he said, shrugging. 'I should point out the dining room before we go upstairs. This was the scene of the Chocolate Frog debacle.'

'I'm sorry that happened, but I must have heard the real story from three different people before listening to your broadcast—which was hilarious, by the way.'

After climbing the stairs, Harry was tempted to skip the drawing room due to the incriminating tapestry, but he showed it to her anyway. He needed to at least consider changing his name, and showing people the tapestry seemed like a good way to test the waters.

'Oh my goodness, is this the Black family tapestry? Remarkable!' She examined it for a long while, and he waited for her inevitable discovery. 'Hang on, your name is wrong. Or is it?'

'Good question,' he said. 'My name first appeared on it yesterday—the tapestry had been maliciously damaged, and we only just found the charm to repair it—and when I showed up it decided to rename me.'

'Are you going to change your name to Harry Black? I can't imagine you being called anything but Harry Potter.'

'Nor can I. But Sirius charged me with rehabilitating House Black, and my friends have pointed out that this would be the fastest way.'

'I see their point, but couldn't you at least be Harry Potter-Black?'

He made a face. 'It just sounds so pretentious. Harry Black is at least short and to the point, same as Harry Potter.'

'Maybe, maybe not. Loads of people have double-barrelled names nowadays, and not just toffs. My fiancé is encouraging me to hyphenate when we marry, and several of my girlfriends have done the same. I reckon in a generation it'll sound perfectly ordinary.'

'Interesting. And come to think of it, wizards don't even have double-barrelled names. To a pure-blood, Potter-Black probably doesn't sound any more posh than any other three-syllable name.'

'And nobody can accuse you of being a social climber after the Lord Black business,' she observed.

'Believe me, they'll accuse me of whatever they like.'

'I suppose you're right. But what's the next stop on the tour? This can't be all.'

'No, next there's the library,' he said, leading her there. 'It was locked during the party due to all the books on the Dark Arts, not to mention the family Grimoire. Don't touch it, by the way.'

'I won't,' she said, giving it a wide berth. She looked around and said, 'Forgive me, but do you mind showing me that bed of yours? Everyone's talking about it, and I just have to see it for myself.'

He laughed. 'Of course, follow me.' He led her upstairs and showed it to her.

'Good lord! That's really something. How did you even find bed linens for it?'

'It all came with the house. Do you want to lie down on it? I promise to stand over here.'

She smiled guiltily and nodded. 'You read my mind.' She lay down and stretched out on the bed. 'Oh my word, this is heaven. No wonder you kept it.'

'I know! I wish I could get more beds like it for the guest rooms. That's where I slept during the war, for a while at least, and they weren't nearly as comfortable.'

She pressed down on the mattress with her hand. 'What do you suppose it's made from?'

'I have no idea—probably ground-up unicorns or something. I'm scared to even look.' He checked his pocket watch and added, 'But we should leave for the restaurant now.'

She rose from the bed and said, 'Yes, though if we didn't need to be photographed I'd insist on eating right here. We could have a proper picnic.'

They went back downstairs to the fireplace and he allowed her to go first. 'Cottonopolis,' he said as he stepped into the green flames.

His Floo journey deposited him into the largest fireplace he'd even seen, if you could even call it a fireplace. It was more like an enormous furnace, with a wide-open cast iron door, and when he looked up he could see a large smokestack. 'Merlin!' he exclaimed. 'What is this?'

'Welcome to Cottonopolis, Mr Potter,' said the host. 'Please, step this way.'

Harry saw Laetitia, and she too was looking in all directions. The space was several storeys high and appeared to be a very old factory building. Large antique machines were producing thread and weaving it into fabric, entirely without workers. Harry knew from the documentaries Uncle Vernon used to watch that the factory ought to be noisy and the air unbreathable—_'Back before regulations ruined British efficiency,' _he'd complain—but these machines were perfectly silent and the air was clear.

The host said, 'As you've no doubt realised, Industry is housed in an old Muggle factory, built in the early nineteenth century. It was originally powered by coal, as horrible as that sounds, and the fireplace you arrived in is the old furnace. But of course it's all powered by magic now, and the disadvantages of Muggle production methods have been removed.'

'Fascinating,' said Harry, who was still looking around with wide eyes.

'Mr Potter, Miss Weston, I believe you're expected in the courtyard. Please, follow me.'

He led them outside to a plaza, surrounded on all sides by buildings resembling the one they'd left, with the exception of a large opening to the main road. 'What is this place?' asked Laetitia.

'This is the hub of Manchester's wizarding community,' said the host. 'It's all hidden from Muggles, of course, and there are numerous businesses and dwellings within the complex. But please, come this way.'

He led them to a brick wall that was nicely lit by the setting sun, and a photographer awaited them there. 'Why hello!' exclaimed Harry. 'It's nice to see you again—those were great pictures you took for the Cannons. But I'm afraid I never caught your name.'

'I'm Amanda Bellows,' she said. 'And I'm glad you liked the team photographs—I was pleased with them as well. It seems you've warmed up to having your picture taken, Mr Potter.'

'Call me Harry. And yes, I suppose I have done,' he admitted. 'These photos won't look too staged, will they?'

'No, of course not. They'll just look like exceptionally good paparazzi photos.'

Harry and Laetitia were instructed to pose before the brick wall, and they were quickly at ease together, thanks both to Amanda's coaching and the rapport they'd already developed. Harry could see that Laetitia was remarkably photogenic, and he hoped he wouldn't look too ordinary by comparison. But then he very deliberately lowered his inner walls, which allowed energy to flow upwards from his lower abdomen into his chest and head, after which he felt quite at ease.

'Now we're talking,' said Amanda. 'Look right here, Harry ... perfect. And look at her ... yes, just so.' Harry knew from last time that Amanda took a lot of photographs, so he wasn't surprised by the quantity this time around.

'Can we have a kiss?' she asked.

Harry was about to protest, but Laetitia very comfortably wrapped an arm around him and kissed him on the cheek. 'You're doing great, Harry,' she whispered, and he smiled when she kissed him again.

'Yes, that's it!' said Amanda. 'You look great together, in spite of the height mismatch.' Harry and Laetitia both laughed, and Amanda snapped the camera once more.

They were finally permitted to go to their table, which was nestled privately amid several large machines. Everyone turned as they passed, and Harry could see their eyes flit back and forth, as if unsure whether her beauty or his celebrity were more compelling. But eventually they all settled on her, and he couldn't blame them.

When they were seated and had placed their orders, he allowed himself just to look at her again. 'I'm certain you know how beautiful you are, but I can't help saying it. And moreover you seem to be a lovely person—Eric is a lucky man.'

'Thank you, Harry, that's very sweet. And I appreciate the compliment—you wouldn't believe how often I'm criticised or even insulted in my line of work.'

'You can't be serious!'

'I'm quite serious. To start with, you'd be appalled if I told you what people have said about my skin colour and hair, and my "ethnic" features.' Harry's eyes shot open, and she continued. 'But even leaving that out, casting directors want perfection, and I've lost jobs because my hands are too large or my elbows too bony. And you wouldn't know it when my hair is down, but I have truly ridiculous ears.' She pulled her hair back to show him.

'I can assure you, they're charming,' he said sincerely.

'They might be charming, but they're definitely not the standard. And what's more, there are people who enjoy finding fault ... it makes them feel better somehow. I'm sure you can relate to this.'

'Nothing I've done even approaches perfection,' he said, 'but I certainly know what it's like to be criticised. And yes, I think it got worse after I entered the wizarding world—before that my relations criticised me, but otherwise I was completely invisible.'

'It's hard to imagine you being invisible, but I'll take your word for it.'

'Believe me, I was. But when I arrived at Hogwarts and everyone knew who I was, that's when the real criticism began. And of course I deserved it—I did nothing at all the first time Voldemort attacked. By rights I should have been called "The Boy Whose Mum Sacrificed Her Life For Him" rather than "The Boy Who Lived."' Harry didn't mention 'The Boy Who Shat,' deciding it was inappropriate dinner conversation.

'Perhaps, but we didn't know that until recently. Actually, one of my earliest memories is from the first time you defeated Voldemort—or your mum did, rather. My parents were so excited that they flew my brother and me on broomsticks to the beach for a big party with their friends. They lit fireworks and played music, and everyone toasted you.' She looked at him soberly and added, 'But that was your first night as an orphan, presumably with your Muggle relations. And of course they were grieving as well.'

'I don't know about that. My mum and her sister weren't close, and my aunt never told me a thing about my parents.'

'Are you joking? Surely you at least had photographs.'

He shook his head. 'No, nothing. The only reason I knew their names was because I once saw them on my school records.'

Laetitia looked heartsick, and Harry felt himself soften in response to her compassion. 'I didn't even know I was a wizard, or how they'd died,' he continued. 'My aunt and uncle hoped I wouldn't turn out magical, and I think that's why they mistreated me. They were hoping to stunt it out of me, I reckon.'

'How have I never heard this before?' she asked. 'I knew you weren't close with your relations, but I never knew they'd mistreated you.'

'I've never actually told anyone.' He looked at his glass of Butterbeer and said, 'Owen—the other Cannons Seeker—reckons my walls are starting to come down, and I think he's right. I can't say I've ever experienced something like this before.'

'You mean wanting to talk about it?' He nodded, and she said, 'I seem to have that effect on people—I've considered training to become a counsellor after my modelling career ends.'

'Yes, I can see that. You have such expressive eyes.' He looked down at his drink again and took a sip. 'But yeah, it was beyond awful growing up with them. And my cousin as well—he was a monster back then. They even tried to prevent me from receiving my Hogwarts letter, even though it was clearly too late. I'd been doing accidental magic for years, though I had no idea what it was.'

'I can't believe the Ministry doesn't intervene in situations like that. I can hardly imagine how the parents of Muggle-borns are able to cope.'

'My aunt and uncle knew what it was ... they just didn't tell me. And I don't know if the Ministry knew about my situation, but Albus Dumbledore certainly did. He's the one who sent me to live with them—he claimed it was because my mother's sacrifice lived on in my aunt's blood, but I still don't buy that. I know for a fact it lived on in my blood as well, otherwise Voldemort wouldn't have taken it from me.'

He took another sip of Butterbeer. 'I shouldn't be telling you any of this, of course. And I hope you don't think I'm just some attention seeker who pours out his life story to strangers.'

'No, that's not the impression I get at all. It sounds like you've had some heartache recently, and I know that can loosen things up.'

'Yeah, maybe so. Or maybe the fact that the _Prophet_ comes after me with a wrecking ball every week. It's like they're determined to knock down my walls for me.'

Their starters arrived, and they laughed at the contrast. 'It's easy to tell which plate goes to the fashion model and which one goes to the athlete,' she said. 'That's another thing I won't miss about Muggle modelling.'

'I suppose not. I thought I was a big eater previously, but my appetite's gone through the roof since I joined the Cannons. My house-elf is delighted, of course.'

'That must have been difficult during the war, when you and your mates were just foraging.'

'It was hard, but that was nothing compared to the rest of it. I think I went months without even smiling. Our task that year put us in close contact with very Dark magic, which wasn't fun to be around.' Harry knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but Laetitia didn't strike him as someone with an interest in Horcruxes.

'I hope you realise how much we all appreciate it. All of Britain is forever in your debt.'

'Perhaps, but do you think that's going to age well? I was seventeen when I defeated Voldemort, and I'm nineteen now. At what point will I just become some wanker who's better known for—I don't know, three failed marriages, or being an arrogant twat?'

'Do you really think that's likely? I don't see that happening.'

'You may be right, considering two witches have turned me down already.'

'You're nineteen and you've already proposed marriage twice?'

'Not technically, but implicitly, yes.'

'Harry, you need to find yourself first. Don't just marry the first witch who'll have you.'

'That's what Helena said. She made me promise not to propose to anyone until I'm twenty-one.'

'Good for her,' said Laetitia. 'And witches your age probably grew up imagining they'd marry the Boy Who Lived, which must make things even worse. Whilst I only imagined you were my baby brother.'

'Really?'

'Yes, my friends and I used to pretend we were looking after you. I drew a scar on my doll and we'd take turns carrying you and telling you stories—that sort of thing.'

Harry was deeply moved. 'I don't know why, but that touches me to the core. To know that strangers were taking care of me, even though my aunt and uncle weren't.'

'I'm glad you see it that way—it makes me feel better about celebrating when your parents died.'

'Voldemort died too, at least by the look of things, so I can hardly blame you. And you were only five years old.'

She looked at him fondly and said, 'I can't imagine why Rita Skeeter said you were arrogant. You're an absolute sweetheart from where I'm sitting.'

'That's kind of you to say, but I don't think she's completely off beam. The fact is, I've become a lot more confident in the past month, and I worry I'm at risk of getting a big head.'

'Catching the Snitch three times in a row, you mean?'

'Yes, but more than that. The fact is, I've accomplished quite a lot already, except for my N.E.W.T.s of course.'

'Those hardly matter, in your case.'

'You're not helping! I know I didn't act alone—far from it—but it's hard not to draw a sort of unwholesome satisfaction from my own legend. And now witches are throwing themselves at me left and right. They might not want to marry me, but they sure as hell want a turn ... I'll admit it's rather intoxicating.'

'You're nineteen—of course it's intoxicating. I got caught up in something similar when I started modelling at eighteen. In a matter of months I went from being an ordinary student at St Egwine's to a newly signed model appearing in major shows. I found out later that my agent used Compulsion Charms to get me cast initially, which I wasn't thrilled about, but then I started getting jobs without cheating, and a fair amount of attention as well. Admittedly I had the significant obstacle of being black, but designers like to cast one or two of us to convince themselves they're progressive.

'And yes, I developed a big head, and I'm not just talking about my hair. Casting directors and editors insulted me regularly, and the other girls did as well, but I had men eating out of my hand. There were men who wanted to buy me things or spoil me in other ways, and a few who wanted to marry me, even though they barely knew me and would probably be disinherited for bringing me home. I wish I could say I'd risen above it all, but I didn't.

'The thing is, it wasn't me they wanted, not really. They wanted the feeling they got from parading a model around—and don't even get me started on the number of times I've been called "exotic." It's going to be different for you, of course, not least because the genders are reversed, but for a lot of witches you're going to be a sort of commodity.'

Harry sighed. 'Yeah, that's what my teammate Owen called me today at practice. Not for real, of course—he was preparing me for how I might get taunted during a match.'

Laetitia looked at him and said, 'I'd almost recommend you date Muggles for a while, since they won't have so many preconceptions, but I can't see how that would work.'

'No, I'd have to lie about nearly every aspect of my life. And I certainly couldn't take them home.'

'Heavens, no! But back to your earlier concern, about developing a big head. I like to think I've grown out of mine somewhat—Eric is certainly nothing like the men I used to date. And maybe I needed to go through that phase for a while, just to get it out of my system. But I think you're allowed to explore who you are right now, and you'd be lying to yourself if you pretended that being Harry Potter wasn't a big fucking deal. And unlike me, you earned your honours, instead of just winning the genetic lottery.'

'Don't be so hard on yourself,' said Harry. 'There's obviously a lot more to you than just your appearance. And actually, chance played a bigger role in my life than you might think. Yes, there was a prophecy naming me as the only person who could defeat Voldemort, but it could have applied equally to one of my classmates. The die was cast when Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby instead of him.

'I'm not going to say who he is—and I beg you never to tell anyone about this, because I don't want it getting back to him—but he was every bit as brave as I was during the war, only he didn't get a fraction of the credit. And his childhood was just as hard as mine, although in a completely different way.

'The funny part is he's probably happier than I am, even though he doesn't have a London townhouse or witches throwing themselves at him or any of the rest of it. He just has a sweet relationship with a witch who loves him and a career that suits him perfectly, although it would bore me to tears.'

She smiled and said, 'Clearly you have a different path than he does. But there's no reason to think you won't be just as happy one day.'

Their conversation flowed smoothly all evening, and when they walked outside to Apparate home they were photographed again—this time by paparazzi. But Laetitia didn't hide her face as Helena had, and Harry didn't reflexively whisk her to Grimmauld Place. Laetitia posed for the cameras, with Harry as a willing prop. He ignored questions about Helena, but he took the opportunity to rebut Rita Skeeter's article, and he even allowed reporters a closer look at his thistle.

He and Laetitia said goodbye in private from Grimmauld Place. Hugging him, she said, 'It's been absolutely lovely to meet you, Harry. It'll be my pleasure to spread the word about what a sweetheart you are, and I hope we can stay in touch.'

'I'd be happy to go out again if you like,' replied Harry. 'I enjoyed our conversation tremendously, and I appreciate your perspective.'

'Cheers, let's plan on it. In the meantime, get back out there and have some fun!'

'I think I will, thanks.'

After seeing her through the fireplace, Harry climbed the stairs to his room. _Just three more days, and then I can forget about Andrew sodding Gilstrap and live my life again!_


	38. Chapter 38

Harry woke up refreshed on Saturday. _No nightmares, thank Merlin!_ He went downstairs for breakfast, which he allowed Kreacher to prepare, and then he answered fan mail and signed photographs until Ron arrived.

'I see your gradual transformation into Gilderoy Lockhart is proceeding apace,' commented Ron.

'Yes, very funny. But disturbingly close to the mark ... he and I now share a secretary.'

'Janet told me. Have you shagged her yet?'

'No, that would violate the team by-laws.'

'Yes, and we all know how law-abiding you are,' said Ron. 'How are you feeling this morning? Are you ready for Gilstrap?'

Harry sighed. 'I've taken every possible insult from my teammates this week, so I'd better be ready. Honestly, the timing couldn't have been worse with that article. And of course it's an away game as well.'

'Yes, I'll be holding a huge banner for you. Janet is upset I'm not holding a banner for her, but I told her I'll do it next week.'

'And every week from now on, I bet. How are you two doing?'

Ron shook his head slowly and smiled. 'She's really something. I swear she goes out of her way to provoke me, and I'm ready to strangle her once a night, but then she reels me back in. Merlin, she has the sharpest tongue of anyone I've ever met, and I can't get enough of it.'

'Wow ... have you brought her to Sunday dinner yet?'

'Are you kidding? I won't bring her anywhere near the Burrow. For one thing, Mum hasn't forgiven me for breaking up with Hermione, and I wouldn't put it past Janet to behave completely inappropriately, just to watch me squirm.'

'You may be right.' He looked at a fan letter and frowned. 'How do I even reply to this?'

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_I am nine years old and have been a Cannons fan since I was a baby. I think you are the greatest Seeker in the world, but my mum doesn't like you because you are loose with witches. I don't know what that means but that's what she says. She says I should find a different team to support but I don't want to. Please promise you'll tighten up so my mum will let me see the Cannons play Ballycastle next month._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Jimmy McMurphy_

'Mate, I hope you frame that letter because it's bloody brilliant,' said Ron.

'It is funny,' admitted Harry, 'but I've no idea how to reply. I can't very well say, "Dear Jimmy, tell your mum to mind her own damn business. My job is to catch the Snitch, which I'm bloody well doing, and I didn't come back from the dead just to do the crossword every night. The witches are gagging for it, and I wouldn't dream of disappointing them. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter."'

Ron's jaw dropped. 'Did I hear you correctly? That may be the most obnoxious thing I've ever heard!'

'You mean since last month, when you told Hermione you didn't need to worry about your magical strength because you're a pure-blood?'

'And you've already surpassed it! What's going on with you?'

Harry sighed and ran his hands through his hair. 'It's Andrew bloody Gilstrap. Owen has been absolutely merciless all week, and I've had to pull out all the stops.'

'That you've done. Are you going to call him "Riddle" while you're at it?'

'At this rate, I might do. I think I've built him up nearly as much.'

'Harry, get a grip. I can't believe I'm saying this, but it's only a game.'

'You're right, I can't believe you're saying that. But it'll be fine, it's just Quidditch. All's fair above the pitch.'

'Yeah, but you're not above the pitch. You need to watch your mouth, now especially.'

'Why, because of Rita Skeeter? I think it's mostly blown over already.'

'Yeah, I reckon it has,' said Ron. 'That broadcast couldn't have gone better, except for the fop thing.'

Harry shrugged. 'I can handle it.'

'Maybe, but you didn't need to add fuel to the fire by talking about bloody thistles to the _Prophet_.'

'I think it's been firmly established that I like flowers. I might as well own it.'

'Good point. Has your florist offered you a sponsorship yet?'

'They did actually! I've half a mind to take it—it's nothing big, just a weekly flower allowance, but it would be hilarious if that were literally my only endorsement.'

'Do it, mate. Will they have a cardboard cutout of you in the shop?'

'No, just something in their adverts about being the official florist to Harry Potter.'

'Brilliant,' said Ron, laughing. 'I suppose your loose morals won't be a problem for them, since half their customers are unfaithful wizards trying to smooth things over with the wife.'

'I hadn't thought of that, but you're right.' He faced Ron and asked, 'What did people think of the photos on Thursday? I only heard my teammates' response, which of course was to taunt the hell out of me.'

'I reckon most people cut you out of the pictures and just kept the half with her in it.'

Harry laughed. 'I wouldn't blame them. Laetitia is truly a sight to behold. But she's a lovely person as well—I'm certain we'll spend more time together, but only as friends.'

Ron added, 'A few people asked me what happened with Helena and whether, er, Laetitia is your girlfriend now. I skipped the Helena part and just said you're seeing Laetitia and that it's nothing serious.'

'That's probably the right answer.' Harry looked again at the letter. 'So what do I say to this kid?'

Ron thought for a moment. 'Can you encourage him to stay strong in his convictions? Not let mum push him around?'

'I'm not sure I'm in a position to advise anyone about the maternal relationship. But that gives me an idea ... hang on.' He took a piece of note paper and began to write.

_Dear Jimmy, _

_I'm sorry your mother doesn't approve of me. I can only imagine how much she means to you, and how much you mean to her. My mum died when I was a baby, so I wouldn't dream of coming between you and yours. If she insists you find another team to support, I recommend Puddlemere. Phil Routledge is a terrific Seeker and Oliver Wood is an old friend of mine. But I hope your mother will relent and allow you to support the Cannons._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

He showed it to Ron, who burst out laughing. 'You conniving bastard! You actually played the dead mum card!'

'Damn right I did! Fat lot of good she's done me, ever since Voldemort stole my blood.'

'Don't knock your mum,' cautioned Ron. 'She kept Snape on a lead all those years.'

'You're right.' Harry looked up and called, 'Sorry, Mum! It's nothing personal!'

They spent the next few hours talking Quidditch, and Harry wrote letters and signed photographs. 'All right, time to go,' he said. 'Wish me luck.'

'You don't need luck—it's in the bag already.'

'Cheers, see you on the other side.'

Harry soon joined his teammates at the Cannons facility, where they warmed up and ate lunch. 'Lousy weather today in Montrose,' said Gary. 'Cold and dreary—it'll be like playing back at Hogwarts.'

'At least we've trained for that,' replied Harry. 'I reckon it'll bring back memories.'

'Yes, I'm certain you have no bad memories from Hogwarts,' said Suresh. 'You're always reminiscing about that Basilisk you used to run around with.'

Harry patted his arm where he'd been bit. 'Yes, good old Fangy. I'll never forget him.' Internally he added, _He destroyed two Horcruxes, after all. Five, if you count the ones we destroyed with his venom._

After lunch they took a portkey to the stadium. 'Of course they have a bloody portkey,' grumbled Harry. 'They probably disconnected from the Floo network deliberately.'

'Now, now,' said Owen. 'Save your bad attitude for Gilstrap.'

'Believe me, I have plenty of bad attitude to go around.'

They went to the locker room to change into their team robes, and when Harry emerged Janet handed him a bright orange boutonnière. 'Wear it, Snitchbottom.'

'Is that a nasturtium?' he asked. 'It's practically the same colour as the robes—I doubt it'll even show up.'

'Exactly. It's a stealth flower with a secret message. It means "Victory in battle."'

'I like it,' he said, affixing it to his lapel. 'You have hidden depths, Janet.'

'You have no idea,' she said ominously.

The referee began examining Harry for hidden enchantments, and after inspecting the ring he carefully checked the flower for charms as well. 'All clear, Mr Potter.'

Harry walked over to Owen and started pacing. 'The only thing keeping me sane right now is knowing it'll probably be over by nightfall, and hopefully much sooner. I don't think I was this nervous even going into the Triwizard Tournament.'

'Presumably the match will go better than the tournament did. At least you got the portkey out of the way.'

'That's a good point ... I can always scarper on my broomstick if things really get bad. You'll be there to fill in, right?'

'I'll be poised and ready,' said Owen. 'But I don't anticipate it—I gave you my worst all week and you caught the Snitch every time.'

Harry nodded and took a deep breath. 'There's no way I could do any of this without you.'

'Perhaps, but don't let Gilstrap convince you you haven't earned your honours. I've seen you, and you work hard for everything. Yes, you were made starting Seeker the day you signed up, which wouldn't have happened if you weren't already famous. But you've more than proven you deserve it.'

'Thanks, that's good to hear.'

'And your friends think you're terrific—I certainly do. And for Merlin's sake, don't let him convince you that you're irretrievably damaged from everything that's happened to you. I know you, and you have all the tools you need to live a wonderfully fulfilling life. All you need is to develop them, and you're doing that.'

'By turning into an arrogant twat? You wouldn't believe some of the things I said to Ron this morning.' He paused and added, 'Scratch that, of course you would—we've been sparring all week. Only this time it was off the pitch.'

'The same thing happened to me when I joined the league. You'll get through it just fine.'

'That's a relief.'

Owen looked at the wall clock and said, 'Just a few more minutes until you fly out. I recommend preparing now, setting your intention and all the rest.'

Harry nodded and took a deep breath, allowing powerful energy to flow through him. His mind expanded as well, and he no longer felt nervous about the match. He lifted his lapel and sniffed the nasturtium Janet had given him, and its faint sweetness filled him with blissful equanimity.

Tuttle gave her pep talk but Harry hardly heard it. _The Cannons can't lose,_ he thought. _This is all perfect. _Everyone cheered at the end of Tuttle's talk, and Harry, buoyed by their energy, cheered loudest of all.

'It's time,' said the staff member, and the starters walked down the corridor to make their entrance. Everyone patted Harry as they passed and gave him final words of encouragement.

'If in doubt,' said Darren, 'point your wand and shout, _"Expelliarmus!"'_

When it was Harry's turn to fly out, he was greeted by a deafening mixture of cheers and boos, which he'd expected. He had several minutes to scan his surrounding while the Magpies were announced, and he saw that fewer than half of the banners were Cannons orange, and the rest were Magpies black. But a closer look revealed that a fair amount of the dark banners were actually midnight blue, with an orange lightning bolt.

There were nonetheless plenty of hostile banners, many of which referenced Rita Skeeter's article. _'An Enormous Bed for an Enormous Ego,'_ declared one sign, which depicted Harry with an outsized head, identifiable by his scar and former eyeglasses. _It's unfortunate for the sign painters that I had my eyesight fixed,_ mused Harry. _I used to be much easier to caricature._

There were several new twists on his surname, beyond the old primary-school favourite, 'Potty.' Now there was a class warfare element, with variants like _'Harry Toffer,'_ _'Harry Posh-Twatter,'_ and _'Harry Posh-Rotter.' _He wondered what they'd do if he actually hyphenated his name. _Harry Toffer-Blatch? Harry Potty-Splat?_ The possibilities were endless.

Some signs were unsettling. _'Tear him to shreds, Gilstrap!'_ demanded one sign, which was ingeniously charmed to periodically rip itself into pieces before reforming. _I'll wager Hermione is trying to figure out how they did it_, thought Harry.

In what Harry suspected was a league first, a number of signs featured flowers. One hostile sign depicted an extremely phallic orchid pointed forlornly downwards, with the legend, _'There's a reason she dumped you, Potter.'_ And a particularly macabre sign depicted him lying in an open coffin with a large array of flowers on top—_'Have some flowers, Potter!'_ He couldn't tell whether he was supposed to be dead or a vampire.

But most of the floral signs were friendly. _'We love you, Harry,'_ declared several bloom-adorned signs, and one depicted a large bed strewn with flowers and Harry's number three pulsating in Cannons orange. There were fewer marriage proposals but more of what Mrs Thwip would call 'non-matrimonial propositions.' A pair of witches held a sign that said, _'We want to see your enormous bed!'_

Andrew Gilstrap was the last player to be announced, and Harry noted with satisfaction that he received boos as well. The crowd seemed evenly mixed between Magpies and Cannons fans.

The balls were launched and, as predicted, Gilstrap immediately approached. Setting his intention not to be drawn into the rival Seeker's mind games, Harry expanded powerfully into broad awareness.

'Potter, welcome to Montrose!' cried Gilstrap. 'I hope you enjoyed the portkey.'

_That bastard,_ thought Harry. _I knew it was on purpose. _'Yes, that was a charming touch. Was it your idea?'

'It was, and Chiffle was happy to oblige. We covered up the fireplace and everything.' Sylvester Chiffle was the Magpies team manager—the same one who had called Harry an 'attention-seeking glory-monger' a month earlier.

'You certainly did your homework,' said Harry. 'Most people don't remember how fond I am of portkeys.'

'I always do my homework, Potter. But it was far more interesting in your case ... usually I have to find old classmates and the like, which always feels a bit sneaky.'

'Yes, I suppose it would feel sneaky, compared with proper flying and Snitch-spotting skills. But you have to make do with the tools you've been given.'

'Oh, I have plenty of tools. There's a reason the Magpies are in second place.'

'Yes, I understand you've won two in a row,' said Harry. 'Impressive.'

'Don't get cocky, Potter—it'll be your downfall. I'll admit you did a good job against Routledge, and you managed to shock Barnwistle into defeat with all your flagrant Blatching. But the win against Underhill barely counts. I'm certain the Cannons will resume their regularly-scheduled losses soon enough.'

Harry was accustomed to this degree of taunting—he'd heard much worse from Owen all week. He continuously refreshed his broad awareness and invited the Snitch to appear to him. But there was no point in feinting just yet; his plan was to wait until he needed to clear his head from Gilstrap's stream of abuse.

'I assume the Cannons publicity team arranged your photo opportunity this week,' said Gilstrap. 'Don't worry, I won't bother with racist slurs. So unoriginal, don't you think? Same with Blood-Status slurs ... what's the point in calling your mother a Mudblood when the alternatives are so much more entertaining?'

'I'm sure you have a wide variety lined up,' said Harry.

'Yes, I really need to owl Rita Skeeter my thanks—she made my job a million times easier. But I'll keep you in suspense for now.'

'Excellent, I love surprises.'

'I'm certain you do,' said Gilstrap. 'But back to your stunning date this week ... I assume you asked for a non-ginger this time around?'

'Yes, that was my only requirement.'

'She was certainly decorative ... I'm glad you didn't limit yourself to someone shorter than you, though I'm obviously not going to mock you about your height. I hope you haven't succumbed to the raised shoe pitch.'

'Merlin, no! Can you imagine?'

'Exactly, how pathetic. You managed to defeat You-Know-Who, and he was quite a bit taller.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'I hadn't pegged you for the type who still calls him "You-Know-Who."'

'Habit, I suppose,' acknowledged Gilstrap. 'And then there was the name-taboo, which I understand you got caught up in.'

'Yes, that was unfortunate. I finally got around the problem by calling him Riddle.'

'I'll hand it to you, Potter, that was impressive. It's sad that you peaked at seventeen, but at least you did it with style.'

'I do everything with style, haven't you noticed?' replied Harry. 'I could start urinating from rooftops and it would become a fashion.'

Gilstrap laughed. 'I daresay you're right. You should try that sometime, see if it catches on.'

Harry cocked his head to the left and suddenly shot towards Suresh, who had just aimed a Bludger at the Magpies' Chasers. Then he lurched right and zig-zagged dangerously close to the other Bludger before zooming upwards and resuming his circling.

Gilstrap followed him the entire time. 'That was a bit predictable, really. But then predictability is your signature move.'

Harry felt serene enough to take the bait. 'And what's that supposed to mean?'

'Your whole life was a prediction, wasn't it? That's why you fought in the Department of Mysteries, to prevent Riddle from learning how it ended. By the way, thanks for the Riddle suggestion—you've started another trend.'

'There was a prophecy, but it certainly wasn't a prediction.'

'Really? I thought your defeat of Riddle was handed to you on a silver tray, just like everything else.'

'Like my dead parents, you mean?'

'Well, yes. That certainly adds drama. Narrative arc, you know. And it makes you look more deserving now that you're enjoying the spoils.'

'I certainly am enjoying them,' said Harry.

'Yes, you little dandy you ... I won't call you a fop, of course. But I'm curious, when you're trying on robes do you need to pause for a wank?'

'No, it's not necessary. I just need to walk half a block down Diagon Alley before some witch throws herself at me. Speaking of which, could you settle a dispute my mate Ron and I are having? We can't decide whether having an Order of Merlin or being a league Seeker is more effective for pulling witches. How's your track record?'

'I've no complaints, really,' replied Gilstrap. 'And at least none of my partners have juvenile 'Boy Who Lived' fantasies about me.'

'Yes, I'll admit that's been an issue,' said Harry. 'Fortunately nobody's required me to trot out my old eyeglasses.'

Their dialogue continued this way for a long time, punctuated by Harry's spectacular feints. Gilstrap didn't keep up perfectly with them—he wasn't as good a flyer as Routledge—but he didn't get bowled over either. And Harry was pleased to find his preparations had paid off and that he was able to keep his cool and maintain good Snitch-spotting practices.

One of Gilstrap's favourite refrains throughout the long match was how entitled Harry was, and how he'd never had to work for anything. But Harry found this so ludicrous that he couldn't get upset.

'You realise all the other league Seekers think you're a flash in the pan. Three wins is nothing—it's just a lucky fluke, same as everything else that happens to you.'

'Perhaps, but I was also undefeated at Hogwarts, except for the time a hundred Dementors flooded the pitch.'

'Yes, I read about that match. I understand you killed the Seeker who defeated you. Diggory?'

Harry was accustomed to taunts about Cedric but they still annoyed him. 'No, you prat, Voldemort killed him. I'm not the one whose chief strategy is tearing my rivals to pieces. Is that why you had to faff around in the reserves for so long? Because you weren't a good enough flyer?'

This time Gilstrap looked irritated, and Harry persisted. 'It wasn't just when I joined the Cannons, you know. I was the youngest Hogwarts Seeker in a century—I got the job literally my first time on a broom.'

'So you didn't work for that either?' said Gilstrap. 'Handed to you just like everything else? Was your father the good flyer? Or did that come from your mother as well?'

Harry knew where Gilstrap was heading, so he immediately dove into a feint towards the goalposts, where he interrupted the Magpies Chasers. Gilstrap didn't bother following him but simply found him once he'd finished.

'It's impressive how your slut of a mother lined up two fortunes for you. The Potters and the Blacks ... I assume she rejected Severus Snape because he wasn't rich enough?'

'No, she rejected Snape because he was a greasy git,' said Harry. 'At least Sirius was good-looking.'

'Oh, so she was grasping _and_ shallow! Got it. But I didn't know Sirius Black had been handsome—he looked ghastly in those Azkaban photos. And it turned out he wasn't nearly as rich as your mother had hoped.'

'Nothing to sneeze at, really, particularly with the townhouse and the elf,' he said breezily, in an attempt to hide his sadness over how much Sirius had suffered.

'But what a shame he wasn't there for you all those years. Instead he was framed for betraying your parents, when it turned out it was another friend who'd done it. Peter Pettigrew?'

Harry had to grudgingly admire how thoroughly Gilstrap had researched him. He was irritated and tempted to feint again but he knew his rival wouldn't fall for it.

'And then you went and got your godfather killed ... such a tragedy.'

Harry felt his heart rate rise and said nothing. He attempted to steady his breathing and watch for the Snitch.

'That was at the Department of Mysteries, wasn't it? How awful. You thought you'd found another parent, but then he died on you like the others. And it was all your fault, just like with your real parents.'

'No, it was Voldemort's fault, and the Death Eaters,' snapped Harry.

'Yes, but weren't you the only one who could stop them? That's what the prophecy said, right?'

Harry didn't reply.

'I hate to say it, but for the Saviour of the Wizarding World, you did a sloppy job of it. You really took your time ... if only you'd stopped him much sooner. I'm certain you had earlier opportunities.'

'It was a bloody miracle we stopped him at all. Show some appreciation.'

'I'm afraid that's hard for me. I understand you couldn't have stopped him when you were fourteen—that's a lot to ask. But did you need to take an entire month to plot the Gringotts break-in? Couldn't you have done it a week earlier?'

Harry felt his chest tighten. 'I think you're splitting hairs. We did the best we could.'

'Yes, but that doesn't help my father. He was tortured just five days before the final battle.'

'Lots of us were tortured,' said Harry, hoping that was all Gilstrap meant.

'Tortured to insanity?' asked Gilstrap, his eyes vicious. 'I didn't think so.' He circled Harry once before returning to his side. 'You probably wondered why I was so hostile at Seekers' night out. Now you know. Because you took your bloody time and now I don't have a father either.'

Harry felt shaky. Owen hadn't prepared him for this—how could he have?

'And meanwhile you're the envy of the wizarding world! Two of your dead fathers were rich, so you've no end of gold, as you so eloquently put it. Though you really should have accepted Silver Arrow's offer, since you'll eventually be burdened with maintenance payments for all the witches who divorce you, not to mention all the sprogs they trap you into fathering. Take my advice, by the way, and cast your own Contraception Charms.'

Harry was feeling fury rise within him, and he shot towards the ground, not even attempting to make it look like a feint.

Gilstrap followed him. 'I don't know how you do it, Potter. You've had everything handed to you, but you make it look like you worked for it.'

'You're damn right I worked for it.'

'You mean you worked to take the credit. Is that why you've edited your Muggle relations from the story? Reading between the lines, a person might think they mistreated you. But I think it's the opposite ... I think they spoilt you.'

Harry couldn't even reply. It was bad enough Gilstrap suspected the Dursleys had abused him, but to imply they'd spoilt him was beyond the pale. He knew he should be searching for the Snitch but he stayed close to the ground instead.

Gilstrap flew alongside him and said, 'They were Muggles and you were a wizard. And I'm certain you showed accidental magic early on ... a powerful wizard like yourself. I bet they worshipped you. And that's why you're so bloody full of yourself now.'

Harry snapped—he forcefully grabbed Gilstrap and punched him, knocking him from his broom. 'They didn't worship me, you fucking arsehole—they treated me like shit!' Infuriated, Harry knelt over his prone rival and screamed, 'They worked me like a bloody house-elf! They forced me to sleep in a bloody cupboard—for years! Dudley treated me like a fucking punching bag!'

Strong hands pulled Harry away from the struggling Gilstrap, whose nose was bleeding. A referee blew a whistle and yelled, 'Potter, you're ejected! Five minute penalty!'

Harry's hand throbbed from punching Gilstrap but he was still furious. A Healer rushed to Gilstrap's side and quickly repaired the damage Harry had caused.

'Harry, calm down, you're all right,' said Ryan, who was holding him back. 'One of the reserves will come get you.'

Titus arrived, and Ryan mounted his broom and flew off. 'Harry, come sit with us. Just leave your broom, we'll fly on mine.'

'I can't leave my broom,' said Harry uncomprehendingly.

'Yes you can. Look, Tuttle has it, you're fine.' The reserve Beater slid his broomstick under Harry's legs, and Harry automatically took hold of him as they flew to the skybenches.

When Harry dismounted he found himself facing Owen, who was fastening his safety gear. 'It's all right, Harry. I've got it. Just four and a half minutes before I can enter.'

It finally dawned on Harry what had happened. _I've been ejected from the match! Gilstrap has five minutes to look for the Snitch on his own!_

Only when he was seated next to Owen did the next realisation hit him. _I just told everyone within earshot about the Dursleys. I told them about Dudley. I told them about the cupboard._

He stared numbly at the Quidditch match in front of him. _These really are good seats_, came the thought. The score was 120-90, with the Cannons leading. How long had they even been playing?

'Are you all right, Harry?' asked Owen. 'You were in a long time, more than two hours. I'll finish it up.'

He replied in a monotone. 'He broke me. I've wrecked everything. It's all coming out. Rita Skeeter knows the whole story.' She'd exhaustively researched the Dursleys a year earlier, and now there was nothing to stop her from publishing it.

'That was last weekend, she doesn't have anything new on you,' said Owen reassuringly.

'Yes she does, she knows all about my relations.'

'Three minutes,' said Lyle. _Three more minutes for Gilstrap to search for the Snitch._

The sun was starting to come out. It was cold, and Harry could feel where his tears had dried. He didn't even remember crying—he only remembered blind fury.

'We'll handle it,' said Owen. 'You're not alone. You have all of us.'

Harry didn't reply. His heart was still beating loudly and his throat hurt.

'Two minutes,' said Lyle.

A hint of gold near the pitch—Harry grasped Owen's arm. 'Yes, I see it too,' said the older Seeker. 'But Gilstrap's nowhere near it.'

Owen rose and walked towards the launch platform. 'Good luck, Owen,' called the other players. 'You're a brilliant Seeker, you've got this.'

Harry nodded automatically. _Owen's a brilliant Seeker. Oh god, don't let Gilstrap see the Snitch._

'One minute.'

_The Dursleys aren't safe,_ Harry realised. _Someone's going to come for them. I have to go protect them. They need wards. Gringotts. Hermione._

He looked for her in the stands but she was nowhere in sight. Could he send his Patronus? Not during the match, surely.

'Five seconds,' said Lyle, and a loud whistle blew. Owen shot from the platform and flew erratically. Harry dimly understood why—Gilstrap was closer to the Snitch, and Owen had to lead him in the wrong direction. But how to keep him from tracking Owen just as he'd tracked Harry?

Suresh slammed a Bludger towards Gilstrap, and Gary did the same. The Seeker was forced to change direction, and Owen turned sharply towards the Snitch, which was fluttering near Janet's goalposts.

'Barrowmaker has the Snitch!' cried the announcer. 'Cannons win, 270-90!'

Loud cheers and wails from the crowd, but they were drowned out by the jubilant screams of Harry's teammates. He knew he should be relieved, but he could only think about finding Hermione. _Hermione will know what to do._

'_Expecto Patronum!'_ he bellowed, using a deep feeling rather than a memory. Prongs sprang into being and Harry said, 'Hermione, help me, I need to protect them. My relations.' He didn't want to say their name in case someone was listening.

Spectators shouted in alarm before someone cried, 'It's Prongs!' Half the crowd was watching Harry and the other half followed the stag's progress. Prongs stopped on the other side of the stands to deliver his message.

Hermione's otter arrived moments later. With a discretion Harry didn't normally associate with Patronuses, the otter whispered, 'Meet me on the pitch, at Janet's goalposts.'

Harry prepared to mount his broom when he realised he didn't have it. He looked mutely at Titus, who said, 'Come with me.'

They flew down together and joined the rest of the Cannons. Harry was still numb but noted with faint satisfaction that Owen was the centre of attention. He approached him and said, 'Owen, you did it, thank you.'

Owen put a steadying hand on Harry's upper arm and asked, 'What do you need?'

'Hermione. She's meeting me at the goalposts. I should go there.'

'I'll come with you,' said Owen.

'No, stay here. Congratulations, you were brilliant.'

'No, I wasn't. I was lucky and Gilstrap was inept. But I'll take it.'

Ryan found Harry and asked, 'How can I help?'

'Wards? I don't know. We need to find Hermione. She'll be at the goalposts.'

They walked together, and Hermione hugged Harry when she saw him. 'Are you all right? What happened?'

'He broke me. I snapped and told him about the Dursleys. It's all going to come out—Rita Skeeter knows the whole story. But it's probably out already.'

Ryan nodded, 'I'm afraid I heard the whole thing, or at least I think I did. There were probably dozens of people within earshot.'

'Hermione, they're not safe. We have to do something.'

'Right,' she said with a crisp nod. 'First, change into regular clothes. You can't show up in bright orange robes. You too, Ryan.'

'Do we have time to shower or should I just perform a Freshening Charm?' asked Ryan as they walked to the locker room.

Harry, lost, looked at Hermione. 'I think a shower will help settle your mind,' she said, and he nodded obediently. 'Do you have any Muggle clothes or just robes?'

'I have the tracksuit I was wearing before the match.'

'Perfect. Do you have your Invisibility Cloak with you?' she asked.

'Yes, it's in my pouch, in my locker.'

They reached the main room between the two changing areas. Harry noticed the fireplace was newly visible. _I wonder if the Dursleys are still on the Floo network? Merlin, I hope not!_

Harry entered the locker room and carelessly removed his robes before heading to the shower. _At least Gilstrap didn't sabotage the water pressure._ He felt a good deal calmer as the water pounded him, but eventually he realised he was wasting precious time.

He emerged from the locker room to find Hermione and Ryan waiting. 'How do we get there without attracting attention?' asked Harry.

'You and I can Apparate together under the Cloak. Either to the front door or inside the house. And then I'll come back for Ryan.'

He nodded and pulled the Cloak from his pouch. 'And what should I tell them?'

'That we need to add protective wards to the house, and to wherever their jobs are,' replied Hermione.

'Only my uncle has a job. But surely someone could attack them when they're not at home or work.'

'Of course,' she said. 'Once you talk to your uncle and aunt, you'll go to Gringotts and ask for protective amulets. They can look like a wristwatch or a pendant—something your relations would be comfortable wearing. It won't protect them forever, but it'll be enough to get them to safety.'

He nodded. 'Do we need goblin wards as well?'

'Not unless you want them,' said Ryan. 'I'm very experienced warding Muggle houses, from when I had to protect my relations during the war.'

'All right,' said Harry, handing the Cloak to Hermione, who pulled it over both of them. He turned on his heel, and in a moment they stood in front of the house he hadn't seen since the week before his seventeenth birthday.

The weather was much pleasanter than it was in Montrose, and several of the neighbours were outside tending their gardens. Harry sighed heavily as he and Hermione walked to the front door.

'Are you ready to do this?' she whispered. 'I can do all the talking if you want.'

'No, I should talk, at least to start.' Harry knocked on the door, and he heard light, sharp footsteps approaching._ Aunt Petunia,_ he thought, with a hint of relief.

He opened the hood of the Cloak and positioned his face in front of the peephole, so that only she could see him. He heard her unfasten the door chain, or possibly fasten it.

The door opened several inches with the chain closed. 'What do you want?' she asked.

'I need to come in,' he said.

'No, you can't.'

He sighed in frustration. 'Do you really think the chain could stop me? The only reason I didn't Apparate straight into the house was because that would be impolite. Would you just let me in?'

She closed the door and he heard her slide the chain again. The door opened, and she looked around to see whether any of the neighbours were watching. Harry and Hermione slipped inside and Aunt Petunia closed the door behind them. She jumped when they removed the Cloak.

'Why are you here? And who is she?' she asked, indicating Hermione.

'This is my friend, Hermione Granger,' he said. 'Hermione, this is my aunt, Petunia Dursley.' No hands were extended. 'Is Uncle Vernon here?'

'No, he's picking up Dudley from the railway station. They'll be back soon. Why are you here?'

Harry sighed. 'I'm here because you're in danger, and we need to ward the house, to protect you.'

Aunt Petunia blanched. 'Is it Dark wizards again? Is there another war? We don't have to leave again, do we?'

'No,' said Harry, shaking his head. 'It's nothing like that, there's no war.' He looked at Hermione, unsure what to say.

'Harry was provoked,' said Hermione. 'It's a long story, but the short version is that he was provoked in a very public setting, and he revealed that you and your husband ... mistreated him. And Dudley too.'

Aunt Petunia looked blankly at her, and Hermione continued. 'Harry's extremely popular in the wizarding world now. Not only did he defeat Voldemort, but he's also a star Quidditch player—that's the sport played on broomsticks. We're afraid people will try to punish you and your family on Harry's behalf.'

'And you want to protect us?' asked Aunt Petunia.

'Yes,' said Harry. 'But we need to act quickly. I'm going to send Hermione to fetch our friend Ryan, and he'll set up protection wards on the house. He can also ward Uncle Vernon's office, and wherever Dudley lives.'

'He's here for the summer but he's returning to university in September.'

'We can protect him there too, but I'm hoping it'll blow over by then. I'll make a statement, asking people to leave you alone.' He turned to Hermione and said, 'You should get Ryan ... just bring him straight inside.'

Hermione nodded and turned on her heel to Disapparate, which caused Aunt Petunia to flinch.

'But these people—your kind—how much do they know about us?'

Harry sighed. 'They're going to know everything tomorrow morning. Last year a witch journalist named Rita Skeeter interviewed you, and just about everyone else who used to know me. She used Compulsion Charms to get all the dirt and then erased your memories. She blackmailed me to keep it out of the papers last year, but there's nothing to stop her now.'

'Not that blond woman!' exclaimed Aunt Petunia.

'You remember her?'

Her eyes unfocused slightly, as if she were recalling something. 'Yes, there was a woman who came round the house and said she was writing an article about Dudley and his amateur boxing. She asked all sorts of questions about his training, and she wanted to see his primary school and all the rest. She said she'd mail us the completed article, but she never sent us anything.'

Harry sighed. 'That had to have been her, and I'm certain she erased most of your memories of the conversation. She's an absolute menace but there seems to be no way to stop her. And I'm her favourite subject.'

Aunt Petunia jumped again when Hermione and Ryan returned. 'Ryan,' said Harry, 'this is my aunt, Petunia Dursley. Aunt Petunia, this is Ryan Bellamy. Both Ryan and Hermione have close Muggle relations, so they know how to act normal. You can trust them to set up wards without calling attention to themselves.'

Ryan had his wand out and started doing diagnostic charms, and Aunt Petunia didn't protest. 'It looks like there are some basic wards already,' he said. 'Mrs Dursley, do you know if the wizards who brought you home after the war added any protections?'

'I don't know,' she said. 'They might have done. I was too busy looking around to make sure nothing had been stolen.'

Harry heard a car pull into the drive. 'That'll be Uncle Vernon and Dudley,' he said, mostly to himself. He took a deep breath and waited for them to enter.

'Petunia, do you have any more of that cobbler? I could fancy a snack before dinner,' announced Uncle Vernon as he walked in. But his face fell when he saw Harry, and he held his arm protectively in front of Dudley. 'Good lord, what is he doing here?'

'Nice to see you too, Uncle Vernon,' said Harry, not hiding his irritation. 'I'm here because there's a threat and we want to provide full protection.'

'Another threat!? Damn you freaks and your bloody violence!'

'Hi Harry!' said Dudley. 'What do you mean? There's not another wizard coming to kill you, is there?'

'No, nothing like that,' replied Harry, 'but we've reason to believe you three might be targeted.'

'Why?' barked Uncle Vernon. 'What have you done now, boy!'

A scowling Hermione said, 'He was provoked into revealing just how dreadfully you mistreated him, and he's afraid his admirers might retaliate. Harry's here to protect you, and if you've any sense you'll cooperate.'

'His admirers? Are you joking? More freaks, no doubt,' scoffed Uncle Vernon.

'Sir, I don't think you realise how popular Harry is in the wizarding world,' said Ryan. 'He's considered a hero.'

Uncle Vernon glared at Ryan and Hermione. 'And who in blazes are you?'

'These are my friends, Hermione Granger and Ryan Bellamy,' said Harry. 'They've come to help you, and you're wasting valuable time.'

'He's right,' said Aunt Petunia. 'We need to let them work. He said it should blow over soon, once he's able to issue a statement telling people to leave us alone.'

'Then what you doing here? Shouldn't you be on the telly if you're that important?'

Hermione sighed in frustration. 'There is no wizarding telly. There's only printed media and the radio, and we wanted to come protect you first.'

'That's right,' said Harry. "Hermione, you and Ryan should just get started—he can't stop you. Aunt Petunia, I'm going to leave for a short while to get protection amulets for you to wear. They'll keep you safe if someone finds you.'

'Amulets? Would they be visible?' asked Aunt Petunia, alarmed.

'No,' said Hermione. 'They'll look like ordinary jewellery . All that's important is that you keep wearing it. In fact, if the three of you have items you already wear, like a pendant or a wristwatch, Harry can take them to be charmed with protection spells.'

Aunt Petunia began to unclasp the necklace she was wearing and Dudley removed his wristwatch, but Uncle Vernon covered his own watch with his hand. 'You're not taking my wristwatch, boy! This is just a trick, to steal it from me.'

Hermione's jaw dropped. 'Do you know how daft you sound right now? First off, Harry could clean out your house with a wave of his wand any time he wanted. Secondly, he's the heir to two wealthy families and has a vault full of gold, not to mention a London townhouse. He certainly doesn't need your wristwatch.'

All three Dursleys stared at Harry in shock. 'Is that true?' asked Dudley.

'Of course it's true,' snapped Hermione. 'He's a lord, in fact.'

'Hermione!' scolded Harry, before turning towards the Dursleys. 'Ignore that last bit—wizarding lordships are a pile of rubbish. But she's right ... I don't want your wristwatch and I'll bring it back within the hour, if not sooner.'

'Fine,' grumbled Uncle Vernon, handing over his watch. 'But I'll ring the police if you're not back by five.'

Hermione rolled her eyes and joined Ryan, who was murmuring incantations over the fireplace. Harry performed a Notice-Me-Not Charm on himself and Apparated to a safe spot near Gringotts.

He lifted the charm before entering the bank, and he was dismayed to hear even more than the usual amount of whispers around him. _Oh god, everyone knows_.

A goblin rushed to greet him. 'How can we help you, Mr Potter.'

'I have several items of Muggle jewellery that need protective charms, as soon as possible.'

'Yes, come this way,' replied the goblin.

Harry was relieved to be led to the office belonging to Tarnog, the goblin who'd helped him with the party. 'Tarnog, I'm glad to see you,' he said.

'Mr Potter, welcome. Have a seat.'

Harry sat down and spoke without preamble. 'I desperately need to protect three Muggles from malicious attacks. Their house is being warded as we speak, but can you turn these items into protective amulets?' He placed the necklace and two wristwatches on Tarnog's desk.

'Yes, easily. What kind of attacks do you anticipate?'

'I have no idea, honestly. It could be anything from mischief to Unforgivables. How soon can you have them ready?'

Tarnog pulled a tray from his desk and placed the three items onto it. 'We can take care of it straight away, but I have a few more questions.' He explained the different levels of protection available, and Harry selected a very strong option that would also be appropriate for Muggles wishing to avoid notice.

'Excellent,' said Tarnog. 'It will be done presently.' He pulled a heavy-looking seal from his waistcoat and touched it to a corner of the tray, and then said something in Goblin. The tray and the three items vanished.

'Thank you, Tarnog. I can't tell you how much I appreciate Gringotts' no-nonsense approach.'

'Compared to wizards, you mean?' asked Tarnog dryly.

'Yes, and Muggles too.'

Tarnog nodded. 'Director Ragnok has a high opinion of you, Mr Potter.'

'That's a bloody miracle,' said Harry, 'not that I'm complaining.'

The tray reappeared with the three items and a rolled parchment. 'Your items are now charmed. Please sign here to authorise payment, and specify which vault it should come from.'

Harry filled in the number for the Potter vault and signed the parchment. He looked at Uncle Vernon's wristwatch and saw that scarcely ten minutes had passed since he'd left Privet Drive.

'Will you need anything else, Mr Potter?'

'No, and thanks again. I hope I see you under better circumstances next time.'

'Indeed,' said Tarnog. 'Would you like to Disapparate from here?'

'Could I really? That would be tremendous.'

Tarnog nodded and pressed his seal to the desk. 'You have thirty seconds. Good day.'

Harry stood and turned on his heel, and moments later he was back in the Dursleys' sitting room. 'Here you are,' he said, returning the three items to their owners. 'These will protect you from malicious attacks for the next year. I can return early next August to renew them.'

'Yes, you could celebrate Harry's birthday together,' muttered Hermione. 'Or didn't you know he had one?'

'What's that?' growled Uncle Vernon.

'I knew you weren't a loving family to Harry,' she continued. 'And I knew Dudley used to beat up on him. But until this afternoon I didn't realise just how horrid you were.' She looked down the corridor. 'Where's the cupboard?'

'Hermione, no,' said Harry. 'That's not important.'

'Yes it is,' she snapped. 'Show me the cupboard.'

Harry looked for Ryan and was relieved to see he wasn't there. _Hopefully he's setting up wards outside,_ he thought dully.

He led her towards the staircase and pointed out his old cupboard, which looked even smaller than he remembered. Hermione opened it, revealing some boxes and a pair of suitcases. She peered inside, and the musty air made her cough.

'How long?' she asked, and Harry looked at her blankly. 'I know you had a bedroom by our second year.' She turned to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and said, 'When did you finally give him a proper bedroom?'

They didn't reply. 'When I received my Hogwarts letter,' admitted Harry. 'The first one was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs.'

Hermione closed the cupboard door—none too gently—and turned towards the Dursleys with a stormy expression. 'He was an orphan. You were his only relations and you put him in a cupboard.'

'He was a freak!' cried Uncle Vernon. 'We needed to keep Dudley safe.'

'From a little boy?' exclaimed Hermione. 'I met Harry when he was eleven—he'd never hurt anyone!'

_Except for Professor Quirrell,_ thought Harry, but he didn't say anything.

'Maybe not you!' said Uncle Vernon. 'But he scared the daylights out of us. Don't you see it? Look at him!'

Aunt Petunia leaned towards Harry. 'Actually, I don't see it any longer.' Her expression softened and she said, 'You have Lily's eyes.'

Harry was unable to speak, and Hermione blurted, 'Of course he has Lily's eyes! Everyone tells him that. How could you not have noticed?'

'No, he looks different now,' said Aunt Petunia.

Hermione may have been trying to be patient, but she wasn't succeeding. 'I suppose his eyes looked smaller behind his eyeglasses, but he certainly didn't have them as an infant!'

An uncomfortable thought arose in Harry. 'What do you mean, I look different now? Is it just my eyes, or has something else changed?'

'Your hair is still a fright,' said Aunt Petunia. 'You've filled out a bit, though not like Dudley. But your eyes used to be uncanny. They were green but ... wrong.'

Harry's heart sank. 'Hermione, it was the Horcrux. It must have affected them.'

'How is that possible? It didn't affect any of us.'

'They're not magical,' said Harry. 'Dudley, did I used to look different?'

Dudley cocked his head slightly and examined him. 'Yeah, your eyes were weird, come to think of it. But they're normal now. Dad, do you see it?'

'I still see a freak,' insisted Uncle Vernon.

'What do you mean, a Horcrux?' asked Aunt Petunia.

Harry shook his head quickly. 'Forget I mentioned it.'

Hermione looked at him with concern. 'Harry, do I need to ...' She mouthed the words '_Obliviate them_.'

'Don't bother. They never talk about freak stuff,' he said bitterly.

The back door opened, and nobody entered. But then Ryan gradually appeared as he lifted his Disillusionment Charm. 'The house is warded,' he said. 'We're the only wizards who can enter. And it's safe from remote attacks as well.'

'Thanks,' said Harry. 'Uncle Vernon, is Grunnings still at the same location?'

Uncle Vernon scowled, but Aunt Petunia said, 'Yes. But what about Dudley's residence hall?'

'Do you have your room assignment yet?' asked Ryan.

'Er, yeah ... I have it on a card upstairs.' Dudley went to fetch it.

'Harry, thank you for the ... amulets,' said Aunt Petunia. 'And for coming to protect us. But I think you should leave now.'

'Don't you want to apologise?' demanded Hermione.

Aunt Petunia froze, and Harry said, 'It's water under the bridge.'

Dudley came back downstairs and handed Ryan a scrap of paper. Ryan jotted the address on a Muggle notepad, and Dudley said, 'Thanks, mate. And Hermione, it's good to see you. Looking fit, as always.'

Ryan's eyes widened but he didn't say anything. 'I'll get Mr Dursley's work address from Harry and take care of things by nightfall.'

Aunt Petunia began steering them towards the front door, but Harry said, 'We should probably just Disapparate from inside, so nobody sees us.

'You're right,' said his aunt. But before they left, she said, 'Harry?'

He turned to face her, and she looked at him for a long moment, her eyes fixed on his. 'Goodbye,' she said. 'You can ring us next August.'

He nodded. 'Hermione, you and Ryan should Apparate to the back garden of Grimmauld Place and I'll let you in. Goodbye, Dudley ... maybe I'll see you around. I guess I know where you'll be living next year.'

'Cool,' said Dudley. 'Bring your broomstick.'

'Dudley!' cried Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon simultaneously, and Harry turned on his heel and vanished.


	39. Chapter 39

When Harry arrived at Grimmauld Place, he wanted nothing more than to lie down on the sofa, but he knew Hermione and Ryan would be outside waiting. So he reluctantly went to the kitchen to let them in.

'Harry, you should sit down,' said Hermione. 'Maybe drink some water.'

'I'm mostly just hungry,' he said. 'Ryan, I assume you are as well?'

Ryan nodded, and Harry summoned Kreacher.

_Crack! _'Yes, Master.'

'Good afternoon, Kreacher. We could use something to eat right now ... Ryan, I assume you'd like whatever's fastest?'

'Yes, please.'

The elf looked forlornly at the floor. 'Although Kreacher is ashamed to suggest it, there's leftover curry from last night, and pizza from Thursday. Kreacher would be willing to serve them, but Kreacher will surely require punishment for insulting Master and his guests so gravely.'

'Absolutely not!' cried Hermione. 'We'd love to eat the leftovers, and you mustn't punish yourself.'

Kreacher looked desperately at Harry. 'She's right,' said Harry. 'I insist you serve us those leftovers, and I absolutely forbid you from punishing yourself.' He looked Kreacher in the eye and mentally added, _'I know you've been itching to clear out that horrible drainpipe. Go on then! But only after you've fed us.'_

Bowing low, Kreacher said, 'Yes, Master,' and immediately set to preparing food.

Moments later, Ron's head poked from the kitchen fireplace. 'Harry, you're back! May I come through?'

_Ugh, more spectators_. 'Yes, of course.'

Ron stumbled into the kitchen and asked, 'Are you all right? What happened exactly?'

Harry sighed. 'Andrew bloody Gilstrap happened. I was fine for two hours, but then Gilstrap found a sore point and hammered on it.'

'Blimey, I was scared you were going to pull out your wand and curse him.'

'That didn't even cross my mind. I just wanted to punch him, pure and simple.' He cast his eyes downwards and asked, 'Did you hear about what I said to him?'

'Yeah. I'm afraid everyone knows. It spread through the stands like Fiendfyre before the match was even over.' Ron looked at Harry and asked, 'Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have told anyone—you know that.'

'I know. It's just not something I ever wanted to talk about. I still don't, to be quite honest.'

Ron shook his head sympathetically. 'I'm sorry, but you probably can't avoid it now. It's all over the radio, apparently—my parents were listening at home, and Dad sent me a Patronus so I could warn you.'

'Bugger,' said Harry with a heavy sigh. 'Have they mentioned the Dursleys by name?'

'I don't know—I only heard about it second-hand. I've been at the Spyglass since the match ended, and of course everyone's talking about it there too.'

'Harry, I hate to suggest it, but should you go there and make an announcement, urging restraint?' asked Hermione.

Harry's throat clenched shut and he shook his head rapidly. 'No, I couldn't possibly.'

'I could do it,' said Ron. 'Everyone knows we're best mates. Apparently I'm a hero among Cannons fans for getting you to sign.'

'That would be great, if you're willing,' said Harry. 'Just tell them I've asked that nobody look for my relations or try to ... retaliate.'

Ron nodded. 'I assume that's where you were? Setting up wards?'

'Yeah. Ryan warded the house and I went to Gringotts for protective amulets.'

'Blimey! Did you actually have to see them? The Dursleys?'

'Yeah,' said Harry dully, still reeling from the Horcrux discovery. 'Could you go to the Spyglass and make that announcement? And ask people to spread the word?'

'On it,' said Ron, taking a pinch of Floo powder. 'And find me later if you want to talk, all right?'

'Thanks,' said Harry, knowing he wouldn't.

Ron left, and Harry started eating the leftovers Kreacher had served. 'Master,' said the elf, carrying a pile of letters. 'Kreacher begs Master's forgiveness for not bringing them earlier, but Master received numerous letters by Floo this afternoon. Kreacher would have delivered them sooner but Master asked for dinner first.'

'That was the right decision, Kreacher. Thank you,' said Harry, taking the letters. Between bites he flipped through them and saw there were letters from nearly everyone he'd given access to his Floo port.

His heart sank as he read the return addresses. _Every one of them knows,_ he thought sadly. He knew they meant well, but he felt horribly exposed.

Ryan looked up and said, 'Harry, do you know your uncle's work address?'

'No, but I can tell you exactly how to get there,' he said, and Hermione took notes.

'Right,' said Ryan. 'I'll just have a bit more to eat and then ward his business. I'll do your cousin's residence hall afterwards, since that's the least likely place to be attacked.'

'Thanks, I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.' He sighed and added, 'If only I hadn't lost my temper.'

'Harry, you need to forgive yourself,' said Ryan. 'Gilstrap is notorious, and you've had a much harder life than most people, and far more public.'

Harry snorted derisively. 'On the contrary ... he said everything's been handed to me.'

'Are you serious?' said Hermione. 'He actually said that?'

'For hours, yes. It didn't bother me until he finally said my Muggle relations probably worshipped me for being a wizard, and that they'd spoilt me.'

Hermione gasped, but Harry continued. 'That wouldn't have done it on its own … I don't know if this is true, but he said his father was tortured into insanity just five days before the end of the war.'

Hermione and Ryan looked at him in horror. Harry's heart started racing and his throat was dry. He drank some water and added, 'He said if we hadn't wasted so much time planning the Gringotts break-in...'

'No,' said Ryan, 'You can't think that way. You did your best.'

Hermione turned pale, and Harry could see her mentally reviewing the time they'd spent at Shell Cottage just before the end of the war. 'I don't know,' she said. 'We spent weeks planning ... I suppose it's possible we could have gone sooner.'

'I know. As soon as he said it, a small part of my mind started wondering the same thing.'

'It was probably a lie,' said Ryan. 'The bastard.'

'All's fair above the pitch,' quoted Harry glumly. 'Thank heaven Owen caught the Snitch. I can't imagine how much worse I'd feel if we'd lost.'

Ryan shook his head reassuringly. 'Believe me, the Cannons can handle losing,' he said, and Harry smiled in spite of himself. 'But I should go set up those wards.'

Hermione rose to kiss him goodbye, and Harry made a point of not listening to their private conversation. He opened the letter from Neville, who offered his support and said he was available if Harry needed company. _Good old Neville,_ he thought. Neville certainly knew what it was like to have a painful secret—it was years before his friends learnt about his parents' condition.

Kreacher appeared with another sheaf of letters, which had arrived in the interim. Harry looked at the senders' names, and his heart caught when he saw Helena's. Her note was brief:

_Dear Harry,_

_I heard about what happened—I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do? I'm available this evening if you need a friend._

_Yours,  
__Helena_

_A friend?_ he thought bitterly. He realised he wanted nothing more than to curl up in her arms, their bodies pressed together, but that wasn't what a friend did. He had no interest in tea and sympathy.

There were also letters from Owen, Ginny, and, to Harry's surprise, Phil Routledge. For some reason he felt more inclined to confide in his new friends rather than the people he'd known for years. Hermione returned to the table after seeing Ryan off, and Harry felt a wave of dread.

'Oh, Harry,' she said sympathetically, sitting next to him. She looked at him earnestly, and he could tell she was waiting for him to confide. But he didn't want to.

'Should I send a statement to the _Prophet_?' he asked, by way of changing the topic. 'Urging people not to retaliate?'

She blinked. 'Oh, right. Yes, good idea.' She pulled some note paper from her handbag.

Together they prepared a brief message urging restraint, and also asking that everyone respect Harry's privacy. He knew there was no hope on the latter point, but at least it would provide ironic counterpoint to Rita's article.

'How should we send it?' asked Harry. 'I don't know how promptly they read incoming owls. I suppose the Cannons publicity team would know who to contact—in fact, they've probably already sent something on my behalf. But I'd rather not deal with them right now.'

Hermione nodded in understanding. 'It's a shame you don't have a more distinctive owl. That way they'd know at a glance who'd sent it. Lysander is attractive enough, but he's nothing out of the ordinary.'

'No, he's rather common.' Harry smiled briefly, remembering the raven Helena had suggested. 'I wonder where Fawkes is these days. He'd make a good messenger.'

'Prongs!' exclaimed Hermione. 'Send the letter by owl, but send Prongs to let them know you've sent it.'

'What, something like,_ "Attend my owl!"'_

Hermione chuckled. 'Exactly. Though now that you mention it, you could ask Kreacher to deliver it.'

'I could, but _"Attend my elf!"_ doesn't have the same ring to it. And we're so close to the _Prophet_ office that he'll scarcely be faster than Lysander.'

They went upstairs to the owlery and sent off the letter. True to his word, Harry sent Prongs with his ominous message.

Walking back down to the sitting room, he asked Hermione, 'What do you make of the Horcrux? It explains a lot.'

She exhaled slowly and shook her head. 'It doesn't explain everything. You saw your uncle—he couldn't see anything different in you.'

'No, but that might have been habit.'

'Perhaps. But didn't you say Dudley improved before you defeated Voldemort?'

'He did, you're right. I think the Dementors changed him.'

Hermione nodded. 'And what about the other Muggles you interacted with? Your classmates and schoolteachers, for example?'

'They mostly ignored me. Except for Dudley's mates, who liked to beat up on me as well.'

'Did they ever say anything negative about your eyes? Or, for that matter, did any of the girls say you had pretty eyes?'

'The girls didn't say anything. They either made fun of my clothes or acted like I didn't exist. Usually the latter.' He looked up suddenly. 'But now you mention it, there was one girl who used to criticise me. Said I was unnatural, and that I had freaky eyes. But she was nasty to everyone.'

'Interesting. I wonder if people with more innate darkness saw your Horcrux more clearly. Voldemort's Horcrux, that is.'

'Maybe so. And come to think of it, Minerva watched my aunt and uncle all day before Dumbledore left me on their doorstep, and she could tell they were unfit. So it must have come from them as well, and not just the Horcrux.' He and Hermione took their usual seats in the sitting room and he asked, 'Did your parents ever say anything? I know I only met them a couple of times back then, but maybe they noticed something was off.'

She shook her head. 'No, they never mentioned anything, good or bad. Although my mum complimented your eyes recently.'

Harry shrugged and said, 'I guess it doesn't matter. The Horcrux is gone now, and we already knew Voldemort wrecked my childhood. One more thing hardly makes a difference.'

Hermione sighed heavily, and Harry regretted giving her the opening. 'Do you want to talk about it?'

'Honestly, no,' he replied curtly. 'You can read about it tomorrow, when everyone else does.'

She looked hurt but he didn't acknowledge it. 'Are you sure the article contains everything?'

'Yes, I saw a draft version last year, and it was spot on. If anything she's turned up more since then.'

Kreacher arrived with still more letters, and Harry smiled when he saw one from Laetitia. He'd probably told her more about the Dursleys than he'd ever told Hermione. Same with Owen. _That's who I want to see,_ he thought. _Owen_.

'Er, I should probably reply to some of these letters,' he said, hoping Hermione would take the hint.

'Oh, all right,' she said, a little flustered. 'Ryan said I should wait for him at his flat—I'll just go there.'

He rose and started walking her to the fireplace. 'Thanks for your help this afternoon. I couldn't even think straight. And please thank Ryan again.'

'Of course, you're welcome. Are you sure you'll be all right this evening.'

'Yeah, I might go talk to Owen.'

Hermione looked hurt again, but she didn't mention it. 'All right. Please send Prongs anytime if there's something I can do to help.'

'I will, thanks.'

After she left, Harry opened a few of the letters but not nearly all of them. The only people he replied to were Owen, Phil, and Laetitia—he thanked her for her kindness and expressed a wish to see her again in the next week or so. Owen had invited him to dinner, with the apology that it would be at home and therefore chaotic, but Harry liked the sound of that. _A normal family,_ he thought.

He particularly appreciated the letter from Phil, who proposed going out flying on Sunday if Harry needed to blow off steam. _'But no punching,'_ he wrote. He also suggested getting together for drinks that night, with the reminder that he too had been on Gilstrap's receiving end.

Harry asked Kreacher to deliver his replies, since Lysander still hadn't returned from the _Prophet, _and Harry lined up plans for the evening. _I'll go mental if I just sit here at home_.

He was still wearing his tracksuit, so he changed into a smart Muggle outfit—suitable for drinks with Phil—and Flooed over to Owen's house. The family was at the table, and Owen was cutting up food for one of the girls. 'Welcome,' he called when he saw Harry. 'Please, have a seat.'

'Cheers, thanks for having me.' He turned to Joanne and said, 'Forgive me for not bringing anything, but all I had lying around was Firewhisky, boutonnières, and books about the Dark Arts.'

She laughed and said, 'Next time bring any unwanted boutonnières—I'm certain the girls would love them.'

'I will,' said Harry. 'In fact, I've decided to accept a sponsorship from my florist. It's to be my only one.'

'Fantastic! Owen told me about all the flower-themed banners.'

Harry asked after their daughters, who were identical and named Kate and Liza. They took turns describing their day, finishing each other's sentences as Fred and George had done. 'And we played with a baby Niffler in the back garden ... and Mummy gave us shiny wrapped sweets for him to find ... but he wasn't very good at it yet because he's just a baby ... so we found the sweets ourselves ... except I found more than Kate did, and she started crying, so I gave her one of mine ... and then Mummy shouted at the radio and said Daddy caught the Snitch ... and Aunt Fiona came round with Matthew and we flew on toy brooms near the brook,' and so on.

Harry asked them questions at intervals, which they were very happy to use as launch points for non-sequiturs. Owen and Joanne seemed grateful for the opportunity to eat uninterrupted, and Harry wasn't hungry, having eaten pizza and curry an hour earlier.

After the girls finished eating, Harry joined them on the floor with a jigsaw puzzle, which was made more challenging by having a moving picture on the front rather than a stationary one. Owen did the washing up and Joanne folded several baskets of laundry that had taken over the sofa.

'Welcome to the glamorous life of a mature league Seeker,' said Owen. 'A far cry from yours, I suppose.'

'It's lovely,' he said sincerely. 'I never tire of observing normal families in their natural habitat.'

'Yes, I daresay it's your version of going to a museum or a zoo.'

'Actually, I've only been to a zoo once, and I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin. That wasn't long before I received my Hogwarts letter ... I shouldn't have been so surprised, really.'

They continued chatting for a while, interrupted periodically by the girls, and eventually Joanne joined them as well.

'Did you hear the entire broadcast?' asked Harry.

'I did, yes. And the commentary afterwards.'

Harry sighed. 'How was it? I haven't listened to the radio at all today.'

'Sympathetic, by and large. It's no secret that Andrew Gilstrap taunts hard, and everyone could see was tracking you the entire time. He certainly received a lot of scorn for not finding the Snitch during the penalty window, particularly since Owen spotted it right away.'

'Harry must've rattled him pretty thoroughly,' said Owen. 'He deserved it.'

Joanne picked up a stray sock from the floor. 'The stadium correspondent reported what you said, about your family, and the main presenter was shocked silent for a moment. But then that was all they could talk about, and they barely covered the match until Owen entered.'

Harry sighed. 'Did they reveal my aunt and uncle's names or whereabouts?'

'They knew it was your mother's sister, and that her maiden name was Evans, and they deduced from your accent that you're from the south, but that's as far as they got during the match. But I understand someone unearthed the details later.'

Owen shook his head in disgust. 'I can't believe how irresponsible that was, announcing their name on the radio, knowing someone was bound to seek retaliation. The Cannons made a statement on your behalf, by the way.'

'Really? What did they say?'

'They urged restraint and also respect for your privacy.'

'That's exactly what I wrote to the _Prophet_ this afternoon. I'll have to thank Susanna.'

'Will you know if anyone tries something?' asked Joanne.

'Yes, Ryan's something of a Charms expert, and he has a system for knowing whether anyone tries to breach the wards. And I'll receive an owl from Gringotts if anyone attacks them personally.'

Joanne said, 'It certainly says a lot about you, that you'd bother protecting them after everything they did.'

_You don't know the half of it,_ thought Harry. _Just wait until you read Rita's article tomorrow._

'There's been enough violence in my life,' he said simply.

'One of the presenters said it was ironic you'd turned out Light, given your history of abuse at the hands of Muggles,' said Joanne.

'Are you kidding? Like I was supposed to become a Death Eater because I had shitty relations?' Harry noticed the girls started giggling. 'I beg your pardon ... lousy relations.'

Joanne smiled. 'Don't worry, I've said worse. But yes, I think some wizards have such a narrow view of Muggles that they're willing to tar everyone with a single brush.'

Owen said, 'I hate to ask, but did anyone suggest that Harry might yet turn out Dark because of his history?'

'Actually, yes. But then another presenter argued that this all happened in the past, and that if you weren't Dark already, you're not likely to change sides now.'

'Thank you!' said Harry sarcastically. 'I'm glad at least someone thinks I've proven my Light affiliation. Did they mention House Black as well?'

'Not in that context, but someone pointed out the irony that you were treated like a house-elf when you'd go on to inherit one, and plenty more besides.'

'Yes, of course ... can't go a minute without mentioning that,' he said bitterly.

Owen turned to Joanne. 'Shall I get their bath started?'

'No, I'll do it. You and Harry should have some alone time. And, besides, you caught the Snitch today.'

'I suppose I did,' he said, smiling.

Joanne led the protesting girls from the lounge, leaving Harry with Owen. 'Do you want to talk about what happened up there?' Owen asked. 'With Gilstrap?'

Harry sighed. 'Most of the time I was fine. It was fun, even. Until the end he didn't say anything I hadn't heard all week from you and the others, although you could never have imitated his tone. You just aren't that calculating. By the way, the portkey was deliberate.'

'That's despicable,' said Owen. 'Why not also have you dodge Killing Curses as you walk down the corridor before flying out? Or hide a Dementor in the locker room? Honestly, you probably have grounds for a formal complaint.'

With a shrug, Harry said, 'I think we got our revenge, between me punching him and you catching the Snitch.'

'True. And apparently he was criticised on the radio for abusing you to that degree. _"Unsportsmanlike conduct."'_

'My punching him wasn't very sportsmanlike either.'

'No, but it wasn't premeditated. And he clearly deserved it.'

Harry was quiet a moment. 'He said his father was tortured to insanity five days before the war ended. He blamed me for dragging my feet.'

Owen inhaled sharply. 'I gather he said that near the end of the match?'

'Yes, just prior to the killing blow, when he accused me of being spoilt and worshiped by my Muggle relations. Do you know if that's true, about his father?'

'I know his parents are both Muggle-born, but I don't know anything else about them.'

'Maybe Routledge will know ... I'm seeing him later tonight.'

'That's good—he'll understand better than anyone what you went through. I think his last match against Gilstrap lasted more than three hours.'

'Bloody hell, I can't even imagine.' Harry was quiet again and said, 'I saw my aunt and uncle this afternoon, and my cousin. When we went to protect them.'

'How was that?'

'My cousin is downright friendly now, which I never would have imagined. My uncle was unchanged. He accused me of trying to steal his wristwatch when I wanted to bring it to Gringotts for protective charms. I'm sure you can imagine how Hermione responded.'

Owen chuckled. 'I certainly can. And your aunt?'

'That was the tricky bit,' said Harry. 'She at least trusted my intentions, though she still doesn't like me. But I learnt something today that I can scarcely wrap my brain around.'

'Oh?'

'I'll preface this by saying I'm not supposed to tell you any of this, by direct order from Kingsley Shacklebolt. But bugger that, it's my life.' He took a deep breath. 'I've alluded to this already, but when Voldemort killed my parents and attacked me, a part of his soul broke off and latched onto mine. It resided right here,' he said, pointing to his scar.

Owen raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything.

'Voldemort's soul was already unstable because he'd broken it into seven separate pieces, to ensure his immortality. That's what Ron and Hermione and I were doing the final year of the war, trying to find and destroy the other pieces. That's why we broke into Gringotts.'

'That explains it. When did you learn about the piece behind your scar?'

'The night of the final battle. That's why I had to die, to destroy it.'

'Good god,' murmured Owen, slowly shaking his head.

'Dumbledore had suspected it for years—since I was a baby, actually.'

'So he raised you ... to die?'

'Apparently. He didn't want me to, of course. When I saw him in King's Cross he was overjoyed I wouldn't have to.'

'I'm sorry, you've lost me. King's Cross?'

'That's where I went when I died. I had a vision of King's Cross station, and I saw Dumbledore and what was left of Voldemort's soul. We talked a long time, actually. Dumbledore and me, not Voldemort.'

'And when you came back, that's when you had the experience we talked about? Where you felt total peace and acceptance?'

'Yes, and that everything was perfect, including my life with the Dursleys,' said Harry. 'Though I can't say I've been able to hang onto the feeling very consistently.'

'That's normal. These things tend to come and go for a long while.'

'Anyway, that year, when we were looking for Horcruxes– bugger, I shouldn't have said that. But oh well ... that's what the soul fragments are called, and if you ever run across that word in a book, burn it. They're extremely hard to destroy, so we had to carry one of them—a locket—for months. And it nearly sucked the life out of us. It was literally a piece of Voldemort's soul, and we had to take turns wearing it around our necks.'

'Oh my god ...'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'Hermione and I have occasionally wondered if I had a similar effect on people, since I carried part of Voldemort's soul as well. Until today I didn't think I had, since my interactions with people haven't changed beyond what could be explained by the war ending.'

Harry sighed heavily. 'But today I found out that it affected my relations. Apparently Muggles are more susceptible to Horcruxes than wizards are. My aunt and uncle were literally frightened of me from the day I turned up on their doorstep as a baby. My eyes looked different, uncanny.'

'And that's why they mistreated you?'

'No, not entirely, or even primarily. Minerva McGonagall watched them for an entire day before I was brought to live with them, and she saw they were unfit. But Dumbledore made me live with them anyway, ostensibly because my aunt shared the same blood as my mother, which protected me.'

'But he also sent you there to keep you downtrodden?' asked Owen.

'Yes, it seems so. Otherwise I mightn't have given my life.'

'Oh, Harry ... when I think about your trajectory, and then arseholes like Andrew Gilstrap call you entitled. I've half a mind to go punch him myself.'

Harry laughed. 'I actually hit him pretty hard considering the awkward angle. Auror training, you know.'

Owen smiled before his expression turned serious again. 'You said this afternoon that Rita Skeeter was going to publish something. Are you sure?'

'Yes, she showed it to me last year and used it to blackmail me into giving an interview, which she turned into that lurid sex article. As opposed to last week's lurid sex article, which at least was partly true,' added Harry, smirking.

But his face fell again. 'Her article about my relations was completely accurate. For once she didn't need to exaggerate. And the _Prophet_ is certain to run it tomorrow.'

'Is there anything you want me to know before I read it?' asked Owen.

Harry felt his chest clench, remembering the cupboard. _Everyone already knows,_ he reminded himself. 'The part that's hardest is the cupboard,' he said shakily. 'I know it wasn't my fault, but I can't think about it without feeling ashamed. Like I could have prevented it somehow, or fought back.'

'How old were you when you got a proper bedroom? They gave you one eventually, right?'

'Yes, when I got my Hogwarts letter. The first one was addressed to me at the cupboard under the stairs, which made them paranoid.'

'The first one?'

'Yes, they tried to keep them from me. I must have received hundreds but they prevented me from getting any of them, which in retrospect boded poorly for my future career as a Seeker, considering they were flying about the room at one point.'

'You finally got one, though. And that's when you learnt you were a wizard and all the rest?'

'Yes.' Harry's heart sank again as he remembered another mortifying detail. 'And another thing … I was forced to wear Dudley's cast offs. Not hand-me-downs, mind you—that would have been fine. But Dudley was hugely overweight back then, and I had to wear whatever he'd outgrown. So now Doctor Niffler and everyone else is going to analyse my preference for fitted clothes.'

'Doctor Niffler?'

'That Mind Healer they quoted in the robes article a few weeks back. The one who said I was simultaneously reclaiming my lost innocence and announcing my sexual maturity.'

'Right, I remember. And yes, I'm certain people will draw conclusions, but there's no reason to feel ashamed.'

'I suppose not. But I just feel so ... exposed. Like I haven't any secrets left, or I won't after tomorrow's _Prophet_ comes out.'

'I'm certain they'll uncover more soon enough,' said Owen, and Harry grimaced. 'I can only imagine how uncomfortable this is.'

'It really is. You said my walls were coming down, but Merlin knows I didn't want them to drop this quickly.'

Owen nodded. 'I'm afraid these are your Bludgers.'

'You're probably right. How do I endure it? I received a stack of kind letters this afternoon from literally everyone with my home address, but the only ones I wanted to respond to were from people I've met in the last month. I even chased Hermione out of the house—I'm sure I offended her.'

'She'll survive,' said Owen. 'As for how you endure it, I'm going to sound like a broken record, but expand into awareness.'

'All right ... and then what?'

'Let the difficult feelings arise. You don't need to examine them, or resolve them. Just allow them to coexist with the rest of it. Look at their outer dimensions without diving into the content, if that makes sense.'

'I think so, but I'll have to try it. I think it's easier whilst flying.' He sighed and said, 'I really need a better broomstick at home. Can I interest you in a Firebolt Ultra, barely used?'

'No thanks, I tried it as well,' said Owen. 'Do you want to borrow my home broom? It's a Cleansweep Twelve—not the most exciting I'm afraid.'

'Thanks, but I'm liable to break it ... I need to fly like a maniac. Maybe I'll see if the Silver Arrow is available for purchase.'

Owen smirked. 'You really blew it, Snitchbottom. If you'd only accepted their offer, you'd have your own Harry Potter Edition waiting at home.'

'Yeah, Gilstrap hassled me about that as well. He said I'd need the gold for maintenance payments after my three divorces.'

'No, you won't. Just take your time, and you'll do fine.'

Joanne entered and began fishing through the folded laundry. 'They both want to wear their Prongs pyjamas,' she explained.

'Would they like to meet Prongs?' asked Harry. 'Or would that be too much excitement before bedtime?'

'They'd love it! And they still have half an hour of stories before I turn out the lights, so they should settle down by then.'

'What should I have him say?'

'He should lecture them sternly about the importance of obeying one's parents,' said Owen. 'But wait for Joanne and me to go to their room—I have to witness this.'

After they'd gone, Harry pulled out his wand and generated his stag Patronus. In a silly voice, he said, 'Good evening, ladies. My name is Prongs, and I just wanted to say hello. Be sure to mind your parents, and give them both a big hug. Sweet dreams!'

Moments later he heard happy squeals from the corridor and what sounded like jumping. Joanne appeared and said, 'He was a hit! Of course now they'll beg to see him every time you visit.'

'That's fine. It's always a pleasure to cast a Patronus without Dementors breathing down my neck.'

'I'm glad you came round,' she said. 'I'm certain you'll get through this. You have so many friends who care for you—we talked to a lot of them at the party.'

'Ugh, did Owen apologise to Fiona on my behalf? I can't handle my liquor, I'm afraid.'

'You were fine, and Fiona thought it was hilarious. We'll have to introduce you properly one of these days.'

Harry nodded, but he knew he wasn't ready for more than a fling, and Owen had made it clear that Fiona was off limits in that respect.

Owen returned and said, 'Thanks, Harry—the girls were delighted. You'll have to teach me to cast a Patronus as well.'

'I'd be happy to. And thanks for inviting me over—this was just what I needed. Sorry to burden you with all the Voldemort stuff.'

'Nonsense, it's not a burden. I'm just glad to help.'

Harry said goodbye to Owen and Joanne, and then made his way to the Muggle pub he and Phil had agreed on. He spotted the other Seeker at a table with a full pint glass. 'Good timing, I just sat down,' said Phil. 'You can get a drink at the bar.'

Minutes later Harry returned with his own pint and took a seat. 'Thanks for your letter. I heard from all my friends, but I realised I wanted to talk to someone who's experienced Gilstrap before. How many times have you played against him?'

'Four or five. I suppose the only good thing about having to hide during the war was that I didn't have to face him that season.'

'And how's your track record? Have you beaten him every time?'

'All but the first time. The good news is he's easier to take after that, because you'll have learnt not to believe anything he says.'

'Really? He told me his father was tortured to insanity just five days before the war ended, and that I should have acted faster.'

Phil was aghast. 'Are you serious? No, that was a barefaced lie ... he introduced me to his father after a match last season.'

'Ugh, I should have known. For two hours I was fine, but that was where things started going downhill.'

'I can't imagine hearing something like that during a match. I know all's fair above the pitch, but that was downright inhumane. I'm starting to wonder if the Seekers should develop ethical guidelines around you.'

Harry shook his head emphatically. 'No, the last thing I want is special treatment.'

'But you're a special circumstance. You've probably had more trauma than the rest of us combined, and you haven't a shred of privacy.'

'It's been fine during my other matches. Only Gilstrap was a problem, and I'll be prepared next time.'

'Fine,' said Phil. 'But really, he should be ashamed of himself, particularly since both his parents are Muggle-born. I wonder whether that's why he couldn't spot the Snitch during those five minutes.'

'I like to think it's because I flattened him with my powerful right hook, but I suppose the Healer had already seen to him.'

'He's lucky you didn't curse him. How are you doing with all the publicity? I'm afraid everyone was talking about you at the Puddlemere Arms this afternoon.'

'Was there any talk of retaliation?' asked Harry. 'That was my first concern.'

'Unfortunately there was, but a lot of people pointed out that you're perfectly capable of getting revenge on your own, if you wanted.'

'I mostly just want to avoid them, although my cousin turned out better than I expected. I had to go see them immediately after the match to set up protection. Hermione and Ryan Bellamy did the charms and all the thinking for me. All I did was go to Gringotts.'

'Yes, and I heard about your Patronus. All the fans will be demanding them at the end of matches from now on. Can you teach the rest of us how?'

Harry chuckled. 'It would be worth it just to see Gilstrap's warthog Patronus. But of course, Owen asked me to teach him as well.'

'So when shall we go sparring? If you're anything like me, you're probably desperate to get back up on a broomstick.'

'I'd love to, but all I have at home is a Firebolt Ultra, which I really need to replace. I should go to Diagon Alley and see if the Silver Arrow is available yet.'

'Don't bother—just have your team assistant ask Silver Arrow for another. You probably did them a favour anyway by turning them down.'

'Because of my loose morals?'

'I was going to say because they get a ton of free publicity whenever you're photographed on it.'

They talked brooms and publicity for a long while, and both of them drank another pint before switching to water. 'I forgot to ask,' said Harry. 'How did you enjoy the party?'

'I daresay you enjoyed it most of all, but I can't complain. I should inform you, however, that your guest rooms get a bit weird once you reach the far end of the corridor.'

'Really? Just how far are we talking?'

'I was about the twentieth door down. The room was usable, make no mistake, but I felt like I was in a work of modern art. Slightly impossible geometry, that sort of thing.'

'Excellent! I don't think we ever used more than six or seven guest rooms during the war, and they were all relatively normal, except for being riddled with Dark magic. But that's gone now, thank Merlin.'

'Watch your language,' said Phil. 'We're in Muggle territory—you'll need to blend better if you want to interact later on.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'What are you proposing? I've never gone Muggle before.'

'Really? I'd have thought you in particular would like a break from gawkers. It's bad enough being a starting Seeker, but throw in the Boy Who Lived ...'

'You're right, and I can definitely use a distraction. Unfortunately a huge article is likely to be published tomorrow morning ... Rita Skeeter researched my childhood last year and blackmailed me to kill the piece. But it's certain to run tomorrow.'

'Yes, I know. They interviewed her on the radio earlier this evening. She only teased what was in it but promised all the details in the morning.'

'Right,' said Harry, sighing deeply. After a moment he added, 'So, pulling Muggles. What do you advise?'

'That all depends. How good a liar are you?'

Harry looked at the faint scar on the back of his hand—_I must not tell lies._ 'Not good at all,' he said. 'I'd make a terrible politician. Though apparently the goblins like me now.'

'Right, but we're talking about pulling Muggles,' said Phil, and they both laughed. 'You'll have to tell some lies, of course, but it's easier if you don't plan to see her more than once.'

'A single night of sweet Muggle oblivion sounds perfect right now.'

'Then I recommend saying you're from out of town. Where are you from originally? If it's far enough you can just tell the truth.'

Harry shook his head. 'Surrey.'

'Oh right, they were saying that on the radio. Then unless you're familiar with another part of England, you'll have to say you're visiting from abroad. America perhaps.'

'No one will believe I'm American.'

'Of course not, but you could say your parents moved there a few years ago and you're home for a visit. You can tell her you're staying on my sofa.'

'Oh right, I can't exactly bring her home to Grimmauld Place.'

'Good lord no!'

'Where do I tell her I live? I'm not at all familiar with America, other than what I saw on television growing up.'

'Then you probably know more than you think. But just say you're from Chicago—everyone's heard of it but no one knows anything about it, except that there were gangsters in the thirties.'

'I actually knew that!' exclaimed Harry. 'I saw "The Untouchables" on the telly once. I liked Eliot Ness, but my cousin Dudley preferred Al Capone.'

'See, you know as much about Chicago as every other British person does. So just say you go to university there, and if she figures out you're an athlete you can tell her you play lacrosse.'

'Lacrosse? I don't know the first thing about lacrosse, except they have those big sticks with nets at the end.'

'Exactly. She won't know anything either, and if she starts asking questions, just turn the conversation back to her. Women love that.'

'You clearly never met Helena. I scarcely knew a thing about her until the night we broke up.'

'Then she's the exception that proves the rule,' said Phil. He pulled a small Durex box from his jacket and handed it to Harry. 'Have you used one of these before.'

'Oh god no ... are you sure this is worth it?'

'They're fine actually. Well, not the same as without, but highly enjoyable nonetheless. Use a Contraception Charm as well—the poor girl doesn't need to wind up a single mum dealing with accidental magic. But do you know how to put it on?'

'Yes, they showed us in primary school using bananas,' said Harry. 'We were ten ... talk about jumping the gun.'

'Just remember to pinch the tip as you're unrolling it, to avoid breakage. Obviously there's no real concern if you're using a charm, but you don't want the girl freaking out for the next three weeks.'

'Got it. Can I keep these, or shall I duck into a corner shop?'

'They're all yours ... consider it a late birthday present.'

'Cheers.' Harry looked around the bar and spotted several young women he found attractive. 'Now here's the tricky bit ... I don't have my usual advantage here.'

'You mean nobody recognises you?' said Phil. 'Yes, you're going to have to put in some effort instead of just casting a Summoning Charm.'

'What do you suggest? Here I'm just another bloke. A short one, in fact.'

'Women don't care about height as much as tall blokes like to believe. As long as you're taller than they are, they'll be fine. Ironically I've found it's the really short birds who want tall men—I think they're trying to reverse the trend in the next generation.'

'I'm definitely not here to procreate. But what do you think of those two girls over there?' asked Harry, indicating a pair waiting at the bar. 'I could fancy the brunette, and the blonde's not bad either.'

'Actually the blonde's more my type, so we're well matched. Let's go offer to buy their drinks.'

They rose and approached the two young women. 'Hi, I'm Phil and this is my mate Harry. Might we buy you some drinks?'

The women looked at each other and giggled. 'All right,' said the blonde. 'I'm Rachel and this is Penelope.'

'It's nice to meet you, Penelope,' said Harry. 'What can I get you?'

'A half-pint of cider,' she said. 'Will you be having anything?'

'I'm set for alcohol, but I might have a soft drink.'

'Not a heavy drinker then?'

'No, two pints was already past my limit.' He placed their order at the bar and turned to face her. 'Are you from around here?'

'Yes, though I return to Sheffield next month—I attend uni there. What about you?'

'I'm visiting from America.'

'You're not American,' she scoffed.

'Well spotted!' he said, but not unkindly. 'No, I'm English obviously, but my parents moved there several years ago.' _That felt weird,_ he thought. _Referring to my parents as if they were alive._

'Whereabouts?'

'Chicago.'

'Really? I visited Chicago last year.'

_Bugger!_ thought Harry. 'Wow, how did you like it?'

'I thought it was brilliant. Nothing like England of course. I mean, we have high-rises in London, but not nearly as many as they have there.'

'No, certainly not.' Their drinks were ready, and he handed her a glass.

She took a sip of cider. 'So you must be a big Michael Jordan fan. Everyone I met there was mad for the Bulls—I was there during the finals and watched a game in a bar with my mates. I can't believe he retired though.'

_That name sounds familiar,_ thought Harry. _But it's not exactly distinctive, and Merlin only knows what sport she's talking about._

'Yes, nobody can believe he retired. But tell me more about yourself.'

'Well, I'm starting my second year at Sheffield—English Literature. What about you?'

_Bloody hell, I don't know any American universities. _'I'm starting next month at the University of Chicago.' _Surely a city like Chicago has a university,_ he thought. _Unless they're called colleges over there. Blast! I think they call them colleges._

'Oh, University of Chicago! You must be clever.' _Huh, I guess I picked a good one. Well done, Harry!_ 'Do you think you'll fancy living in Hyde Park?'

_Why would I have to live in a park?_ he thought, puzzled. 'I hope so, if that's my future,' he said uncertainly.

'When I was visiting it took me a while to realise Hyde Park was a neighbourhood and not a park,' she admitted.

'Yes, I made the same mistake.' _Just now, in fact._

'Where are you staying in London?'

'With my mate Phil. I'm staying on his sofa until Monday.'

'Oh, so you're leaving soon.'

'I'm afraid so. It seems a shame, having just met you,' he said, looking at her meaningfully.

She laughed and said, 'Does that really work?'

_If you were a witch I'd have your bra off by now._ 'Sometimes, yes.'

'Sorry, you'll to have to try harder,' she said playfully.

_That's promising,_ he thought. He sipped his drink and said, 'How about if I told you that's a really pretty dress?'

'I'd think you were gay. And besides, anyone can pick out a dress.'

_Surely she realises I'm attracted to her, otherwise I wouldn't have approached her_. _But I suppose witches like praise. Women, rather._ 'You're right, anyone can pick out a dress, but I doubt anyone looks as good in it as you do. It brings out your eyes, for one thing.'

She suddenly closed her eyes. 'What colour are they?'

'I'm sorry?'

'My eyes—what colour are they?'

'They're blue, with a dark rim,' he said triumphantly.

She opened her eyes and smiled. 'Well done. And yours are green. Remarkably so, I might add. I bet they're coloured contact lenses.'

'They are not! I have my mother's eyes.'

'She must be a real charmer, then,' said Penelope. 'But whose hair did you get?'

'My father's.'

'Well, I suppose that must be your real eye colour—nobody would go to the trouble of wearing coloured contact lenses but not comb their hair.'

'I did comb it! It just doesn't have any effect.' He ran his fingers through his hair to demonstrate.

'Impressive! And I suppose it makes you look taller. That and the Doc Martens ... how tall are you anyway?'

'I'm beginning to tire of this conversation,' said Harry stiffly. 'I didn't come here to be insulted.'

Her eyes gleamed. 'Then why did you come here?'

'Because you're mad cute and I wanted to get to know you better.'

'Even though you're returning to America on Monday?'

'That's two whole nights,' he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

'You're a cocky bastard, aren't you? You're probably used to American girls falling for your accent.'

'I suppose I am. Is it working on you?'

'Not particularly. There's nothing wrong with your accent, but it's rather ordinary.'

'Should I talk like this, then?' he asked in his best Malfoy drawl. 'I apologise for not presenting myself earlier ... my full name is Lord Harry James Black. May I take you to my opulent but threadbare London townhouse where my senile servant can attend us?'

She burst out laughing. 'That was oddly specific. Why is your townhouse threadbare?'

'The Blacks squandered most of their assets before I inherited them. And someone stole all the silver.'

'I thought your parents were still living. How did you inherit if they're still alive?'

'I inherited from my ne'er-do-well godfather, Sirius. He was charmed by my mother's green eyes.'

'Is that who you got the untameable hair from?'

'Are you casting aspersions on my mother's virtue?' he said with mock indignation. 'I can assure you that with the exception of my eyes, I'm the spitting image of my father.'

'And what's his name?'

'James Evans.' _Ew, that sounds incestuous_.

'So James Evans and Lord Sirius Black,' she recited. 'Hang on a moment, wasn't there an escaped prisoner named Sirius Black?'

_Bugger! _he thought, recalling that Sirius had been in the Muggle news as well. 'There was,' he said. 'You can imagine how awkward that was for the family.'

'Of course. They probably spent the last of their assets on his appeal. Or perhaps they sold the silver to cover it.'

'The silver was stolen,' said Harry. 'Haven't you been paying attention?'

'I can assure you, I've been enthralled from the very start.'

'Good. This suggests I'm seducing Americans with more than just my accent.'

'Seducing! Now that's a bold claim, Lord Black!'

'Do I need to provide testimonials?'

'I don't know ... what would they say?'

_That I'm famous for the wrong reason,_ thought Harry smugly. 'Let's just say I'm representing the UK admirably overseas. Several women are likely to be very disappointed with the next Englishman they encounter.'

'Will they have to close their eyes and think of England?' she asked saucily.

_Is that a literary reference?_ he wondered. _Damn Hogwarts and its lack of well-rounded education!_ 'I couldn't say,' he replied, and she smiled.

Harry noticed that Phil and Rachel were getting on well. He was holding her hand and stroking it intimately, and she was whispering something in his ear. _Ugh, he's winning!_ thought Harry competitively. _Time to close the deal._

'How far do you live from here,' he asked in a low voice.

'Not far,' she said breathily. 'But why can't we go to your townhouse?'

'It's being fumigated,' he said, and she laughed. 'That's why I'm staying with Phil. That and the America thing.'

'I have no idea why, but your Lord Black story sounds more plausible than the one about living in Chicago.'

'Are you calling me a liar?'

'I might be, but I have a way to test it. But first you have to tell me how you met Phil.'

'I'm sorry?'

'It's a simple question ... how did you meet Phil?'

'We both play lacrosse.'

'Lacrosse? You mean the sport with sticks?'

'Yes.' _And that's the extent of my knowledge, so please don't ask me anything else,_ he thought.

'Excuse me, Phil?' she said, tapping his shoulder. 'I have some questions about Harry that I want you to verify.'

'Really?' replied Phil, looking inquisitively at Harry.

'Yes,' said Penelope. 'First, how did you two meet?'

'Playing lacrosse.'

'All right. But he's given me two different stories, and I'm not at all certain which one is true.'

'What are they?' asked Phil, looking again at Harry.

'One is fairly tame—that he moved with his parents to America several years ago and is about to start at the University of Chicago.'

'Yes, that's the one I'm familiar with,' said Phil. 'What's the other story?'

'That his real name is Lord Harry Black and he's the heir to his escaped-prisoner godfather—dead, I suppose—and he lives in a dilapidated townhouse that's currently being fumigated.'

'I'd describe it as threadbare rather than dilapidated,' said Phil.

'Oh, right. That was the word Harry used as well.'

'See?' said Harry. 'Now do you believe me?'

'Yes, but I have no idea which story.'

'Why not both?' he asked. Phil had returned to his hushed conversation with Rachel.

'That seems contradictory.'

'You've left out my third claim.'

'Which one was that? I've lost track.'

He looked at her through lowered eyelashes and murmured, 'The one about how I've been representing England admirably overseas.'

She blushed. 'Oh right, that one.'

'I'd love to prove it to you,' he said. 'May I?'

'I don't know. I'd like to sample the merchandise first. There's not much point if you're not a good kisser.'

'All right. Should we do it here or somewhere more romantic, like a toilet or an alleyway?'

She laughed and said, 'How about that dark corner over there?'

He took her hand and led her there without speaking. Then he brushed her hair back from her face and began to kiss her.

'Oh,' she breathed. 'Yes, quite.'

They kissed some more, and he said, 'Your flat, then?'

'Yes.'

They left the bar and she said, 'It's about a twenty-five minute walk, or we could take a taxi if you're impatient.'

'I'm very impatient,' he said, holding up his arm. He'd never actually hailed a taxicab before, but it didn't seem complicated. A taxi arrived soon after and they climbed in, and Penelope provided her address.

'You're paying, right?' she asked. 'It's not my fault you can't wait.'

'On the contrary, it's entirely your fault. But of course I'm paying.'

'How's the exchange rate anyway? It was only so-so when I visited last year.'

'I've no idea,' he answered, leaning towards her. 'I'm spending the British currency I inherited from my godfather.' _He told me to squander some,_ thought Harry.

They snogged in the taxi but the ride was short and they soon arrived. He paid as promised, and she led him into a small vestibule and up some stairs.

She unlocked the door and opened it. 'Is that you, Penny?' said a man's voice.

Harry's eyes widened in alarm. His instinct was to grab his wand, but obviously that was out of the question.

'Yeah, and I've brought someone with me.'

_Are they going to steal my kidneys?_ thought Harry, remembering a news item that had shocked Aunt Petunia and prompted her to warn fourteen year-old Dudley to avoid strange women.

'Harry, this is my stepdad Lionel,' said Penelope, indicating a middle-aged man on the sofa watching television. 'Lionel, this is Harry. Don't hassle him.'

'Er, hi,' said Harry, hoping for only a brief exchange.

'Hiya Harry,' said Lionel. 'Have you known Penny long?'

'Er ...' started Harry, but fortunately Penelope interrupted him.

'Lionel, that's hassling. We're going to my room now.'

'I was just making conversation,' said Lionel. 'Nice to meet you, Harry. I have a hunting rifle.'

'Lionel!' cried Penelope. 'Harry, just ignore him.' _Gladly_, he thought, following Penelope down a short corridor to her room.

It was clearly her childhood bedroom, with posters for rock groups Harry wasn't familiar with, and what he suspected was a less recent shrine to ponies. The room could have comfortably accommodated a single bed, but instead there was a futon mattress placed directly on the floor.

_Merlin, that bed!_ he thought. _And I thought the condom would be uncomfortable!_

Penelope plugged in a string of fairy lights and turned off the overhead lamp, which significantly improved the ambiance. _It's not pure-blood decorating,_ _but it'll do._

'The toilet's down the hall, if you need it,' she said. 'Just ignore Lionel if he pesters you—he's all talk.'

Fortunately Lionel did not appear, and Harry took advantage of his loo visit to perform a Contraception Charm. When he returned to Penelope's bedroom, music was playing—presumably one of the featured bands—and she greeted him enthusiastically.

A while later she said, 'You're really slumming, aren't you?'

'You mean because I'm a lord with a townhouse?'

'Well done, you've stuck to your story. I may have to go to the library and check whether there's really a Lord Black.'

'What do you think?' he murmured.

'I'm torn. Your accent is off, but if he was your godfather and not your father that would make sense. Your clothes are high quality, certainly.'

'Yes, I've turned into a real dandy.'

'It suits you,' she said, and they didn't speak for a while longer.

The time finally arrived for Harry to unwrap the condom, and it turned out he didn't remember the details very well. _Surely it wasn't this gloopy_, he thought.

Penelope noticed his fumbling. 'Here, let me do it,' she said, and he was quickly sorted. At first he was uncharacteristically distracted, musing about how Lee and George could produce self-applying condoms for wizards, made from reinforced materials with built-in Contraception Charms, but eventually his inner monologue stopped and he lost himself in the experience.

'You're a credit to your sovereign,' she murmured afterwards. 'Assuming your Chicago story is true.'

'Of course it's true. It's much more plausible than the Lord Black story. That one has an escaped murderer, after all.''

'I know. But look at you ... you have mysterious scars and everything. How do you even get a scar shaped like that?' she asked, pushing back his fringe.

'Car accident,' he said automatically. 'When I was little.'

'Oh, you poor thing!' she exclaimed, wrapping him with her body and her free arm. 'That must have been a serious accident, to leave a scar like that.'

'It was,' he said. 'But it was ages ago, and I'm fine.'

'So you've had a normal life otherwise?' she asked. 'Except for the lordship of course?'

'Yes, perfectly normal,' he said, curling into her and allowing himself to believe it.


	40. Chapter 40

_Author's note:_

_This is a short chapter, and I posted an even shorter chapter to a brand-new story called _Loose Cannon: Omake Files. _The Omake chapter is juvenile and in very bad taste, and I am very proud of it._

-––—––—––-

Ryan had left his bedroom door open overnight, which meant Hermione heard the rush of flames in the fireplace when the _Daily Prophet_ was delivered. But she didn't jump out of bed to retrieve it. Ryan was still asleep, and she was enjoying lying next to him before reading the article that was sure to break her heart.

She'd known something was wrong during the match when Harry flew close to the ground for no apparent reason. Her attention had been divided between Harry and Ryan—primarily on Ryan. Seekers weren't very interesting to watch, after all, unless they were feinting or catching the Snitch. But she checked on Harry periodically and used the Omnioculars he'd bought her years earlier to confirm he looked all right.

And for most of the match he looked fine. She could see that Gilstrap was taunting him relentlessly, but Harry's new air of confidence never left him. In fact, she worried that other spectators using Omnioculars would decide Rita Skeeter had been right about his colossal ego.

But then she felt a shift, and when she spotted Harry he had inexplicably angled his broomstick downwards. _Does he want to land?_ she wondered. And the facial expression she saw through her Omnioculars was Harry at his most defiant—the way he'd looked during the most desperate moments of the war.

She grasped Annie's arm. 'Something's wrong with Harry,' she said, and moments later he seized Gilstrap and knocked him from his broom with a powerful-looking blow. Hermione couldn't hear what he was saying but she could see his fury, and she noticed Ryan's shocked expression as he pulled Harry from the ground.

'Potter, you're ejected! Five-minute penalty!' called the referee, his voice magically amplified, and the stands exploded with shocked speculation.

'What just happened?' asked Lucinda. 'Did Harry just punch the other Seeker?'

'Yes,' said Hermione, her Omnioculars on Harry as one of the reserve players flew him into the stands. 'Gilstrap must have taunted him too hard. I shudder to imagine what he must have said to set Harry off like that. He seemed fine until then.'

'Poor thing,' said Lucinda, 'getting verbally abused for hours, for sport.'

'I don't like it either, but apparently that's what league Quidditch is all about.'

They were interrupted by a wave of chatter from the other spectators. _'They treated him like shit,'_ someone said. _'Who?' _came another voice. _'His Muggle relations. Worked him like a house-elf. Made him sleep in a cupboard. And someone used to beat him up.'_

Suddenly Hermione heard the same phrases from all sides. _'Treated him like shit. Forced him to sleep in a cupboard. No wonder he never talks about them. Bloody Muggles!'_

She was numb with shock. _They made him sleep in a cupboard?_ she thought incredulously. _How long?_

'Those fucking Muggles forced him to sleep in a cupboard for years!' spat a nearby spectator. 'Someone needs to teach them a lesson.'

'No,' she cried. 'Please, no! Harry wouldn't want that, I'm sure of it.'

'What makes you an expert on what Potter wants?' snarled the spectator.

'She's Hermione Granger,' said several people around him, and the man backed down, but not before muttering something that included the word 'Mudblood.'

Another fan who was painted orange said, 'He's lost us the bloody match. Gilstrap still has three more minutes.'

'No,' said someone whose Omnioculars were pointed at the Magpies Seeker. 'It looks like he's just staring. I think he's stunned.'

'Damn right he's stunned,' said another Cannons fan. 'Potter punched the daylights out of him. Don't fuck with the kid who killed You-Know-Who.'

Hermione was looking at Harry and could see his dazed expression. Poor Harry ... this had to be his worst nightmare, to be exposed like this. Why hadn't he ever told her?

'Did you know he'd been abused that badly?' asked Annie, and Hermione shook her head.

'I knew they'd neglected him, and that they weren't affectionate, but I didn't know they were abusive. He never told us.' _Why not?_ she thought desperately.

As far as she could tell, nobody was even watching the match—they were all speculating about Harry, and people were trying to remember whether they'd heard his relations' surname.

'It might be Evans,' someone said. 'That was his mother's surname.'

'It wasn't Evans,' snapped Hermione. Heaven forbid they go after some poor family with a kid named Dudley Evans.

She was still watching Harry through her Omnioculars, and he suddenly started looking desperately around the stadium.

'I'm right here,' she shouted, standing up and waving her free arm. She raised her wand and shot sparks from it, but he didn't see her.

'Do you think he's looking for you?' asked Lucinda.

'Yes, he's almost certainly afraid of reprisals. We'll have to ward the house, at the very least.'

'Ryan can manage the wards, and you can get amulets as well,' said Walter, showing Hermione his wristwatch. 'Lucinda charmed mine, but it was fiddly work.'

'I'm certain Gringotts can do it in an instant,' said Lucinda. 'The only reason I did it myself is because I'm thrifty and stubborn.'

The referee blew his whistle, and all the Cannons fans roared as Owen entered the match.

'Go on, Barrowmaker!' cried a fan. 'Do it for Potter!'

Thirty seconds later the match was over, and the stands erupted again. Hermione was still watching Harry and saw him rise with a determined expression she recognised. He levelled his wand and Prongs leapt forth, prompting another round of shrieks.

The stag spoke with Harry's voice, which sounded remarkably ragged. 'Hermione, help me, I need to protect them. My relations.'

Everyone stared at her as she cast her own Patronus, and she sent a discreet message in reply.

Turning to Walter, Lucinda, and Annie, she said, 'I'm sorry, I need to go find him. Please, tell people to leave his relations alone.'

'Yes, of course,' said Lucinda.

Annie said, 'I'll escort you,' and she immediately pushed through the crowd shouting, 'Hermione Granger coming through ... make way!' A small part of Hermione was mortified but she appreciated Annie's quick thinking.

Soon she was standing by the goalposts, and when Harry arrived with Ryan she wrapped him in a hug. _Mercy, he's stiff as a board,_ she thought with alarm. He seemed completely lost, so she began issuing orders. _Hopefully a hot shower will calm him down._

They went up to the locker room and Harry took his time showering, which gave Ryan a few minutes to fill her in. 'He was like a coiled panther when I pulled him off Gilstrap. I admire his restraint for punching him only once, given how angry he was. I'm not certain I could have fought him if he'd turned on me—thank goodness he didn't pull out his wand.'

'He's not violent by nature, so he must really have been provoked,' said Hermione. 'Can you help with the wards? I can do them myself if necessary, but you probably have more experience warding Muggle houses than I do. I've only done my parents' house a few times, and with a book in front of me.'

'Yes, I can do them in my sleep.'

'I'm so glad you're here,' she said, hugging him. 'I love how steady you are ... Annie said you were solid as the earth, and she's right.'

'My mother would probably call me an enormous block of granite, so that's an improvement.'

Harry emerged looking somewhat more settled, but he still seemed terribly small—it was all Hermione could do not to hug him again. Once they'd worked out a plan, the two of them Apparated to the house she'd seen only once before.

His aunt opened the door and reluctantly admitted them. _So this is Aunt Petunia,_ she thought. Harry looked nothing like her, except for his slim build, and in spite of her anger Hermione felt compassion. _Her sister was so pretty, and a witch besides. No wonder Petunia turned out bitter._

Hermione returned to the stadium to collect Ryan, and when they came back he began evaluating the existing wards. Normally she would have liked to assist or at least watch, but this was probably her only chance to see the Dursleys up close, and she wanted to protect Harry as well.

He wasn't timid around them, but Hermione thought he was more polite than they deserved. It was as if he knew he could destroy them, even without his wand, but was unwilling to do it. She wanted to scream, _'Your nephew is probably the most popular wizard alive! He's David Beckham, Winston Churchill, and Prince William rolled into one!'_ But she mostly kept her mouth shut, except for when his purple-faced git of an uncle accused Harry of trying to steal his wristwatch—then she let him have it.

After Harry left for Gringotts she joined Ryan, ostensibly to help with the wards. But he was remarkably adept, and she was torn between pride in her boyfriend's ability and irritation that he knew more than she did.

Hermione also kept her distance from the Dursleys, in spite of Dudley's attempts to chat her up. She didn't trust herself not to lecture them, or even hex them for good measure. _No wonder Harry's concerned about revenge-seekers ... I'm tempted to retaliate myself._

She felt sick walking through the house, knowing how miserable Harry had been there. _This was his Azkaban,_ she thought, and she felt his disappointment that Sirius had never rescued him from it.

When Harry returned she barked at the Dursleys again. 'Where's the cupboard?'

'Hermione, no,' said Harry. 'That's not important.'

'Yes it is,' she snapped. 'Show me the cupboard.'

Poor Harry looked embarrassed as he led her there, as if it had been his fault somehow. She looked inside and was shocked by how cramped it was. _I doubt he could have stood up in here past the age of eight or nine,_ she thought angrily.

And then there was his aunt's statement about his eyes, and that Harry had changed. He was quicker than she was to realise the Dursleys had been affected by the Horcrux. _Poor Harry!_ she thought again, and she wondered if his teachers and classmates had been similarly affected. Her mind reeled with the implications.

They returned to Grimmauld Place, and Hermione hoped he'd finally let down his guard. But he didn't, and she realised that Ryan's presence might be an impediment. And yet Harry was the same after Ryan left—he only accepted her help with practical matters, like sending a statement to the _Prophet_. _Why doesn't he trust me?_ she thought with dismay.

She decided he didn't want to talk about it at all, which she could understand—she knew it had taken years for Ryan to talk about being raped. But then Harry said he wanted to talk to Owen, which hurt her to the core. It wasn't deliberate, of course, but she felt awful, particularly after everything she and Harry had been through together.

She went to Ryan's flat to wait for him, and after he finished his warding they spent the evening together. He proposed going out to the cinema or a restaurant, but Hermione insisted on staying home in case Harry sent Kreacher or Prongs. But he never did.

That morning as she lay next to Ryan, putting off reading Rita Skeeter's article, Hermione realised she'd never felt so separate from Harry. He'd been remote during those horrible months with the locket Horcrux, and she'd been the same. But this felt different, and worse somehow. Even during the Horcrux months she'd felt like he was a part of her, and presumably vice versa, but now she felt cut off. She knew not to take it personally, and she didn't. But the isolation hurt, and even Ryan's warm presence couldn't make up for it.

She finally rose from the bed, and her movement woke Ryan. 'Are you getting up now?' he asked.

'Yes, the _Prophet_ arrived a while ago and I can't postpone reading it any longer.'

'Should we read it together?' he asked, and she nodded.

They sat together at the small kitchen table, and her heart sank when she read the headline:

'_The Boy Who Was Abused: Harry Potter's Secret Tragedy.'_

There weren't any current photographs of the Dursleys, thank heaven, but Rita Skeeter had unearthed numerous primary school photographs of Harry, which were all the more haunting for their Muggle stillness. One class picture included Dudley, seven years old and already overweight, and Hermione could almost see Harry cowering.

The article included excerpts from his school evaluations. _'Harry is a shy and withdrawn child who interacts very seldom with his peers. He performs well on individual tasks but avoids group activities. Harry is reluctant to make eye contact with others, and his classmates largely ignore him.'_

More than one teacher recognised the signs of abuse. _'Harry avoids his cousin Dudley whenever possible, and he flinches noticeably when Dudley and his mates approach. I've tried to keep them apart within the classroom, but there's no way to protect him at other times, and certainly not at home. Recommend evaluation by social worker and possible intervention.'_

And yet nothing came of it, nor of similar recommendations. Hermione was shocked to find herself agreeing with Rita Skeeter's interpretation. _'Every one of the evaluations ordered by Harry's teachers was quashed for reasons unknown. Although an inept Muggle bureaucracy might be to blame, it is far more likely that a wizard interfered—namely Albus Dumbledore.'_

She went on: _'We can only speculate as to why Dumbledore insisted on subjecting young Harry to years of neglect and abuse. Was it to prevent the rise of a wizard whose power might someday rival his own? After all, when Harry survived his first Killing Curse, all of magical Britain wondered what strange and terrible power he might have. And we are left to wonder how much more powerful Harry might have been had he been nurtured as a child and not suppressed._

'_Or was Dumbledore motivated by the prophecy regarding Harry? Perhaps he thought it necessary for Harry's childhood to resemble that of his nemesis, He Who Must Not Be Named. Although the notorious Dark wizard was raised in a Muggle orphanage rather than with abusive relations, perhaps orphanages were under stricter oversight by the 1980s, in which case Harry could more reliably be mistreated at home.'_

The article continued for pages in exhaustive detail, punctuated liberally with photographs of Harry. One pair of photos juxtaposed Harry's 1990 class picture with a new photograph taken during his date with the model. In the class picture, Harry stood amongst the smallest students in the front row, wearing a shapeless school uniform that was far too big for him. By contrast, in the new photograph he wore sleek robes that fit him to perfection.

Rita wrote, _'The mystery of Harry's new robes is hereby solved: He clearly wishes to erase the memories of wearing his cousin's enormous cast-offs. And who can blame him, having endured the scorn of both classmates and neighbours for dressing so poorly, even though the Dursleys were relatively well off. This raises the question, however, of why Petunia Dursley thought it acceptable to clothe him thus. Did it not reflect as badly on her as it did upon the orphan entrusted to her care?'_

Hermione nodded in agreement. _That's a damn good question, Rita_, she thought with grudging respect. Was the Horcrux to blame? Or was Petunia really that petty? Hermione supposed they'd never know the answer.

Much was made of the now-famous cupboard under the stairs. The _Prophet_ ran a photograph of the emptied cupboard, to which an artist had added the outlines of a thin mattress and a small boy curled on top. Rita even shared a clipped illustration she'd found in the depths of the cupboard, depicting an armour-clad knight raising his sword against a fire-breathing dragon.

By the time Hermione had finished reading, she'd splattered the newsprint with tears. There were so many awful details: Harry-hunting; being fed through a cat-flap; St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. And above all, the depiction of an achingly lonely child.

Even Rita expressed compassion, albeit laced with a few barbs. _'We must pause to appreciate the noble young man who miraculously emerged from such an environment. He could easily have turned out as Dark as the wizard he defeated, but instead he is the standard-bearer for the Light. Perhaps we can forgive his current excesses, whether in appetites or behaviour, in view of his tragic past.'_

'Oh Ryan,' sighed Hermione. 'I can't believe I never knew, and that I never thought to ask. I only knew he'd been neglected and unloved. Why didn't I do anything back then? I could have asked my parents to help, but I never did a thing.'

He tightened his arm around her and said, 'You mustn't blame yourself, and I know you did a lot for him. Didn't you say you sent him food when his cousin was on a diet?'

'Yes, but that makes me feel worse. If I knew they were capable of starving him, surely I should have deduced the rest.'

'Hermione, you can't pull confidences from someone who isn't ready to share them. I'm certain Annie figured out something was wrong with me after the Love Potion incident, but I did my best to hide it from her. Amongst other things I didn't want to burden her with it.'

'You're right. Harry clearly had his own reasons not to confide in Ron or me. But I only wish he had done, so we could have stopped things earlier.'

Ryan shook his head. 'I understand completely why he didn't. Talking about it would have made it real, in all its egregiousness. Most of the damage was already done before he went to Hogwarts—by the time you met him, he probably just wanted to grit his teeth and get through the summers without calling further attention to himself.'

'I suppose you're right, but ugh! I could curse Dumbledore for putting him through that!'

'He's lucky you never got the chance ... I suspect you'd have come out the winner, Elder Wand or not.'

She chuckled in spite of herself. 'Fawkes probably would have switched sides mid-battle.' At Ryan's puzzled expression she added, 'Dumbledore's phoenix.'

'My beautiful warrior,' he said affectionately. 'Will you accompany me to football practice this morning, so I can introduce you to my friends?'

'Yes, it's clear Harry doesn't need me right now. At least he has Owen,' she added, with only a little sadness.

'He'll need you soon enough,' Ryan reassured her. 'He sent you his Patronus the second the match ended after all. Clearly you're the one he relies on the most.'

She nodded gratefully, and Ryan prepared their breakfast. After eating, Hermione borrowed Ryan's owl to send Harry a short letter of support:

_Dear Harry,_

_I thought I already knew how brave and strong you are, but now it's more apparent than ever. I'm sorry your privacy has been so thoroughly breached. Please let me know if there's any other way I can help._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

When she returned from the roof where Ryan's owl roosted, Hermione found Ryan looking at a long parchment and frowning.

'What's wrong?' she asked. 'What are you reading?'

'For lack of a better term, this is a log file showing all the attacks on the wards we installed yesterday.'

'A log file?'

'That's a computing term, referring to a file that records events as they occur. I've charmed this parchment to list any attacks on the wards I created.'

Hermione was impressed by the magic involved and wanted to ask how he'd done it, but that wasn't her most pressing question. 'How many have there been? When did they start?'

'They started last night, just after sunset. There seem to have been nine separate incidents so far, with two in the last hour.'

'Nine incidents! Even though they announced on the radio that Harry didn't want reprisals, and the _Prophet_ ran Harry's statement this morning?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'Did the wards hold at least?'

'Yes, perfectly.' He reviewed the parchment and said, 'Mostly it was attempts at vandalism, but there were a few violent attacks, and several attempts to enter the house.'

Hermione sighed. 'I can't believe that anyone who admires Harry enough to avenge him would think he'd approve of violence.' She looked at the parchment and asked, 'Do you have any way of identifying who did it?'

'Not really. I could probably return to the house and detect magical signatures, but I'd need to know who I was looking for.'

Several more attacks appeared on the parchment over the next hour, but Ryan's remote monitoring confirmed that the wards remained at full strength. They therefore felt confident to attend his football practice, which was on a pitch belonging to one of the colleges.

As they approached, Ryan was greeted with a loud shout. 'Behold, it's the Bellamy!'

'Hi, Liam!' called Ryan.

'And who's this?' asked Liam. 'It can't possibly be ...'

'Yes, this is Hermione,' said Ryan. 'She exists.'

'I'll be damned!' exclaimed Liam. 'You're real, right?' he asked her.

'Yes, I'm real,' she said, holding out her hand. 'It's a pleasure to meet you.'

Several other young men approached and introduced themselves. 'We had a wager going,' said Jamie, 'about whether Ryan was going to turn up with another excuse or not, and which one he'd use.'

'Oh? What are some of your favourites?'

'Let's see,' said Liam. 'There's the standard "She couldn't make it." And then there was a girl who was downright religious about attending church on Sundays.'

'Don't forget the girl who didn't care for sports,' added Nick. 'As if she and Ryan would have anything in common.'

'She liked music!' protested Ryan.

'A likely story,' said Liam. 'And finally there was the one who lived in Aberdeen and never seemed to visit when we got together.'

'Aberdeen?' asked Hermione. 'That's awfully inconvenient.'

'We met at university,' explained Ryan. 'She was only able to visit once that summer.'

'Whatever you say, Bellamy,' said Jamie. 'But Hermione, what's your story? How is it you're not otherwise engaged this fine morning. Don't tell me you ... spent the night!'

'Jamie!' said Ryan. 'That's none of your business.'

Hermione laughed and said, 'It's not, but he's found us out. Ryan made breakfast and everything.'

'Do you also take a half dozen eggs every morning, Hermione?' asked Liam.

'That was one time!' said Ryan. 'And I'd played football for hours, on an empty stomach.'

'Yes, but there was also sausage, and quite a lot of potatoes,' said Liam. 'And about a quart of salsa.'

'I know,' said Hermione. 'I don't know where he puts it.'

'Oh, I'll bet you know where he puts it,' smirked Jamie, and she couldn't help laughing again.

She turned to Ryan and said, 'I can see why your other girlfriends stayed away.'

'I know, we're awful,' said Liam. 'Completely filthy. But it's mutually-assured destruction, because we all knew each other as adolescents.'

'How long have you been playing together?' asked Hermione.

'Ever since primary school,' said Nick. 'Our mums signed us up for as many afternoons as they could, mostly to get us out of the house.'

'How many of our younger siblings do you suppose can be attributed to Cambridge City Youth Football Club?' mused Jamie.

'At least four,' replied Liam. 'And probably thousands of near misses. So Hermione, how did you meet our friend Ryan? Surely not at that crypt where he works.'

'No, I'm still a student. I'll be starting my second year at Tufton.' She and Ryan had picked out one of the newer colleges, which none of his mates were affiliated with.

'Brilliant, so we'll see more of you this autumn. And do you live nearby as well?'

'Not very close, but my parents approve of Ryan for some reason so they don't mind my visiting.'

'Parents love Bellamy,' said Jamie. 'It's his superpower—he so clean-cut.'

More of the players had arrived and introduced themselves, and soon they began to play. Hermione knew little about football, having avoided it as much as possible during primary school. But apparently Ryan was a second striker, which meant he was heavily involved in the offence. It seemed analogous to playing Chaser, and he was clearly good at it.

Watching him, she could see why Lucinda scorned Quidditch for being too sedentary. Hermione could easily imagine flying on a broomstick for an hour or more, particularly since Ryan had given her lessons, but she knew she'd be knackered after a quarter hour of running up and down a pitch. But perhaps she'd improve, now that he'd shown her around the machines at the leisure centre near her parents' house— she'd already been there twice on her own.

_No wonder all the girls at Widgington were mad for him,_ she thought. _I probably would have been as well, particularly given his Charms ability._ She supposed he'd been his school's version of Cedric Diggory, and she felt relief that Widgington had been excluded from the Triwizard Tournament. Ryan would have been an obvious choice for school champion.

Oddly, she'd never had a crush on Cedric. She hadn't seen the point, since there was no chance he'd choose her over all his other admirers. Nobody was surprised when he asked Cho Chang to the Yule Ball, since she was considered one of the prettiest girls in school—though she was apparently disappointed Harry hadn't invited her first.

And yet Viktor Krum had invited Hermione to the Yule Ball, even though he had his own flock of admirers. She'd been astonished when he asked her, and her first instinct was to assume it was a cruel joke, like the valentine she'd received from Errol Reddington. But he was very earnest, and she knew her appearance had improved after Madam Pomfrey had fixed her teeth, so she accepted him.

Many people expressed shock that Viktor had invited her, and just last week Rita Skeeter—disguised as Sally-Ann Perks—had marvelled at how a mousy little bookworm like Hermione Granger had snagged two Quidditch stars. And she herself was more shocked than anyone. Ron had always seemed like a more realistic match, in spite of the now-obvious ways they weren't suited to each other.

She shook her head in amazement, and her charmed ringlets moved as well. _The Cedric Diggory of Widgington fancies me!_ she thought delightedly. She didn't want to insult Ryan by comparing him to Errol Reddington, but her old wounded pride relished her triumph. _Take that, bullies!_

The football game continued for more than an hour, and unlike at Cannons matches, Ryan was able to see her cheering in the stands. He smiled at her, causing her to melt from head to toe, and she wondered if that might be the day she tried entering the shower with him. She hadn't attempted it yet, knowing that a shower had played a major role in his Love Potion experience.

He certainly needed a shower after playing. 'Ryan, I hate to say it, but I think your mother's right about football being more strenuous than ... that other sport.'

'I know. It's far more strenuous, but I'll never give her the satisfaction of hearing me say it.'

She kissed him in spite of his drenched state, and some of his teammates hooted. 'Now that's what we came for!' cried Nick.

'Better late than never,' added Jamie. 'Poor Ryan ... he was a late bloomer.'

'We didn't think he'd crack five feet, Hermione. But he finally had a growth spurt last year,' said Liam.

Ryan was actually blushing, which prompted Hermione to kiss him even harder. 'Into the shower with you, Bellamy,' she murmured.

'Don't let us keep you,' said Liam. 'We've been trying for years to corrupt him ... if we hadn't seen him in the locker room we'd have wondered whether he was equipped.'

'Are you kidding?' asked Nick. 'As I recall, he was rather fond of those magazines we used to pass around.'

'Come on, Hermione, let's go,' said Ryan, tugging her hand. 'They won't be satisfied until they reveal all my most embarrassing secrets.'

'Like that time you got a stiffy when the Under 14 girls team arrived on the pitch?'

'I was twelve!' protested Ryan, and Hermione laughed and dragged him away.

'It's been lovely meeting you!' she cried as they scurried off, and they ducked into the nearest alley they could find. They Apparated to his flat, and she eagerly peeled his jersey off him.

'Hermione, I'm disgusting ... I really need a shower first.'

'Can't I join you?' she asked, looking at him affectionately.

She felt him tense, but he relaxed under her loving gaze. 'All right. But I can't make any promises ... I haven't showered with another person since ...'

'Yes, I know. But I love you and you'll be safe.' She gasped to hear herself say it.

'Oh, Hermione ... I love you too. I've been desperate to tell you, but I didn't want to scare you away.'

She kissed him tenderly, but their need quickly became urgent and he began pulling off her clothes. They made their way into the shower, and together they created new memories.

Lying in his bed afterwards, Hermione felt a closeness she'd never previously experienced, not even with Ron. _I've given myself to him completely,_ she thought. She'd loved Ron, but this was entirely different. Ryan possessed all of her—and vice versa—and she never wanted to let go.


	41. Chapter 41

When Harry awoke at dawn on Penelope's horrible futon, he was tempted to sneak into the toilet and Apparate home. Penelope was lovely, but he was running out of safe conversation topics. Admittedly he'd achieved his goal, but he'd prefer not to be outed as a liar.

He ran his thumb over his scarred hand. _I must not tell lies. _It was fortunate Penelope hadn't noticed it—he'd have to glamour it the next time he went Muggling. _And rent a bloody hotel room,_ he thought. _Her futon is even worse than the bed in the tent._

At the same time, he was in no hurry to go home and face reality. The _Prophet_ would arrive soon, followed immediately by a flood of owls and letters from his friends. He had no idea how to spend the day; perhaps he should embrace his Lord Black story and take Penelope shopping and then shag her brains out at a posh hotel. But he didn't have much Muggle currency on him, and he couldn't just pop into Gringotts while she drank a shandy in the Leaky Cauldron.

_No, I need to read the bloody article,_ he thought glumly. It was better to fully digest it so he'd be ready for practice on Monday, when he'd have to explain to Tuttle why he'd lost his temper and punched Gilstrap.

But he couldn't just sneak home before Penelope woke up. _I might be a liar, but I'm not an arsehole, _he thought. For a while he tried falling back asleep, but it was to no avail and he was getting hungry. He supposed he could look in the kitchen, but he didn't want to risk encountering Lionel, or anyone else.

_Perhaps I could summon Kreacher,_ he mused. _No, he Apparates too loudly—and so do I for that matter._ But Kreacher could send food, which would arrive silently.

A frightful realisation hit him. _I never warned Kreacher I wasn't coming home!_ The last time Harry had failed to return was during the war, after they'd taken the locket from Umbridge, and they didn't return for months.

_Kreacher!_ he called silently. _I'm so sorry—I never told you I wasn't coming home last night._

Harry felt a distinctly miserable new presence in his mind. _Master has abandoned Kreacher! Kreacher is all alone! Woe, woe is Kreacher!_

_No, I'll be home soon! _replied Harry soothingly through their mind link. _I'd never leave you, Kreacher—not if I could help it._

_Really? Master is coming home?_

_Not this minute—I'm currently detained. But I'll be home later this morning. Could you do me a favour, though?_

_Kreacher would be overjoyed to serve Master! Kreacher was afraid he'd never have the privilege of serving Master again._

Harry wordlessly told Kreacher he needed something to eat, but that it was to be delivered discreetly to a Muggle setting. Kreacher promised to send over a breakfast sandwich in five minutes, which Harry could eat unobserved.

Ten minutes later Harry returned to Penelope's room after hastily eating his sandwich in the hall toilet. Sunlight was streaming into the bedroom, and Penelope had begun to stir. 'Hey you,' she murmured.

He removed the clothes he'd worn for his bathroom visit and lowered himself back onto the futon. 'Good morning, sleepyhead.'

'Aren't you up early!' she said. 'You're doomed when you get back to America.'

'Why am I doomed?'

'Jet lag, silly. Assuming you're actually returning to America and not just to your infested townhouse.'

'It's not infested—I just had it fumigated.'

She pulled him into an embrace, and a short while later she said, 'You're an absolute devil, do you know that?'

'Yes, I've been told.'

'You must be the despair of your parents,' she said, running her hand through his hair.

'On the contrary ... they're quite proud of me.'

'For representing England so admirably abroad? I suppose they did you an enormous favour moving you there. Your American rivals must loathe you.'

_No, Gilstrap's English too,_ he thought sadly. Changing the subject, he said, 'I'm certain you've broken some hearts in Sheffield.'

'I'm hardly qualified to say,' she said, rising from the bed and donning a dressing gown. 'I'll only be a moment ... hold your horses.'

Harry did a better job with the condom the second time around, but he would demand that Lee and George develop a magical version. Would it be inappropriate to suggest it on their radio programme?

When they lay together afterwards, Penelope said, 'You know you talk in your sleep.'

'Did I say anything incriminating?'

'You mean did your castle of lies come tumbling down? No, just more mysteries. Something about three dead fathers, and there was a strange word ... horcox? No, that sounds obscene.' He tensed and she said, 'Horcrux, that was it. What does that mean?'

'I've no idea,' he lied.

'Then why is your heart racing?'

'Because I'm in bed next to you.' He tried kissing her to end the conversation, but she pulled away.

'Nice try, Lord Black. I thought your father was alive.' She was being playful, but to Harry it felt like an accusation.

'My godfather's dead.'

'Yes, but there's two more,' she replied saucily, but her face fell when she saw his expression. 'Oh no, I'm sorry. I was only joking—I didn't mean to touch a nerve.'

'It's all right,' he said, wishing he could tell her everything. Merlin, he hated lying!

'Was it the car accident?'

He nodded. 'My mum too.'

'Oh my god, this is the truth—I can tell. What about America?'

'I've never been there. I've never left Britain.'

'And the townhouse?'

'It's not being fumigated, but I can't take you there. And please stop asking questions, because I'm not allowed to answer them—I've said too much already.'

She was silent for a minute. 'What can you tell me?'

'I grew up in Surrey. My aunt and uncle ... neglected me ... they abused me. My cousin too—he used to beat me up.'

'Didn't you have any other relations?'

'No, none at all.'

'What about the authorities? Shouldn't they have noticed something?'

'They did, but it never went anywhere. And I escaped to boarding school when I was eleven, so it was only summers after that.'

'Where was your school?'

'In Scotland—you wouldn't have heard of it.'

'Do you attend university now?'

'I can't answer that.'

'Are you in danger?'

'Not anymore,' he said. 'But I was for a long time.'

Penelope kissed him and said, 'You're a terrible liar, you know. You should at least research Chicago before claiming you live there.'

'I'll do that next time. Maybe I'll even visit one day.'

'Too bad you won't see Michael Jordan play,' she said.

'Yes, I understand he retired. What sport did he play?'

'That's a complicated question, but the short answer is basketball.'

'Oh right, him! Yes, I know who that is.'

She laughed. 'If I were sensible I'd kick you out and ring the police. You're probably a cat burglar ... my stepfather has a hunting rifle, you know.'

'Yes, I already stole the silver. I brought it to my fence before dawn.'

'Nice try, but we haven't any silver.'

'Not anymore,' said Harry, and she laughed again.

'Is that how you pay for clothing and taxicabs? Stealing?'

'No, I'm not a thief,' he said. _Except for that time I robbed a bank._

'So you did inherit from your dead fathers.'

'Two of them. One was broke.' He turned towards her and lifted himself onto one elbow. 'I can't take you home, and I can't see you after tonight. But I'd love to spoil you today, and then shag you in a proper bed somewhere. What's a good hotel?'

'Claridge's,' she said, still laughing. 'Are you serious?'

'Deadly serious. Do they take cash?'

'Cash? Are you certain you're not a criminal?'

_I had a ten-thousand Galleon price on my head,_ came a voice. 'I promise, I'm not a criminal.'

'And you didn't inherit from criminals?'

'My godfather was exonerated. But you won't read about it anywhere.'

She sat up and said, 'You're seriously proposing we spend a mad day together and then spend the night at Claridge's?'

'Yes. I just need a couple of hours at home and then I'll meet you wherever you like.'

'How about Harrods at noon? We can meet in the food halls, near the chocolates.'

'That sounds perfect,' he said, kissing her. 'I can't answer your questions, but by god I can give you a wonderful day.'

They used her telephone to reserve a room at Claridge's, with the requirement that he arrive with cash before noon, since he didn't have a credit card or identification. 'All right,' he said, buttoning his shirt. 'I'll see you at noon—I promise.'

'I'm counting on it,' she replied, and she kissed him once more before escorting him to the front door. He walked outside and ducked into an alley to Apparate home.

When he arrived he was promptly greeted by Kreacher, who burst into tears and threw his arms around Harry's legs. 'Kreacher was afraid Master would never return.'

Harry patted the weeping elf on the head and said, 'I'm so sorry, Kreacher—it won't happen again.' He felt the elf nod in relief before letting go.

'More letters arrived for Master. Would Master like to read them?'

'No, just the _Prophet_. In the bedroom please, with some cut-up fruit and a scone.'

'Yes, Master!' replied Kreacher, hastening to the kitchen.

Harry climbed the stairs and passed Padfoot, who was playing tug of war with a dog Harry had never seen before—a very fluffy lapdog with its hair tied in a small ribbon at the top of its head. They seemed to be tugging on a newspaper, which made Harry smile.

When he reached his bedroom he took a long shower and then changed into another smart Muggle outfit, suitable for his day and night on the town. It had been weeks since he'd worn the shirt Ginny had selected, which was now hidden behind his new robes.

A gong sounded and his breakfast appeared on the small table. He sat down and, taking a deep breath, he began reading Rita's article. It was longer than what he'd read a year earlier, and she hadn't previously shown him the photographs. _Merlin, I was so small!_

Harry became emotional when he saw the illustration of the knight and the dragon. It had been on the cover of a discarded magazine he'd found in a bin near school, and he'd carefully torn it off and hidden it inside his voluminous sleeve. He'd spent countless hours imagining different scenarios around it—in some versions he was the knight fighting the dragon, and in other versions the knight had come to rescue him from the dragon, who was holding him captive.

He supposed both versions had come true, at least in part. During the Triwizard Tournament he'd fought a Hungarian Horntail, although with his broomstick and not a sword. As for the version where he'd been rescued, it was Hagrid who'd freed him from Privet Drive, without any need for armour.

It was impossible to contemplate that all of wizarding Britain was reading about his childhood that morning. Rita hadn't omitted a single detail, and for once she hadn't made anything up. He didn't know what he'd say to his teammates the next day, or how he'd even look them in the eye.

'_Harry is reluctant to make eye contact with others, and his classmates largely ignore him.' _Had he instinctively avoided eye contact because of people's reactions to the Horcrux? None of his teachers reported being frightened of him, but maybe they were too inherently kind to be affected by Voldemort's soul fragment.

Kreacher sent up a basket containing even more letters, including one from Gringotts reporting that there had only been one attack so far—on Dudley outside the cinema—and that it had been discreetly repelled. There was also a letter from Hermione, which he reluctantly read.

He felt bad about pushing her away the previous afternoon, but he couldn't bear her intrusive sympathy. It had been hard enough when she'd insisted on seeing the cupboard, even though she'd obviously meant well.

After reading the article, Harry lay down on his blessedly comfortable bed and asked himself, _Why is it so awful that people know? _The answer came quickly: _Because I was powerless._ He wasn't raised by immortal warlocks—he was raised by shitty relations who'd abused him, and Dumbledore had allowed it to happen.

Harry had to admire Rita's analysis, particularly her theory that Dumbledore had attempted to replicate Voldemort's own dismal childhood. The prophecy had nothing to do with it, of course—Harry had already been marked as an equal. But there were things Harry had understood better about Voldemort for having suffered as a child. He understood Voldemort's feelings towards Hogwarts, and why Gringotts would have appealed to someone who'd felt like an outsider.

He thought about Rita's final pronouncement: _'We must pause to appreciate the noble young man who miraculously emerged from such an environment. He could easily have turned out as Dark as the wizard he defeated, but instead he is the standard-bearer for the Light.' _

_Why didn't I turn out Dark?_ Harry wondered. Not only did he grow up unloved, he'd also toted around a piece of Voldemort's soul. But the answer was obvious: his mother's protection. Voldemort might have borrowed it when he took Harry's blood, but he didn't take it away. Lily Potter's sacrifice flowed through his veins and had kept him from turning Dark.

_So it wasn't me,_ he thought sadly. _It was all her._ But he knew that wasn't true either. It was both of them, and neither of them. Furthermore, it was her sacrifice that killed Quirrell, the man he'd literally killed with his bare hands at the age of eleven.

'_Are you certain you're not a criminal?'_ Penelope had asked. _No_, thought Harry. _But_ _I've killed. I've tortured. I punched someone just yesterday, but he was a dick who deserved it._

And yet he'd also cast a Patronus for a pair of little girls and played with them as if he were whole and not irretrievably damaged. He knew in his bones that he'd be able to give parental love when the time came, even though he hadn't received any after his parents died.

_Hang on, that's not true. I had Sirius. And Remus, for that matter._ He'd had three sources of paternal love, and that wasn't even counting Arthur Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody and everyone else who'd looked out for him. Or Dumbledore, for that matter, or even Snape. As much as Harry hated to admit it, Snape had sacrificed everything to keep him alive, just as his mother had done. It wasn't out of love for Harry, certainly, but it was from love nonetheless.

Alistair had asked him, _'How do you honour your three fathers?'_ Harry couldn't very well take all three of their names—Potter-Lupin-Black definitely wouldn't fit on his Quidditch robes. And Teddy would carry on Remus's legacy better than he could.

Harry seldom saw his godson Teddy, and he realised he'd been remiss in providing continuity between Remus and his son. Admittedly babies were boring, but Teddy was more entertaining than most, with his Metamorphmagus ability. Harry wondered when he'd be old enough to take flying.

He still had an hour before he needed to leave, so he started reading the letters people had sent him. As he opened successive envelopes, he felt less and less shame that yet another person knew he'd been mistreated. It wasn't his fault, after all. He wrote replies to some of them—it would take too long to respond to everyone—and sent them off with Lysander.

When it was time to go to Gringotts, he decided to travel by way of the Leaky Cauldron. Apparating to Diagon Alley was a risky proposition midday, in case of collisions—he'd done it the day before in his panic, but for some reason he didn't fear visibility that morning.

He stepped out of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron and within seconds all conversation stopped. But instead of dashing out the door, he said, 'Don't hurt them. That's all I ask. I could have hurt them myself if I'd wanted, and I didn't.'

There was a silence, and then a grey-haired witch said, 'You're a good lad, Harry.' Some of the other bar patrons nodded. 'And don't let anyone talk you out of wearing robes,' she added.

'Yeah,' said another witch. 'Why aren't you wearing them now?'

He smiled and said, 'I have a date with a Muggle,' before slipping out the back door.

It was only a short walk to Gringotts, and he was promptly greeted by a goblin. 'How may I help you, Mr Potter?'

'I'd like to withdraw some Muggle currency.'

'Yes, of course,' said the goblin, leading him to the counter. 'Are you satisfied with the charmed jewellery we provided yesterday?'

'I am, thank you. Actually, that gives me an idea ... would it be possible to add a charm to the family ring I'm stuck wearing?' He indicated the invisible ring on his left middle finger.

'What sort of charm?' asked the goblin.

'A glamour to hide the scar on my other hand. It's a souvenir from Dolores Umbridge that I'd just as soon forget.'

The goblin examined Harry's scar and said, 'Yes, it's very faint. That won't require strong magic to conceal. If you complete your withdrawal at the counter, I can find someone to charm your ring.'

Harry went to the counter and withdrew the highest amount of Muggle currency he could imagine needing that day, plus another twenty-five percent for good measure. An image flashed in his mind of the scrawny waif wearing Dudley's oversized school uniform, and Harry imagined how shocked he'd have been to see his future self tucking so much money into his wallet. _It's less than I earned from the Cannons last week, _he thought incredulously_. And Merlin strike me down if I ever cease to be grateful._

Another goblin met him at the counter and led him to a small office, where Harry revealed the ring. 'It's not possible to make the ring less gaudy, is it? For future generations, you know.'

'I'm afraid not, Mr Potter. It's a very old ring, and altering its form would very likely destroy it.'

'Tempting ...' said Harry, but he dismissed the idea. 'Incidentally, I'm unable to remove the ring myself, but it's been suggested that a goblin could do it for me. Is that right?'

'Yes, I can remove it if you like. But removing it would signal that you're rejecting your claim as head of House Black, and you almost certainly wouldn't be able to put it back on.'

'Oh dear, I can't do that.' He sighed and added, 'I guess I'm stuck with it—thank goodness I can conceal it.'

The goblin performed magic over the ring, and Harry was thrilled to see his scar disappear. _I wonder if it would work on my other scar,_ he thought idly, but he knew he'd never hide the scar on his forehead. It had become his emblem, and over time it reminded him less of Voldemort and more of the life he'd created since the war.

After leaving Gringotts, he stopped at the newsagent's opposite and purchased an updated guidebook to UK Apparition points. He seemed to be travelling more in the Muggle world, and it would help to know where he could safely appear. Everyone at the newsagent's gaped when he entered—they'd clearly been talking about Rita's article—and after completing his purchase Harry repeated what he'd said at the Leaky Cauldron.

'Why not hurt them?' asked a surly-looking teenage wizard. 'After everything they did to you?'

'Because there's been enough violence in my life,' said Harry. 'It won't end until we end it.'

'But they're just Muggles,' said the teenager, which caused some of the other customers to whisper.

'My mother's parents were Muggles. I'm about to go on a date with a Muggle. We're all humans, for heaven's sake. Have you ever met any Muggles?'

'No.'

'Maybe you should. Not all of them are good—my aunt and uncle certainly aren't—but there are plenty of wonderful Muggles, same as with wizards.'

'Could you autograph my newspaper?' asked a witch.

Harry looked at her with disbelief. 'Are you really asking me to sign an article about how I was abused? I'm a human too, you know.' The witch turned red, and he added, 'I'm sorry, I have to run. If you want an autograph you can owl me in care of the Cannons.'

She nodded, tears forming in her eyes, and he left. _Ugh, I was doing fine and then this happens_. He walked to his preferred alcove near Gringotts and consulted the guidebook for the Apparition point closest to Claridge's, and moments later he was there.

He took a deep breath of the polluted air and smiled. _Ah, the smell of Muggle London. Sweet anonymity._ Here he was just another nineteen year-old, albeit an unusually well-dressed one who was about to pay cash for a room at Claridge's.

When he entered the hotel, Harry's heart rate spiked. _Sweet Merlin, it's a well-lit version of Malfoy Manor! _There were even chandeliers resembling the one Dobby had downed, allowing their escape. Harry had to breathe deeply for a minute and expand into awareness to feel comfortable again.

There were no challenges paying for his room, which would be ready in several hours. The clerk didn't seem surprised to see someone Harry's age paying for a room in cash. _I suppose they're accustomed to rich tossers with dubious credentials. He probably thinks I'm connected to the Russian mob._

'Is there anything our concierge can arrange for your stay, Mr Black?' asked the clerk. 'Dinner reservations or theatre tickets, for example?'

'Er, dinner reservations would be nice. Somewhere romantic.'

The clerk glanced at Harry's outfit. 'You'll need a jacket and tie, sir.'

'That can be arranged,' said Harry. 'My next stop is Harrods.'

'Very good, sir. Alternatively, we're a short walk from Savile Row, if you'd prefer something more distinctive.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Would I be able to buy something off the peg, or would it need to be tailored?'

'They can sell you something for tonight, and you can bring it back for alterations.'

After the clerk took down his restaurant preferences, Harry exited and ducked into a nearby alley, from which he Apparated to a discreet spot near Harrods. He had a few minutes to explore before meeting Penelope, which was fortunate, since she'd probably have laughed at his goggle-eyed astonishment.

Harry glanced at prices and saw that he'd budgeted correctly, so he took the escalator to the fabled food halls, which even he had heard of. He found the chocolates counter and positioned himself in plain view of the escalator.

Penelope arrived several minutes later. 'I can't believe it,' she exclaimed. 'You actually turned up.'

'Of course I did! Do you take me for a liar?'

'Well, yes. At least in some respects. And you have to admit, the part about spoiling me and then taking me to Claridge's was a bit far-fetched. Not providing a credit card number over the phone was an enormous red flag.'

'I suppose it was. But look!' He fished a receipt from his pocket. 'I paid for the room and everything!'

She read it. 'Harry Black. Interesting ... I see you left off the title.'

'It's a bit dubious,' he confessed. 'But the townhouse is real.'

'Right, I think we need some ground rules for our mad adventure ... no more lies.'

'That suits me. I abhor lies.'

She started laughing. 'Are you serious? Tell the truth.'

'I really am. I was lied to my entire life by a variety of people, and I won't tell lies if I can avoid it.'

'Are you saying you couldn't avoid lying to get me into bed last night?'

'I don't know ... perhaps a straightforward approach would have worked, but we've no way of knowing. I should point out, however, that I didn't get you into bed.'

'Yes, you did.'

'Now who's lying? It was a futon.'

'A futon's a bed.'

'No, it's not—trust me. I confirmed we'll have a proper bed tonight.'

'I'm sure we will,' she said. 'Claridge's isn't known for their futons.'

_No, just their uncanny Malfoy decor,_ he thought. 'Getting back to your ground rules, you realise there are some things I simply can't answer.'

'Yes, understood. If I ask you a question that would require a lie, just say "Pass."'

'That seems fair,' he said. 'And do you promise not to complain if I have to say "Pass" too often?'

'In principle, yes, but I reserve the right to change my mind.'

He nodded. 'That's acceptable. Are there any questions you want to ask straight away? I want you to feel comfortable.'

'Yes. Quite a few, in fact. First: Are you married?'

'Married! Good lord no, I'm only nineteen.'

'Some people get married that young,' she argued.

_Sodding wizards do_, he thought irritably. 'Well, I certainly didn't. Next question?'

'Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend, for that matter.'

'No, neither.'

'Is Harry your real name.'

'Yes.'

'Is Black your real surname?'

'One of them.'

'Is the other one Evans?'

'No.'

'What is it, then?'

'Pass.'

'Why? Would I recognise it?'

'Probably not. But it's well-known in certain circles.'

'Which circles?' she asked.

'Pass.'

She took a deep breath. 'I can see this is going to be frustrating.'

'I promise, tonight will be anything but frustrating.'

'You're right,' she said, smiling. 'And I forgot to kiss you.'

'Yes, it was a terrible oversight. But I'll forgive you under one condition.'

She leaned in and kissed him. 'Was that the condition?'

'It was. Do you have another question?'

'How do you intend to spoil me today?'

He smiled. 'I've arranged for dinner somewhere nice, which means we're expected to dress accordingly. Your current outfit is lovely, but I'd be glad to buy you another one if you'd like, assuming I have sufficient cash.'

'What about shoes?' she asked.

'Yes, shoes too.'

'Undergarments? I don't know if what I'm wearing will work with the new clothes.'

'Oh my god, yes. Can we do that first?'

She laughed and said, 'No, not until we've chosen the outfit.'

'Fine,' said Harry, pretending to sulk. 'What about accessories? I'm prepared to buy you a matching handbag and a small item of jewellery that's appropriate to our ages.'

'No tiara, then?'

'I'm afraid not.' _I have one, but it would probably kill you_.

She looked at his outfit. 'Won't you need a jacket and tie? Or did you leave yours at the hotel?'

'No, I need to buy something as well. I'm counting on your taste, which I've already told you I admire.'

'Are you certain you're not a criminal?'

'I've answered that already. I am definitely not a criminal. Like my godfather I've been completely exonerated.'

'So you used to be considered a criminal?'

'Yes, I'm afraid so.'

'By whom?'

'Pass.'

'And you've never left Britain?'

'Correct.'

'Interesting. Would I be able to find all the answers if I knew your secret surname?'

'Probably not.'

She smiled and said, 'You realise I'm going to ask you a million questions tonight.'

'I look forward to it.'

They wandered the store for a long while, and she laughed when he confessed he'd never been there before. 'You grew up in Surrey and you've never been to Harrods?'

'That's right.'

'How is that even possible?'

His face fell, and she said, 'Oh, of course. I'm so sorry. How long since you've been free of them?'

'Two years.'

'And you've lived in London ever since?'

'No.'

'Where else have you lived?'

'Pass.'

'Do you attend university?'

'No.'

'Do you intend to?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Pass.'

'Did you take your A-levels?'

'No.'

'Did you finish school?'

'No.'

'Do you have a job?'

'Yes.'

'What kind?'

'Pass.'

'Is it something illegal?'

'I'm not a criminal! No, it's not illegal.'

'Would I have heard of it?'

'No.'

'Are you an athlete?'

His eyebrows shot up. 'Yes.'

'Professional?'

'Yes.'

'Lacrosse?'

'No.'

'Have you ever played lacrosse?'

'No.'

'How did you meet Phil?'

'Pass.'

'Does he know your secrets?'

'Yes.'

'How long have you known him?'

'Eight days.'

She looked astonished. 'And he knows your secrets?'

'Yes.'

'But you can't tell me?'

'Correct.'

'And I can't earn your trust?'

'I'm afraid not. It's nothing personal, I assure you.'

'What sport do you play?'

'Pass.'

'Would I know it?'

'No.'

'It's not cock-fighting or something, is it?'

'What the devil is that?' he exclaimed, imagining the worst.

'Not what you're picturing!' she said, laughing. 'It's illegal basement fights between roosters.'

'Chicken roosters? Who would even do that?'

'Don't ask me,' she said. 'I'll take that as a no.'

They started looking at outfits for her and found several to try on. Penelope was led into a dressing room and Harry waited on a bench nearby.

She opened the door slightly and said, 'Psst!'

He looked around. 'What?'

'Come in and see.'

'I'm not allowed,' he said in a whisper.

'Yes, you are—come on!'

He made sure nobody was watching and slid into the dressing room. She was wearing a very fetching skirt and top they'd selected. 'What do you think?' she asked.

'I like it. Have you tried on the others?'

'No, this is the first. I like it too, but I'm not ready to commit,' she said, pulling off the top.

His eyes widened. 'You can't just invite me in here and expect me not to kiss you.'

'Of course not. Why do you think I called you in?'

Harry obliged her for several minutes before the sales assistant knocked on the door. 'Do you need any other sizes?' she asked.

'No, I'm fine,' said Penelope, trying not to laugh.

'You should really try on the second outfit,' whispered Harry.

She changed, and they both looked at it appraisingly. 'No, I prefer the first. How about you?'

'Agreed.'

She tried on the third outfit, and they had a hard time deciding until she declared, 'I'll get the first one. I already have shoes at home to match this one, so there's no point in getting something similar.'

'Good thinking,' he said. 'Today is all about practicality. But will you need a new bra and knickers? Please say yes.'

'Honestly, no. But I could get something else in the lingerie department if you insist.'

'I absolutely, unequivocally insist. It's a requirement, in fact. Can we go there now?'

'You have to pay for the outfit first,' she laughed, and he was impatient the entire time.

They spent way too long in the lingerie department, and Harry had to duck momentarily into an alcove to charm his trousers. The sales assistant was more stern there, so he wasn't allowed into Penelope's changing room, but she promised he wouldn't be disappointed.

He paid for the lingerie, and she asked, 'Can you afford to do this sort of thing every weekend?'

'If you mean including the hotel, probably not.'

'Have you done this sort of thing before?'

'No, never.'

'Have you ever stayed in a hotel before?'

'Yes, once.'

'Was it a five-star hotel like Claridge's?'

'No, it was a tavern.' _The Leaky Cauldron, in fact._

'A tavern? How quaint!'

'Very.'

'Where was it?'

'London.'

'Was this before you had the townhouse?'

'Yes, several years prior.'

'Who brought you there?'

'I went there alone.'

'How old were you?'

'Thirteen.'

'And you stayed alone in a tavern?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'I'd run away.'

'For how long?'

'Three weeks. Until I left for school.'

She sighed. 'Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry. That sounds awful. Where was your godfather then?'

'He'd just escaped prison. I hadn't met him yet.'

'Did you ever get to live with him?'

'Only briefly.'

'And that was in the townhouse?'

'Yes.'

She shook her head and said, 'I may need to change my area of study to Creative Writing, just to try to make sense of everything you've told me.'

'Good luck,' he said. 'Shall we look at shoes?'

'Definitely.'

They took the escalators to the shoe department, and she spent a while trying out different styles. 'Will you mind if I end up taller than you?'

'No.'

'How tall are you anyway?'

'Five foot seven. Not counting the hair.'

'Same height as me,' said Penelope, and she laughed when he scowled at her. 'You're clearly not a basketball player.'

'I'd probably have heard of Michael Jordan if I were.'

'Yes, good point. Are you certain I won't know your sport? Is it one of those obscure Olympic sports like curling?'

'Curling? Are you making that up?'

'No. Curling is played on ice, and it somehow involves brooms. But please answer the question.'

'It's not an Olympic sport. And we're getting dangerously close to the point where I have to say "pass," so tread lightly.'

'All right. What do you think of these shoes?'

'I can't say I'd enjoy wearing them, but they're certainly charming.'

'Is the price all right?' She handed him the shoe and he turned it over.

'Yes, but you only get one.' Her eyes widened and he said, 'Just kidding.'

After he paid for the shoes, they selected a handbag and then took their time choosing a pair of earrings.

'That's it,' he said afterwards. 'From now on it's just food and sex.'

'That's fine with me. I'm not greedy. And I'll be the envy of my girlfriends when I tell them about this.'

'What will you tell them exactly?'

'I hardly know, but we'll have no end of fun speculating about you. I'm certain you've already given away some incriminating detail.'

'I'm not a criminal!' he insisted. 'How many times do I have to tell you that?'

'Are you an exiled Russian prince?'

'No, I'm thoroughly English.'

'Is your mysterious surname interesting?'

'Not at all. There are probably hundreds of people with the same name as mine.'

'Then why won't you tell me?'

'Pass.'

'You realise how maddening you are, right?'

'Yes,' he said, smiling. 'And I'm having a brilliant time. Yesterday was pretty awful until I met you.'

'What happened?'

'Pass.'

'Did someone die?'

'No.'

'Were you sacked?'

'No.'

'Did your girlfriend dump you?'

'No, that was last weekend.'

'Really? Did she know your secrets?'

'Yes.'

'Is that why she dumped you?'

'Pass.'

'Are you still friends, or does she hate you?'

'We're still friends. In theory, at least.'

'Was it a serious relationship?'

'Hard to say.'

'How long were you together?'

'Two weeks.'

'Was that your longest relationship?'

'No.'

'How long was that?'

'More than two years, with a long gap in the middle.'

'Why the gap?'

'Pass.'

'Was that when you were considered a criminal?'

'Yes.'

'Were you in hiding?'

'Yes.'

'What did they suspect you were guilty of?'

'Pass.'

'Have you killed anyone?'

He was silent a moment. 'Pass.'

Her face grew sad and serious. 'Was it self-defence?'

'Yes.'

'Was it one of your relations?'

'No.'

'How did you kill them?'

'Pass.'

'Do you regret it?'

A silence. 'The first time, yes, but it was unavoidable. The second time, no.'

'Do you expect to kill again?'

'No.'

'Were you paid to kill?'

'I received rewards. But that's not why I did it.'

'Why did you do it?'

'Defence.'

'Self-defence?'

'That too.'

'Are you part of a secret government organisation?'

He paused. 'No.'

She narrowed her eyes. 'Was that the truth? If you'd said "pass" you'd basically be admitting it.'

'Yes, it's the truth. I'm not part of a secret government organisation.'

'Were you part of a secret government organisation?'

'Yes.'

'Can you tell me about it.'

'No.'

She looked at him carefully. 'And you're really nineteen?'

'Only last week, yes.'

A pause. 'Should I be afraid of you?'

'No,' he said, and he mentally added, _Not anymore._

'Are you political?'

'Pass.'

She shook her head. 'How do I even interpret that?'

'I don't know. Are you hungry?'

'I am, actually. Shall we find a café somewhere?'

'That sounds perfect, yes.'

'But wait, shouldn't we get you a jacket and tie?'

'The hotel clerk recommended I check Savile Row.'

She raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

'I know,' he said. 'I've never been, and I'm curious to have a look. I'm a dandy, you know.'

'You are,' she said admiringly. 'I wish more men were. At uni it's all baggy trousers and baseball caps.'

Harry grimaced. 'That sounds horrible.'

'It really is. May I take your picture before we part company? I'm not certain my friends will believe me otherwise.'

'No, I don't show up on film.'

'What?'

'Just kidding. Yes, of course you can take my picture. Do you have a camera?'

'Yes, in my bag. But I'll wait until we're dressed for dinner.'

They ate at a café overlooking Hyde Park, and Harry admitted he'd never heard of the Chicago neighbourhood until the night before. 'I didn't believe your America story for a second,' she said.

'Then why didn't you throw your drink at me and leave?'

'I was mostly curious. And you have lovely eyes. You're certain they're not contact lenses?'

'I told you, I have my mother's eyes. No, they're not contact lenses.'

She leaned over the table and examined them closely. 'You're right. I should have trusted you.'

'Thank you!' he replied indignantly. 'I should probably ask you the same question. Your eyes are beautiful, you know.'

'I wear contacts but only for vision correction.'

'I wouldn't care either way. I think you're very pretty—that's why I approached you, after all.'

'You really are a charmer!' she exclaimed. 'It's a good thing you haven't been to America ... they'd be helpless over there. Have you always been like this?'

'No. Only recently.'

'You mean you weren't some kind of gigolo assassin?'

'Good lord no!'

She tilted her head and asked, 'Did your parents really die in a car accident?'

'No. But they are dead.'

'And that scar, it's not from a car accident either?'

'No.'

'What's it from?'

'Pass.'

She sighed heavily. 'I hope you realise I'll go crazy trying to figure this out.'

'Please don't,' he said. 'You're better off not knowing. I really shouldn't be telling you as much as I am, but I'm having too much fun.'

'Are you a space alien?'

He burst out laughing. 'No. I told you, I'm English.'

'Are you sure? This could be a "Men in Black" thing.'

'I don't know what that is,' he admitted.

'Interesting. You're ignorant of mainstream pop culture. Were you familiar with any of the band posters on my wall?'

'No.'

'Were you brought up in some kind of religious cult?'

'In Surrey? Hardly.'

'Are you or have you ever been part of a secret society?'

'Yes. Well, junior member,' said Harry. He was never technically inducted into the Order of the Phoenix.

'Would I have heard of it?'

'No. It was secret.'

'Was? Has it disbanded? Or were you kicked out?'

'Disbanded.'

She smiled and said, 'I have to say, this is easily the most entertaining date I've ever been on. You needn't have bought me anything, you know.'

'But then we wouldn't have snogged in the changing room,' he argued.

'Excellent point. But we should start eating and get you a jacket and tie. I'm dying to visit Savile Row with you.'

An hour later, they entered a promising looking men's shop. Harry doubted they'd take him seriously because of his age, but Penelope assured him he was well enough dressed that they'd at least approach him.

'May I help you, sir?' asked the sales assistant.

'Yes, I need a jacket and tie for tonight, and I'm wondering whether you have anything.'

The sales assistant sniffed and said, 'We only sell bespoke garments.'

'Right. I was told at Claridge's that some of the shops here might carry jackets I could wear tonight and have tailored afterwards.'

'Yes, some of the other shops do.' He provided several names, with a hint of disdain, and Harry and Penelope walked out.

'That bodes ill,' he said. 'But I suppose there's no harm in asking.'

They entered one of the recommended shops and were greeted by a sales assistant. Harry immediately explained, 'I need a jacket for tonight, and I'm wondering if you carry anything off the peg, or near to it. I can bring it back for tailoring later.'

The sales assistant said, 'Yes, but our selection's not large. You'll find them over here.' He led Harry and Penelope to a section near the back.

Some of the jackets looked good and appeared to be the right size, but when Harry saw the prices he nearly swore out loud. _Great Merlin, I could buy three sets of robes for that much money!_

He whispered to Penelope, 'I'm sorry, the cutlery I stole from you this morning didn't fetch a good price—this is more than I can afford. Would you mind going back to Harrods, or somewhere along the way? I can at least pay for a taxi.'

'Hang on, I've an idea,' she whispered back. 'Excuse me,' she said to the sales assistant. 'This is more than my friend can afford, but do you have any samples he might look at? From last season perhaps?'

'How much can you pay?'

'About one-third the cost of these jackets,' said Harry. _Which is still a bloody fortune, you vipers,_ he thought.

The assistant quickly measured Harry with a tape measure and said he'd be back. They wandered over to the neckties, which were only brutally overpriced but at least within Harry's extended budget. _Worst case scenario, at dinner I can nip in to the toilet and Apparate to Gringotts for a bit more cash,_ he thought.

'I'm relieved you've demonstrated you're a mere mortal,' said Penelope. 'I was starting to wonder.'

_Well, I have survived two Killing Curses,_ he thought smugly, but he kept his mouth shut.

The sales assistant returned with two jackets, both of which Harry liked. 'No,' said Penelope, 'this one fits better. In fact, I don't think you'll need it altered at all. It's clearly designed for someone who plays whatever your mysterious sport is.'

'Curling,' he replied, and they both laughed.

After they selected a matching necktie and pocket square, Harry paid and they went to the hotel.

'Oh, Harry!' she exclaimed when she saw the lobby. 'I've never stayed anywhere like this. Have you?'

_Yes,_ he thought,_ but I was held captive in the cellar_.

'Yes,' he said simply.

'Really? Where? Certainly not your infested townhouse.'

'It was never infested.' _Except with doxies_. 'But no, the townhouse is nowhere near this grand. It was at a manor house.'

'What brought you to a manor house?'

_Snatchers_, he thought. 'I was captured.'

She looked at him. 'You're serious, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'How long were you there?'

'Only hours, fortunately.'

'How did you escape?'

_Dobby gave his life to rescue us. _'Pass.'

She saw his downcast expression. 'Did someone die in the escape?'

'Yes. He rescued us.'

'You weren't alone then?'

'No.'

'Did your mates ultimately survive?'

'My closest mates, yes. Others, no.'

'Is that how your godfather died?'

'Two years earlier, yes.'

She shook her head. 'My god. I don't know why I believe you, but I do.'

'I'm a terrible liar,' he said. 'But we should get our room key.'

They walked to the counter and Harry showed his receipt to the clerk, who summoned a porter to show them to their room. Penelope was enchanted by the old-fashioned lift but Harry was unimpressed—it was similar to the lifts at the Ministry. But they were both impressed with their room.

'Now this is a bed!' proclaimed Harry. 'I'm tempted to skip our dinner reservation and eat up here.'

'After all the trouble and expense of buying new clothes? That would be a shame.'

'You're right. But may I at least see your lingerie now?'

'You can do more than see it,' she said, pulling the small tissue-paper bundle from her carrier bag and stepping into the bathroom.

She took her time, and he waited impatiently in front of the window. But when she emerged he wasn't disappointed. 'Oh my god, this was worth the wait,' said Harry. 'I think today is the best day of my life.'

She laughed and embraced him, and they stood snogging for a long while. Her hands wandered freely and then settled low and in front for a surprisingly long time, until he realised the problem. _Finite incantatem!_ he thought with all his magical strength, cancelling the charm on his trousers.

'Wow!' she exclaimed. 'That was sudden.'

'Oh, Penelope,' he moaned, guiding her onto the bed. He climbed on top and began running his hands over her body.

'What's that?' she asked. 'Are you wearing a ring?'

_Bugger!_ he thought. _I ended the Concealment Charm on the bloody ring!_

'Er ...' he began. _Shit! I'm going to have to Obliviate her!_

She shifted onto her side for a closer look. 'What the ... where did that even come from? Surely I would have noticed something that ghastly. Did you put it on just now, when I was in the loo?'

'Er,' he stalled, his right thumb poised to release his wand from its charmed holster. 'Yes? I mean, pass.'

'Pass?!' she exclaimed. 'Pass?'

Harry sighed. If he had to Obliviate her, at least he'd tell her the truth first. 'No, I've been wearing it the whole time. It's the Black family ring.'

Penelope took a deep inhale. 'I knew it.'

'Knew what?'

'You're a faerie!'

'I'm sorry?'

'Fae,' she declared. 'Like in urban fantasy novels.'

'Er, pass?' _What the hell is she talking about?_

'Are they true then?' she asked.

'Are what true?'

'Urban fantasy novels. Authors like Charles de Lint and Neil Gaiman.' He gave her a blank look, and she continued. 'Terri Windling, Emma Bull.'

'I've never heard of them. What's urban fantasy?'

'Books about the secret world of dark and light faeries, hidden in plain sight.'

_What is she on about? _he thought. _Fairies are tiny. They lay eggs. Surely she knows enough about my anatomy to realise that's not how I work._

'Go on,' he said, hoping this meant he didn't have to Obliviate her.

'The BBC ran a television series a few years ago—"Neverwhere." Fiction, supposedly. It was about "London Below"—a whole city beneath London with night markets and warriors, and angels, and there was a Marquis ...' Her eyes grew wide and she exclaimed, 'You _are_ a lord!'

'Pass! Pass!' _Merlin, please let her believe this rubbish!_

'No wonder you can't take me to your townhouse! It's probably in London Below, and then I'd be trapped, like the main character in "Neverwhere."'

'Pass. What happened to him?'

'As soon as he interacts with someone from London Below, he becomes virtually invisible to everyone he knows and his entire life falls apart. He has to go through a quest to get his normal life back.' She thought for a moment. 'But that's not what happened with you. People saw me today just fine. So it must only happen if I go to your townhouse, or into your world.'

'Pass.' _Yes, this is perfect! _he thought.

'Your aunt and uncle ... were they Above or Below?'

'I'm sorry? Er, pass.'

'You made it sound like they were normal. Surrey, after all. I'm guessing Above. But then that tavern you stayed at in London ... that had to be Below.'

'Pass.'

'Why couldn't I see the ring before?'

'Pass.'

'Can you even remove it?'

'Pass.'

'Am I in danger now?'

'No.'

'So that's how you know Phil? And your ex-girlfriend?'

'Yes. I mean, pass.'

Penelope flopped onto her back, smiling. 'This is the most fantastic thing that's ever happened to me! No wonder you didn't know how to put on a condom ... you probably have a completely different method where you come from.'

'Pass.'

Her eyes shot open. 'You didn't bypass it somehow? You're not trying to plant your seed or something?'

'Good lord no! I wouldn't dream of getting someone pregnant against her will!'

She studied his expression. 'That's the truth. At least I think it is.'

'Of course it is. I swear I wouldn't do that to you, or to anyone else.'

'All right, I believe you.' She was quiet a long moment and asked, 'How old are you really? Are you immortal?'

'No, I'm nineteen. I've been completely honest with you since this morning.'

'Do you even use British currency normally? That's why you don't have a credit card or identification, isn't it!'

'Pass.'

She looked carefully at him. 'Your eyes! They're glamoured or something. That's how they're so green!'

'No, they're just green eyes. Other people have green eyes. You have remarkable blue eyes, and I assume they're not glamoured.'

'You're right,' she said. 'I suppose other people have eyes that green.' She was quiet again before exclaiming, 'You're famous in your world! That's why you won't tell me your surname. Because you don't want me to research it, and then get dragged Below and stuck there.'

'Pass.'

'And that sport you play. It's some kind of faerie sport. Do you fly?'

'Pass!'

'That's how you know Phil—he plays it too.'

'Pass.'

'Hang on a minute ... faeries can't lie. And you lied about lacrosse, and Chicago, and your townhouse being fumigated.'

'I don't know what to tell you, Penelope. I didn't write those books you're talking about.'

'Fair enough. The folklore might be inaccurate.' There was a gleam in her eye, and she asked, 'Is that why you're so good in bed? Is that a faerie thing?'

He smiled cheekily. 'No, that's just me. My first girlfriend trained me.'

Penelope raised one eyebrow and said, 'Be sure to thank her for me. Or perhaps I'll write her a note on the hotel stationery.'

Harry laughed at the idea of handing Ginny a note. _The Girl Who Trained the Boy Who Goes Down on Witches. Or Women, rather._

She gave him an appraising look. 'Are you Light or Dark?'

'I'm sorry, what?'

'Light or Dark Fae. Seelie or Unseelie Court.'

_What the hell is she talking about? All we have is the Wizengamot._

'Definitely Light.'

'But one of your surnames is Black. Surely that's a Dark family.'

'It is. But I'm changing that. That's why Sirius made me his heir.'

'Lord Harry Black, of the Seelie Court,' she murmured, but he shook his head.

'The lordship is rubbish. Only tossers use titles in my world.'

'Same with this one, frankly. Is there a sovereign in your world?'

'Like Queen Elizabeth? No.'

'Then who presides at the court?'

'Pass.' _I really don't want to get into wizarding politics right now,_ he thought. _Or ever, for that matter_. He was relieved he wouldn't have to Obliviate her, but Harry was hoping she'd stop asking questions and they could resume their previous activity.

'Have you learnt enough for the moment?' he asked. 'We can keep talking about this over dinner if you like, but be warned I'll have to say "Pass" a lot.'

'You're right, I'm wasting valuable time.' She smiled and added, 'So what else did your old girlfriend teach you?'

The rest of their afternoon and evening progressed as he'd hoped, with sex and a romantic dinner and conversation and then sex again. Penelope enjoyed their conversation immensely, asking innumerable questions which Harry couldn't answer. Every time he said, 'Pass,' her eyes lit with delight, since it confirmed some new theory.

He felt bad about misleading her, but this was infinitely better than having to Obliviate her, and she was clearly having the time of her life. And Merlin knew it beat sitting around Grimmauld Place stewing about the article and wondering how he'd face his teammates and friends over the days to come.

He also appreciated getting some distance from his own problems—wizarding Britain always felt very insignificant when viewed from the Muggle world. Penelope was a good listener, and it was a relief to speak plainly about what he'd experienced growing up. Harry knew he wouldn't instantly feel comfortable with everyone knowing his history, but he could imagine not feeling quite so ashamed anymore.

He warned her that he needed to leave early the next morning. 'To catch your flight back to America?' she asked.

'No, I have practice at nine o'clock for my mysterious sport. But then my flight's after that,' he added, smiling.

'You should travel,' she declared. 'I know you've seen all sorts of things I haven't, but there's so much more to the world than just Britain.'

'I know. I never had the opportunity before now, but I'd like to see more of the world.'

'You should go to France. There's a train, you know ... You can take trains, right?'

'Yes, I took a train to school every year.'

'So take the train to Paris sometime. If you were impressed by Harrods and this hotel, you'll be completely gobsmacked by the cathedrals and museums. Go to the Musée d'Orsay ... it's in an enormous old railway station.'

'I'm fond of railway stations,' he said, remembering his vision of King's Cross.

Harry slept wonderfully that night on the hotel bed, which he had to admit was almost as comfortable as his own. He and Penelope had an early breakfast in the room, and they said their tender goodbyes at half past eight.

'You promise you'll show up on film?' she asked. 'I'll be very disappointed if I get those photos developed and in your place there's a sheaf of wheat or something.'

He laughed. 'I promise I'll show up. I went to a normal school until I was eleven, after all, and I'm visible in my school photographs.'

'Good. I know I'll treasure them. Can I send you copies somewhere?'

He frowned. _Not in care of the Cannons, certainly. _But inspiration struck. 'Yes, in care of a dentists' office, in Hampstead.'

'A dentists' office?' she exclaimed. 'Any specific dentist?'

'Yes,' he replied, and he scrawled Hermione's parents' names onto a piece of note paper. 'Just address it to Daniel and Emily Granger and include a note that they should give the photos to Harry. They'll know how to find me.'

She frowned. 'But I shouldn't try to find you myself?'

'No. I've already revealed more than I ought to.'

'I understand,' she replied, nodding. 'I may take up Creative Writing, you know. You've given me any number of ideas.'

'I'm glad.' He smiled and added, 'You've been just what I needed. I won't forget you, Penelope.'

'And I certainly won't forget you,' she said warmly. They kissed one last time, and he left.

_She needn't forget me, _he thought gratefully, before entering the stairwell and Apparating home.


	42. Chapter 42

Harry's heart sank the moment he arrived in his bedroom at Grimmauld Place. _Back to reality_, he thought sadly.

Sunday's _Prophet_ was still on the table, and next to it was the new issue, which featured a long interview with Doctor Niffler. He only skimmed it, but he learnt that he'd always displayed the telltale signs of abuse, and that his past and current behaviour could be understood perfectly through that lens.

_Mind your own bloody business!_ thought Harry vehemently. _What happened to you as a child, Doctor Niffler, to turn you into such a nosy old cow?_

Before leaving for practice, Harry wrote a quick letter to warn Phil about all the faerie codswallop he'd allowed Penelope to believe. He didn't know whether Phil was planning to see Rachel again, and Harry didn't want him to be caught in an unexpected web of lies.

When he arrived at the Cannons facility, Lara greeted him. 'Good morning, Harry. Is there anything you want to refute from yesterday's article, like Darren did last week?' She held out a marker pen and indicated a large poster board on her desk.

Sighing, Harry took the pen from her. In large letters he wrote, 'It's all true.'

'Oh, Harry,' she said sympathetically. 'I'd hoped at least some of it was an exaggeration.'

'No, for once Rita was completely truthful. I suppose there's a first time for everything.'

She looked at the poster. 'Do you want me to display this, or should I just Vanish it?'

'You should probably display it. It'll save everyone the trouble of asking.'

She used her wand to suspend it in mid-air next to her desk. 'Darius suggested you might want to meet today with the publicity or legal departments, or both. Shall I set those up for you?'

'The legal department? I didn't know the Cannons had a legal department.'

Lara said, 'It's just two people—team solicitor Victor Squabble and his assistant Sandra. They work closely with both Gringotts and the Ministry to handle contracts, permits, and so forth. But they could also advise you on pursuing legal action against Rita Skeeter.'

'I didn't realise that was an option. I've never had any recourse in the past.'

'I don't know whether you'll have any now, but Victor's the one to ask.'

'All right, then please set that up. Cheers,' said Harry. 'As for the publicity team, I don't think I need a meeting. I'll just pop into Susanna's office right now and thank her for making those statements on my behalf.'

He went down the corridor but was immediately hailed by Mrs Thwip. 'Mr Potter, do you have a moment?'

'Er, yes,' he said, entering her office. 'What can I help you with, Mrs Thwip?'

But before she could answer he saw why she'd called him in. Her desk was piled with boxes containing a variety of baked goods. 'As you can see, Mr Potter, you've received a number of gifts since Saturday's match. In addition to food, there's a large amount of handmade garments, and toys as well,' she said, indicating a stack next to the wall.

Harry was touched but also puzzled. _Don't people realise I'm grown up and no longer live with the Dursleys?_ he thought. 'What do you recommend I do with all this?' he asked. 'Nobody should eat the food, obviously—Merlin knows what it might be laced with. But what about the other gifts?'

'They're still arriving, but I'm planning to sort them into categories for easier redistribution. For example, first I'll divide the garments by age, and then subdivide the adult garments so you can choose which ones you'd like. Jumpers, scarves, socks–'

'Thank you, but I've no intention of keeping any,' began Harry, until he registered something she said. 'Did you say socks?' he asked. _Dumbledore always needed socks_, he recalled. 'Yes, I might have a look at those.'

'Noted. Naturally I'll arrange for everything to be checked for charms and curses, but then I can redistribute them amongst appropriate charities. For example, there's an excellent foundation for war orphans.'

'That sounds perfect,' he replied. 'I haven't yet reviewed the summary of charity requests you prepared, but I'll try to get to it this week.'

'I'll have an updated list by tomorrow, Mr Potter.'

'Yes, of course.' _How have I already fallen so far behind? _he wondered. _Because you ran off and played truant with a Muggle,_ chided his inner voice.

'Thank you again, Mrs Thwip,' said Harry, slipping out the door. He had only a minute to thank Susanna for handling matters so well on Saturday, but fortunately she didn't have any surprise decisions for him to make involving biscuits or ear muffs.

Tuttle was just beginning to glower when he arrived near the benches. 'I see we all made it,' she said. 'First I'd like to congratulate Potter on his impressive right hook, which from the sound of things was the only reasonable response to Gilstrap's final round of taunts. Normally I'd demote you to the reserves for getting ejected, Potter, but I'll give you one free pass for extenuating circumstances.' She levelled her gaze at him and added, 'I realise demotion isn't much of a threat, since Barrowmaker's in no condition to start, but I'll have your hide if you ever lose your temper again during a match—do you understand?'

'Yes,' said Harry with a crisp nod. 'It won't happen again.'

'Good. And I'm not done with you—I'm taking charge of Seeker training this afternoon. Consider that your punishment.'

She gave detailed notes from Saturday before discussing their next opponent. 'As you should all know, on Thursday night we have a home match against the Caerphilly Catapults. Potter, have you ever played at night?'

'No.'

'Then you've a new skill to learn, during a compressed week. You'll get Friday off, though, so I expect you to work like mad between now and then. Starting now—ten laps.'

Not wanting to converse with anyone, Harry broke into a brisk run. _That could have gone worse,_ he thought. He knew better than to worry about their private training session—he'd learnt Tuttle was harsher in front of the group than she was one-on-one.

Impatient to get back onto his broomstick, Harry ran faster than usual. Not that it would make a difference—the flying drills wouldn't start until after calisthenics—but running fast gave him the illusion of control. _I can't control what the _Prophet_ prints about me or whether people attack the Dursleys or send me toys I could have used fifteen years ago, but at least I can decide how fast to move my legs around the bloody pitch._

He wished he could tell his teammates, _'Pretend you never read it. Just pretend I was raised by immortal warlocks somewhere, or that I was in a coma between the night my parents were killed and the day I first rode the Hogwarts Express.' _Harry knew that made no sense, but until Saturday most people had forgotten he'd spent a decade away from the wizarding world. If only that were still the case, instead of everything they knew about him now.

_The Boy Who Was Abused. The Boy Who Was Forced to Sleep in a Cupboard. The Boy Who Dudley Beat Up. The Boy Who Dumbledore Manipulated. The Boy Who Didn't Fight Back. _

_Bugger that! _thought Harry savagely. Nobody else was going to decide who he was—those days were over. He certainly wasn't a boy anymore, as four different women could attest. He'd defeated Voldemort and slain a Basilisk. He'd been Master of the Elder Wand, and Master of Death. He was the last remaining Potter and head of House Black, and if he felt like combining the two there was nobody to stop him. Not Voldemort, or Bellatrix Lestrange, or Walburga Black. None of his dead fathers were there to tell him what to do, and neither were Severus Snape or Albus bloody Dumbledore.

And Rita Skeeter could go fuck herself. She was nothing without people like him to write about. And he didn't even need fame to pull women—Penelope had wanted him from the start, even when he was clumsily lying to her about sodding America. He'd seduced her with his power, which transcended fame and magical strength and whatever else supposedly made a person special.

His heart was pounding from running so fast, but he didn't want to slow down. He wanted to keep running until the moment he mounted his broomstick and took off, and then fly like a bloody maniac. It was absurd that he didn't have a decent broom at home—he'd ask Lara to contact Silver Arrow straight away.

Harry realised he'd lost count of how many laps he'd run. 'Janet, what lap are you on?' he asked as he approached her.

'Eight,' she said. 'Which, judging from the number of times you've passed me, means you're on number twelve. In a hurry, Potter?'

'Yes,' he panted. 'I'm in a hurry to get onto my broomstick and fly around without some arsehole tailing me the entire time.'

'I'm not surprised,' said Janet. 'Gilstrap's lucky you didn't curse him. And so are you, for that matter—that would have been a ten-minute foul at the very least, and you might have had to been required to miss the next match. Punching him was definitely the way to go.'

'It was satisfying,' he admitted. 'Punching is surprisingly fun when you're a wizard, since you know you're not likely to do actual damage, between Healers and innate magical healing.'

'Do you reckon that's why you were able to withstand your cousin so well?' she asked matter-of-factly.

Harry was taken aback—he'd never discussed his childhood with so little preamble. 'That's a good question. I never thought about it, but you're right. I should have had all sorts of injuries growing up, but I always seemed to bounce back.'

'Nice work, Snitchbottom! Good to see your wizarding blood earning its keep. Are you going to keep running, or will you go flirt with Lara before calisthenics?'

'I do not flirt with Lara,' he protested. 'But I should have her pester Silver Arrow for another broom—thanks for reminding me.'

'I live to serve!' she called as he ran towards the building.

Harry felt better after the brief conversation with Janet. He appreciated that she hadn't made a big deal about Rita Skeeter's article—in her mind he was clearly still the same old Snitchbottom.

He was still breathing hard when he entered the building, and Lara looked up from her desk. 'Is everything all right?'

'Yeah, I'm fine. Do you reckon Silver Arrow would send me another broom for home use?'

'For the amount of free publicity you're giving them? Definitely!'

'Excellent. Do you want my old Firebolt Ultra? I've no use for it, surely.'

She raised her eyebrows. 'Are you serious? My younger brother would love it!'

'Done. I'll bring it in tomorrow. Would he like some Firewhisky as well? It's verified free of Love Potions and Veritaserum.'

'He's thirteen, so I think we'll pass. But thanks for looking out for him.'

'My pleasure.' Harry had a sudden inspiration. 'Say ... if I write a letter, can you post it for me? Owl post.'

'Yes, of course. Do you need a parchment?'

'Any scrap will do—I want to invite my friend Neville to dinner. Oh blast, he's probably at Hogwarts ... do you think an owl will reach him in time? Maybe I should Patronus him … I wonder how far Prongs can travel. Scratch that—I can just have Kreacher deliver it.'

'That's not necessary,' said Lara 'The team has several express owls—I'm sure I can use one of them.'

'Brilliant, thanks.' Harry took a parchment and quill from her and wrote a brief message:

_Dear Neville,_

_Please excuse me for not replying on Saturday. I appreciated your letter, and I'd like to see you tonight if you're available. Would you care to join me for dinner at Grimmauld Place? Six o'clock or whatever time suits you. _

_Best,_

_Harry_

He addressed it and gave it to Lara. 'I've a mad urge to see him, and I've decided to trust it.'

'Abetting mad urges is part of my job,' she replied. 'Speaking of which, you're scheduled to meet with the team solicitor at quarter past one.'

Nodding, Harry peered out the front window. 'It looks like they're about to start calisthenics ... I should go. Thanks for everything.'

The trainers led Harry and the other players through their exercises, and then it was time to change into practice robes and start flying. _Finally!_ thought Harry, who shot into the air the second he stepped out of the building. _Why didn't I do this on Saturday afternoon? I should have flown to Privet Drive in plain sight, Statute of Secrecy be damned._

His mind began to wander as he flew. _What the hell was wrong with Voldemort?_ _He was capable of unassisted flight, but he still needed to torture people for kicks? _Harry had often wondered why Voldemort acted as he did, but then he remembered. _Oh, right—he had a shattered soul. _Tom Riddle had been sixteen when he killed Myrtle and created his Horcrux, and he was lost from then on.

_Note to self_, thought Harry. _Don't make any bloody Horcruxes. Never kill again if I can possibly avoid it. And for Merlin's sake, no Dark magic, ever._

The trainers ordered a series of aggressive drills, to Harry's delight. And unlike the week before, none of his teammates were required to hurl insults at him.

'I'm not even certain how we're supposed to interact,' said Suresh as he flew near Harry. 'Last week I would have called you an overcompensating closet case, but now you're just my well-dressed mate who likes flowers.'

'I know,' said Gary. 'Potter, are you still a colossal egomaniac, or has that blown over?'

'No, I'm a pathetic victim this week. Try to keep up.'

'You certainly schooled Gilstrap,' said Suresh. 'He refused to talk to reporters after the match, and rumour has it his teammates are furious with him.'

'For missing the Snitch?' asked Harry.

'No, for whatever he did to set you off. Everyone could see you were fine for most of the match, so it was clear he crossed the line somewhere near the end.'

'He did,' replied Harry, and he told them what Gilstrap had falsely claimed about his father.

Gary shook his head in disgust. 'The Cannons could certainly teach the other teams a thing or two about sportsmanship. There are worse things than losing a bloody Quidditch match.'

'Thanks to Snitchbottom and Owen, that's what they're finding out,' said Suresh. 'How many years has it been since the Cannons won four in a row?'

'Since before my time, certainly,' replied Gary before zooming off.

Harry enjoyed the flying drills as always, and he was grateful that his teammates were treating him as usual. He'd been nervous about their lunchtime conversation, but everyone clearly understood he didn't fancy talking about what Rita's article had revealed.

'Does anyone have plans for the long weekend?' asked Renée, when they were seated at the pub.

Harry was surprised by how many of his teammates had made plans. Gary was taking his wife and child to the Isle of Wight, and Renée and her girlfriend were going to Edinburgh. Ryan and Suresh were both visiting family, and even Janet had something planned with Ron, starting on Friday afternoon.

'Er,' began Harry, when his turn came around. 'I'm delivering goblin artefacts to Gringotts on Friday morning.'

'I'm sorry, what?' asked Janet.

'Apparently the goblins really like me now, and they demanded I personally deliver recovered goblin artefacts on behalf of the Ministry, as part of a new diplomatic effort.'

'Are you certain this isn't a trap?' asked Darren. 'You may have forgotten, but I seem to recall you and your mates broke into Gringotts and stole a dragon, amongst other things.'

'It's not a trap. But you should know that the dragon was half-blind and rather feeble,' said Harry. 'It was no Horntail.'

'Oh, you stole a geriatric dragon,' said Gary. 'No wonder they like you. You probably did them a favour, taking it off their hands.'

'No, I gave them a goblin-made artefact I found in the Black family vault, and from the way they reacted you'd think I was the first wizard ever to do that voluntarily.'

'You probably were,' said Suresh. 'What kind of artefact was it?'

'A drinking horn. Bloody useless, if you ask me—you can't even set it down without spilling the contents.'

Gary and Suresh both laughed. 'You really are a lightweight, Snitchbottom,' said Gary. 'But I'm glad you've lined up a post-Quidditch career as a diplomat.'

'I expect the goblins liked you even more after seeing that photo of you punching Gilstrap,' said Darren.

'Ugh, was there a photo? I didn't even look at the Quidditch coverage.'

'Yes, it was brilliant,' said Janet. 'You looked terrifying, knocking him from his broom and then shouting at him.'

Harry wasn't certain how he felt about being photographed during a moment of violence. 'That sounds disturbing,' he said. 'Did anyone raise doubts about my sanity?'

'No, because you cast a Patronus just minutes later. They ran a photograph of that as well.'

'Really? The _Prophet_ ran a photo of Prongs?' said Harry. 'That's actually pretty cool.'

'It was,' agreed Renée. 'I must say, the entire issue painted a rather wide-ranging picture of you. Yeah, there was the main article, with all those old photographs, but the sport section made it clear you're nobody's victim.'

Some of the others nodded and Janet said, 'Can we pause to note how cute you were in those old photographs? You were nothing but hair, eyes, and glasses back then.'

'And enormous school uniforms,' grumbled Harry.

'So what,' she said dismissively. 'That was then, this is now. You looked smashing in those pinstriped robes—I'm glad your aunt didn't stunt your taste.'

'Actually, I learnt about flowers from her. Not in a fun way, of course—more of a _"Deadhead those roses and move the dahlias over there"_ kind of way. But at least I had something nice to look at.'

'Ron claims you're accepting a sponsorship from your florist,' said Janet. 'Was he having me on?'

'No, I'm really doing it. I'll tell Mrs Thwip to reply to them today.'

'Brilliant,' said Darren. 'Will you wear flowers to practice?'

'No, but I might surprise you with a corsage if you're nice to me.'

Harry left the pub early for his meeting with Victor Squabble. The team solicitor was tall with broad shoulders and a mane of dark hair, and his assistant Sandra was middle-aged with long braids. 'It's nice to meet you, Potter,' said Squabble, extending his hand.

'Thank you for making the time, and please, call me Harry.'

'And please call me Victor. It's bad enough having a surname like Squabble, but to be a solicitor on top of that. You can see why I chose not to become a barrister, in spite of pressure from my father and grandfather.'

_I'll have to tell Hermione about this,_ thought Harry. _More evidence for our theory._ 'Do you really think I have any recourse against Rita Skeeter? She's been targeting me for years, and I've never been able to do anything about it.' _Except for that time Hermione caught her in a jar,_ he added mentally.

'She's been hard to pin down,' admitted Victor, and Harry stifled a smirk. 'She almost always manages to avoid breaking the law, and when she does it's in cases where the wronged individual is the only one who could press charges.'

'You mean like how she modified Bathilda Bagshot's memory during the war, to write that book about Dumbledore?' asked Harry.

Victor shook his head. 'No, that was a clear violation of the law, but she got away with it because the Death Eaters were in power. That's also how she finally registered her Animagus form without being punished.'

'I wondered about that,' said Harry. 'Hermione looked it up when Rita slandered us last autumn.' He recalled how furious she'd been to discover Rita could no longer be blackmailed.

'Back to my earlier point,' said Victor, 'the only person with the right to complain about Rita stealing her invitation to your party and impersonating her, for example, was your classmate, but there hasn't been a peep out of her.'

_No,_ thought Harry. _She's exceedingly shy._

'But in this case, you can file a grievance on behalf of the Muggles she Obliviated and request a hearing before the Wizengamot.'

'Are you serious? For mistreating Muggles? I didn't know Muggles had rights under the wizarding legal system.'

'They don't exactly, short of the right not to be killed or tortured. But any witch or wizard has the right to complain on their behalf, and then the Wizengamot decides whether the grievance warrants a hearing, which could result in punishment.'

'What kind of punishment?'

'A fine at the minimum, but at the most severe it could result in a prison sentence.'

'Azkaban?' exclaimed Harry, and Victor nodded.

'I see your expression, but remember Azkaban is nothing like how it used to be.' It was true, thought Harry. Kingsley had sent a delegation to Nurmengard to study methods for detaining wizards without Dementors. 'She'd have no access to her magic during her incarceration,' said Victor, 'and depending on what level she's sentenced to she'd have limited access to recreational activities. But it's no longer the hellhole it once was.'

'All right,' said Harry. 'How would I file a grievance?'

'Normally it's a slow process,' said Victor, 'but you've a unique advantage as the head of an ancient house.'

'Oh, bloody hell ... this isn't a Lord Black thing?'

'No, this predates 1707,' smirked Victor. 'As the head of House Black, you have a seat on the Wizengamot, which means you can bypass the normal queue for having your grievance reviewed.'

Harry frowned. 'I have to admit, I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, it's downright undemocratic that I'd have a swifter path to justice. But on the other hand, she really needs to be stopped, and I'd rather it happen sooner than later.'

'You'd be doing a lot of people a favour,' interjected Sandra, who hadn't previously spoken. 'She's been crossing lines for years, as you well know, and somehow the complaints filed against her never see the light of day. I've reviewed the relevant laws and you have a good case against her, should the Wizengamot be willing to hear it.'

'How likely is that, do you think?'

'I can't say I have a lot of experience with the Wizengamot,' admitted Victor. 'My speciality is contract law and Quidditch league negotiations, and I've only twice appeared in court, back during my apprenticeship. But I'd be surprised if anyone voted against you, particularly in the current climate.'

'I guess we'll find out. When is the next Wizengamot session?' asked Harry.

'It's the Wednesday after next,' replied Sandra. 'Do you have the proper robes?'

Harry groaned. 'Would I really have to wear Wizengamot robes?'

'I'm afraid so,' she said. 'If you were appearing to testify you wouldn't have to, but since you're invoking Wizengamot privilege you'd need to dress accordingly.'

'Those robes are ghastly,' said Harry. 'They're absolute tents ... do you know what the rules are about them?'

Sandra put on her reading glasses and reached for a book that was on the table. 'Let's see,' she began, flipping to a bookmarked section. 'The colour is mandated, but any competent tailor can manage that. You'll need to wear a slightly darker necktie.' She flipped the page and looked at Harry. 'But that seems to be it. Everything else is just tradition, including the hats.'

'So I could ask my tailor to make something I prefer, as long as it's the right colour and includes a matching necktie? What about the funny hats the lords wear.'

'That's entirely up to you,' replied Sandra. 'You wouldn't be invoking lordly privilege, so you've no need to identify yourself as such or sit with them.'

'That's fortunate,' muttered Harry. 'I assume they're vastly outnumbered by the rest of the voting members?'

'Yes, four to one,' confirmed Sandra.

'Good,' said Harry. 'Is there anything else I need to know in advance?'

'Not at present,' replied Victor. 'Sandra will submit your request to the Wizengamot secretary and you'll be added to the agenda.'

'How long do you expect it to take?' asked Harry. 'I don't want to miss all of practice.'

'Normally these items are dealt with first, so you should be back here by ten o'clock,' replied Sandra.

'I'll also prepare a statement for you to read to the court that morning,' added Victor. 'We'll show it to you in advance, in case you want to tweak anything.'

'Thank you,' said Harry. 'I can't tell you how much I appreciate having this kind of support.'

'Don't mention it,' replied Victor. 'I'm glad if we're able to help in some way.'

Harry changed into his practice robes and joined his teammates on the pitch. 'Seeker training with me, Potter,' said Tuttle. 'I've sent Barrowmaker to the weight room with a trainer, to help him recover from Saturday's match.'

Harry knew Tuttle was joking—Owen had been in the match for less than a minute. 'What do you have in mind for today?' he asked.

'We'll get to night training later. But let's sit down first—I want to talk.' She indicated a spot on the benches and they sat down. 'What pushed you over the edge on Saturday? You were fine for more than two hours.'

Harry explained what had happened, and Tuttle scowled when he got to the part about Gilstrap's father. But she didn't speak until he'd finished.

'That bit about his father, and how he'd have been fine if you and your mates had ended the war a week earlier ... how did that affect you?'

'At first I said he was splitting hairs, and that we'd done the best we could. I mean, I was sorry his father had been tortured, but he was hardly the only one. But as soon as he mentioned it, I couldn't help thinking of my friend Neville's parents, who were tortured to insanity during the first wizarding war. I sincerely hoped that wasn't what he'd meant, but from his tone I could tell that it was, even before he said it.'

'And how did that make you feel?'

'I felt sick. I felt responsible. I started wondering if we really needed a whole month to plan the break-in.'

'I read about that month,' replied Tuttle. 'You and your mates had just been rescued from captivity. You were malnourished, and Granger had been tortured.'

'And Dobby died,' said Harry numbly.

'Who was that?'

'A house-elf. He's the one who rescued us. None of the articles bother telling his story, but I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him. You'd still be living under the Death Eaters if it weren't for him.'

Tuttle shook her head in disbelief. 'Three teenagers and a house-elf. We need to do a much better job preventing the next war, I'll tell you that.'

'No argument here,' said Harry.

'So you immediately started blaming yourself and wondering if you could have done better?' she asked.

'Yeah.'

'I understand why you reacted that way, Potter. You have a good heart—everyone knows that. But you're not superhuman, in spite of surviving two Killing Curses, and you need to accept that you're not perfect.'

'I know I'm not perfect,' he said. Did Tuttle really think he was that egotistical?

'Of course you know you're not perfect—you're not delusional. But do you accept it?'

_Do I accept that I'm not perfect?_ Harry asked himself.

'I have regrets,' he admitted, remembering how Sirius had died. He remembered how he'd allowed Wormtail to escape … how he'd been fooled by the fake Professor Moody … how he hadn't urged Tonks to stay with her newborn baby. And perhaps his worst regret of all, that he hadn't figured out he was a Horcrux and sacrificed his life even an hour earlier. 'I have loads of regrets. I screwed up in a million different ways.'

'Damn right you did, and you'll screw up in a million more ways.'

He glared at her and said, 'Cheers, I feel much better now. Any other words of advice?'

'We can't help screwing up, Potter. It's human nature. But we can learn from mistakes without getting mired in them.'

'Right, but how does that help me during a match, when someone like Gilstrap knocks me sideways?'

'First off, I don't think anyone's going to taunt you again like that—Gilstrap certainly learnt his lesson. But it all comes down to practice. Whenever you notice you're berating yourself about something you could have done better, you need to stop and say to yourself, "Well that's how it happened."'

Harry nodded slowly, thinking again about how Sirius had died. The usual chorus of regrets began: _We shouldn't have gone to the Ministry ... I should have known it was a trap ... if only I'd practiced Occlumency better. _And then came a new voice: _Well that's how it happened._

It wasn't a good feeling. It didn't bring Sirius back, certainly. And Harry knew he'd have to practice it again and again. But there was a peaceful aspect to it, and he felt the memory inch slightly towards the past, where it belonged. _Well that's how it happened._

'I can see how that might help,' he said. 'But it's not going to happen overnight.'

'No, it won't. But anything can become automatic if you practice it enough.'

Harry frowned and asked, 'Do I really want it to become automatic? I don't want to start behaving like an entitled prat or whatever they accuse me of next week and then brush off any regrets.'

'No, and you shouldn't. But you've proven you have a conscience, so I doubt that'll happen to you. And you say you have friends to keep you in line, right?'

'I do, yes.'

'So practice accepting the things from the past that you can't change,' she advised. 'Things with your relations, for example.'

Harry sighed. 'I still can't believe everyone knows. I could kick myself for blurting it all out on Saturday.'

'Well that's how it happened, Potter, so quit whinging about it.'

He smiled and said, 'Good point.'

'Now about Thursday's match ... what do you know about Caerphilly?' she asked.

'Er, it's in Wales?'

'Right, that's not going to help you. Have you met Isla Preston?'

'Yes, at Seekers' night out. She was friendly, as I recall.' _Not like Allie Hobbs from the Harpies,_ he thought irritably.

'She has a good reputation,' said Tuttle. 'You certainly won't have a repeat of Saturday's match. But she's a lot more experienced than you are, particularly with night games. And we only have three days to bring you up to speed.'

Harry had a sinking feeling—was Tuttle about to tell him he had to practice at night? 'How do we address that?'

'Goggles. Night mode. They'll simulate the stadium at different light levels. The trick is that it won't go straight from daylight to darkness—you'll be dealing with twilight. There'll be stadium lights, but it's still not what you're used to.'

'You're right. I've flown in low light before, but twilight's another story. Everything gets so flat.'

Tuttle stood and picked up a box. 'Here are the goggles,' she said, 'and I'll get the Launcher started. I want you to practice low-light spotting until Thursday's match. The goggles will cycle through all the light conditions you'll encounter.' She fiddled with the controls and handed them to him.

Harry put on the goggles, and he felt as if many hours had suddenly passed. 'Interesting,' he said, before turning towards the pitch and exclaiming, 'Blimey!' He'd forgotten that the goggles simulate the appearance of a packed stadium.

'Start flying,' instructed Tuttle. 'I'll get the Launcher going.'

At first the conditions were similar to what he'd experienced at Hogwarts in late autumn or early spring. But as time passed, the light became flatter and then the bright stadium lights illuminated. _Bugger, this is difficult,_ he thought, and he knew his spotting percentage was dropping.

Spotting became easier again once it was completely dark, and eventually Tuttle whistled him to the ground. 'Right, that's about what I would have expected,' she said. 'Not bad for a first attempt, but you'll have to do a lot better on Thursday.'

'Understood,' he said, removing the goggles.

She took them from him and adjusted the controls. 'I'm setting it to simulate the most challenging conditions during most of the practice match. I'll honestly be surprised if you out-spot Barrowmaker today, but anything's possible.'

'Will he be wearing goggles as well?' asked Harry.

'No, we'll just aim more Bludgers at him.' Harry's eyes popped open, and Tuttle laughed. 'Just kidding. He'll wear goggles too.'

As predicted, Owen caught the Snitch that afternoon. 'Don't worry about it, Harry,' he said reassuringly. 'You'll get a lot more practice with low light between now and then. It would have been a miracle if you'd caught it today.'

'You mean like surviving two Killing Curses?' retorted Harry.

Owen burst out laughing. 'It's official—you're in the obnoxious Seeker phase. This should be fun.'

Harry shook his head and sighed. 'I told you it had started—and you didn't even taunt me today. How long can I expect this to last?'

'Good question. Perhaps Suresh can start taking wagers.'

'You're not helping,' grumbled Harry. 'Seriously, what was it like for you?'

'I can't remember exactly, but I think it lasted a couple of months. But my circumstances were different than yours.'

'So it's anyone's guess ... brilliant. Hopefully Lee will have his broadcast delay working tomorrow night.'

'You're doing another broadcast already? Isn't it a bit soon?' asked Owen, concerned.

'People are still attacking my relations,' said Harry. 'Ryan said there were twelve more attempts last night—I need to get on the air and urge restraint.'

'All right. But be careful.'

After practice, Harry Apparated to the far end of Diagon Alley and strode into Benedict Thimble's shop. It was less crowded than the last time he was there, but not empty. Althea was helping another customer, but Thimble himself came to greet him.

'Mr Potter,' he said. 'What a pleasant surprise! How may I help you?'

Harry lowered his voice and said, 'I need a set of Wizengamot robes, and I'm hoping you can make me something a bit more modern.'

Thimble shook his head. 'There's no updating Wizengamot robes. Everyone wears the same style—it's a requirement.'

'No it's not. We checked the guidelines, and the only requirement is the colour of the robes and the necktie.'

There was a gleam in the tailor's eyes. 'So other than that, I'd have free rein?'

'Exactly. Is there something you have in mind?' asked Harry.

Thimble was silent for a minute, and his eyes flitted around as he thought. 'Yes,' he mumbled, mostly to himself. 'That gathered sleeve absolutely has to go ... and taper it there ... a peak lapel, for formality ... jetted pocket.' He looked at Harry and asked, 'Will you wear a boutonnière? Normally I'm all in favour, but I think just a pocket square would be smashing—same fabric as the necktie.'

'I trust your judgment,' said Harry. 'What type of shoes should I wear?"

'A dress ankle boot, with only two or three pairs of eyelets. Deep oxblood, polished. I know just who sells them—I'll give you their name before you leave. Will you need a hat as well?'

'No, apparently the hats aren't required, and I won't be sitting with the lords.'

'Excellent. The regular Wizengamot hats are a horror, and the lords' hats are even worse. You'll make a tremendous statement if you enter bareheaded ... just promise me you won't comb your hair.'

'It wouldn't work if I tried,' said Harry. 'My hair does this regardless.'

Thimble looked at Harry's head appraisingly. 'Remarkable.' He jotted down a few notes and asked, 'When do you need them by?'

'The session is a week from Wednesday.'

'That's plenty of time. I can have them for you this Wednesday. Is there anything else I can help you with today?'

'No, but I've half a mind to be photographed in a three-piece Muggle suit one of these days, just to keep people guessing.'

'Ye gods, thanks for the warning! I can only imagine all the owls we'd receive the next day, from wizards telling us to cancel their orders. But yes, I'll be glad to make you a suit anytime you like.' Thimble led Harry to the counter and began writing up the purchase. 'Twenty-five percent discount, Mr Potter. You've been an absolute boon for business.'

'Thank you, it's much appreciated.' After leaving, Harry went to the shoemaker Thimble recommended, and to his relief they didn't offer him a raised heel, shoe, or otherwise.

When he returned to Grimmauld Place he was pleased to find a letter from Neville confirming dinner that night. Harry realised Neville was the only one of his old friends he wanted to talk to. He'd already invited a heap of Hogwarts friends to Thursday's match, but that wasn't nearly as challenging as seeing them in private. Harry still felt bad about ignoring Hermione, but he couldn't face her yet.

Neville arrived at six through the kitchen fireplace. 'Thanks for coming,' said Harry, 'and sorry about the short notice.'

'It's no problem at all,' replied Neville. 'In fact, you rescued me from dinner with Gran and Uncle Algie, so I owe you one.'

'I'm glad to be of service ... please have a seat. Kreacher's preparing pizza, which should be ready soon.'

'Thank Merlin! I've been craving it, and it turns out not all Muggle pizzerias are very good.'

'No, I suppose not.' Harry was tempted to reply with more small talk, but that wasn't why he'd invited him. 'I hope you'll forgive me for being blunt, but there was a particular reason I invited you tonight. I haven't wanted to talk to any of our old friends since Saturday, ever since my ... family history came out. I've spoken candidly to some of my recent friends and acquaintances, but it's harder somehow with people I've known a long time.'

Neville nodded but didn't say anything.

'I received letters from everyone, of course, and they've all been extremely kind and supportive. But I've hardly responded to any of them, and I was downright hurtful to Hermione when she tried drawing me out, even though she and Ryan had just warded my aunt and uncle's house.' Harry looked down and said, 'You've probably guessed why I feel comfortable talking to you, Neville, and I hope you aren't offended.'

'No, I'm not offended. I suspected as much when I heard from you today, though I certainly didn't think I'd be the first of our old friends you'd want to see.'

'You've never given yourself enough credit,' said Harry.

'Hannah says the same thing, but I don't agree with either of you. I'm certain I'm more confident than I once was.'

_That's not a very high bar_, thought Harry, considering Neville used to think he was a Squib. 'That may be, but I won't debate it with you.' He looked at Neville and asked, 'How are your parents doing? Do you see them often?'

'I visit once a week,' he said, 'but it's a one-sided interaction. My father hasn't looked at me in years. My mother is a bit more interactive but mostly just wanders. They both look older than when you last saw them, my father in particular. But they might still live for decades.'

Harry hardly knew how to respond. Was it good or bad news that they still had a long life ahead of them?

'Hermione insisted we get them examined by Muggle specialists last year, but there's nothing to be done,' continued Neville. 'By all measures the damage is permanent. But you didn't invite me here to ask after my parents ... I assume you want to know how I dealt with people finding out.'

'Yes, exactly. I just feel so exposed right now, and I'm wondering if that sounds familiar.'

'It does. I can't tell you how embarrassed I was to see you in their ward that Christmas,' said Neville, referring to when Harry, Ron, and Hermione accidentally surprised him there. 'Looking back, I know I had nothing to be ashamed of, but at the time it felt awful to be exposed like that.'

'I hope you weren't afraid we'd be unkind,' said Harry.

'No, of course not. It was just the looks of shock and sympathy, particularly from Ron and Hermione. But you were all right, I suppose.'

Harry briefly looked away. 'I actually knew already. Dumbledore told me a year earlier, when I saw his memory of the Lestranges' trial in his Pensieve.'

'And you never said anything to Ron and Hermione?'

'No, Dumbledore told me not to. He said it was your right to tell people when you were ready, although I suppose it didn't work out that way.'

Neville sighed. 'I don't know when I'd have been ready. The way you found out was as good as any.'

The pizza appeared silently on the table, and both Harry and Neville served themselves. 'I'd hoped I'd never need to tell anyone about my relations,' admitted Harry.

'You never even told Ginny?' asked Neville.

Harry shook his head. He took his time chewing and swallowing his first bite of pizza and said, 'She knew they'd neglected me—I suppose everyone did—and she knew my cousin was an obnoxious git, but I never provided the details. There didn't seem any point.'

'I feel for you, Harry. It was bad enough when you saw my parents at St Mungo's. But to have the story all over the _Prophet_, with photographs and everything ... it's amazing how well you're handling it. I don't know how you're able to tolerate so much scrutiny.'

_It could have been you,_ thought Harry. _Voldemort might equally have picked you._ 'I didn't have much choice,' replied Harry, 'particularly since I joined the Cannons. I suppose now it's my own fault, at least to some extent.'

'It's hardly your fault that Rita Skeeter used illegal charms on your relations and everyone else who knew you growing up,' argued Neville. 'But I understand what you're saying. And I'm glad you joined the Cannons ... you seem much happier now than before.'

'You mean after Ginny dumped me? That's not saying much.'

'That's not what I meant. In hindsight it's obvious you didn't like your job at the Ministry. And you seem to have a lot more ... adventures now,' added Neville, looking firmly at his pizza.

_God bless Neville,_ thought Harry. _He just made my recent threesome sound like our attempt to keep Snape from finding the Philosopher's Stone. _'I suppose I do,' he acknowledged.

'I hope you don't feel ashamed by anything in Rita's article,' said Neville. 'Certainly none of it was your fault.'

'I know it wasn't my fault. But she described the time in my life I felt the most helpless, and to have that revealed against my will ...' He trailed off.

'That must be awful. I've often counted myself lucky that Draco Malfoy never announced my parents' condition to everyone. Surely he knew about it.'

'Do you really think so? I can't imagine him keeping his mouth shut all those years—I reckon his parents never told him.'

'Maybe you're right,' said Neville. 'He wasn't very big on restraint.'

They were mostly quiet as they ate, but Neville eventually said, 'I don't think anyone treated me differently after they found out. Did it change how you saw me?'

Harry thought for a moment before answering. 'I remember thinking how hard it must be to have parents still living but who don't recognise you. I at least got sympathy for being an orphan. But I don't think it affected how I saw you—it mostly made me angry at Voldemort.' He looked at Neville and asked, 'Did you ever wish you were just an orphan?'

'Often,' admitted Neville. 'Which I still feel bad about, even though Hannah tells me I shouldn't. I felt like being an orphan would have been less embarrassing somehow.'

'I hope you know you've nothing to feel embarrassed about. It's not as if you could have done something to prevent it, or to cure them. I could at least have fought back against my aunt and uncle.'

Neville looked at him incredulously. 'Are you actually faulting yourself for not being brave enough? Harry, you're the bravest person I know—the ultimate Gryffindor.'

'There are lots of brave people, probably braver than I am, in fact. And besides, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me into Slytherin, but I told it no.'

'You were able to outvote the Hat? I kept asking for Hufflepuff but it insisted on Gryffindor. That's why my Sorting took so long.'

'I think it's safe to say you proved yourself when you pulled the sword from the Hat during the final battle. Dumbledore told me only a true Gryffindor could do that.'

'I suppose,' replied Neville. 'But I think the houses oversimplify things. If anything, I was being loyal to Dumbledore when that happened.'

'True, but you literally said it to Voldemort's face, when you believed I was dead. And you'd spent months protecting students from beatings and Dark curses—you were a mass of bruises when we saw you that afternoon. Neville, like it or not, you're incredibly brave.'

Neville frowned. 'Then why didn't I stand up to my relations when they used to put me down all the time? Gran didn't have anything good to say about me until after the battle at the Ministry.'

_Because that's how it happened,_ thought Harry. 'You weren't ready. You didn't believe in yourself yet, even though we all thought highly of you. You worked harder than anyone in the D.A., and you were unstoppable at the Ministry.'

'I'm glad I could help, and I'm proud to have played a small role in your fight against Voldemort.'

'I don't think you get it,' said Harry. 'You didn't just play a role—you were essential. Do you have any idea how important it was to kill Voldemort's snake?'

'Of course, otherwise you wouldn't have asked me to do it.'

'And why do you think I asked you and not someone else?'

Neville blinked. 'You didn't ask anyone else? I assumed you asked everyone you ran across.'

'No, just you. Ron and Hermione knew it was necessary, but I had a strong instinct to ask you. I reckon you were meant to do it all along.'

'You're sounding like Hannah again. You won't believe the theory she has about us. You and me, that is.'

Harry froze. Had Hannah figured out the prophecy?

Not noticing Harry's reaction, Neville continued, 'She's convinced the prophecy about you could also apply to me, because our birthdays are only one day apart and our parents were in the Order. She says the only reason I wasn't the Chosen One was because Voldemort tried to kill you as a baby instead of me.' He laughed and added, 'As if I could have been the Boy Who Lived!'

Harry was torn—he'd hoped Neville would never learn about the prophecy, but he hated for him to believe he wasn't good enough. 'I wasn't the Boy Who Lived any more than you were. I didn't do anything—it was all my mother's sacrifice. Don't you think your mum would have done the same?'

'You're right,' replied Neville, turning red. 'I shouldn't put down my mum like that. Merlin knows she was brave enough.'

'Bugger ... I'm going about this all wrong. I didn't mean to make you feel bad—not at all.' Harry took a deep breath and continued. 'Hannah's right. The prophecy could have referred to either one of us. The only reason it was me and not you was because Voldemort marked me,' said Harry, indicating his scar. 'That's why I could speak Parseltongue and feel what he was experiencing.'

Neville was silent for a long moment. 'You can't speak Parseltongue anymore?'

'No, that was all Voldemort.'

'What about your magical strength? Everyone knows how powerful you are.'

'No, I'm not—I've never been more than average. Both Ron and Hermione are far more powerful than I am.'

Neville shook his head. 'I find that hard to believe.'

'Believe it. Hermione found that illegal potion in the Black family Grimoire—the one that measures magical strength.' Neville looked shocked, and Harry said, 'She erased it, but not before brewing it. Turns out my magic is only slightly stronger than average.'

Neville still looked incredulous. 'What did the prophecy say exactly? You don't need to tell me the whole thing—just the part that identifies who it's talking about. And who delivered it anyway?'

'It was Professor Trelawney, of all people, before we were born. She said it to Dumbledore, but Snape overheard the first half and repeated it to Voldemort.' Harry closed his eyes and recited, _'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...'_

'What does that mean, thrice defied him?' asked Neville.

'It refers to surviving a confrontation with Voldemort, and according to Dumbledore it referred equally to your parents and mine. That's why my parents were in hiding after I was born. Do you know whether yours were as well?'

'I don't think they were, but our house has unusually strong wards. Apparently it has to do with how it's situated, at an intersection of ley lines.' He sighed and added, 'But still, you were born on the thirty-first and not the thirtieth. I'm certain the prophecy could only have applied to you.'

'That's not what Dumbledore said,' replied Harry. 'And consider the other evidence. We were both Sorted into Gryffindor, even though you tried not to be. And you were also instrumental in defeating Voldemort. I'm convinced that if he'd picked you instead of me, our roles would be reversed.'

Neville's face fell, and Harry knew he'd realised something terrible. 'Do you think that's why the Lestranges attacked my parents? Because of the prophecy?'

'I don't know,' said Harry. 'Honestly, I doubt it. Weren't they torturing your parents to find out where Voldemort might have gone after losing his powers?'

'You're right. They probably only attacked them because they were Aurors.' He sighed again. 'Why did Dumbledore think Voldemort chose you?'

'He could only guess, but he thought maybe Voldemort picked me because I'm a half-blood, same as him. Or maybe he started with me because I was born on the thirty-first, and he would have come for you next.'

Neville surprised Harry by smiling. 'Is it all right if I tell Hannah? She'll be glad to know she was right, at least in part.'

'Go ahead. Everyone knows there was a prophecy, and the only reason I kept it quiet was so you wouldn't find out.'

'If you don't mind my asking, what did the entire prophecy say?'

Harry took a breath and repeated Trelawney's words. _'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...'_

Neville didn't say anything for a long while, and Harry could see he was deep in thought. 'But how are you still alive?' he asked.

'Voldemort stole my blood. That's why I was able to come back, because of my mother's protection.'

'But that doesn't make sense. Didn't it say "_neither can live while the other survives"?'_

'Yes. I don't understand either. Remember this is divination, so it's mostly bollocks.'

Neville nodded. 'I suppose you're right. But what about the power the Dark Lord knows not?'

'Apparently it's love. My mother's sacrifice, mostly.' He omitted what Dumbledore had said about Harry's extraordinary capacity for love, particularly in light of his childhood.

'I don't know,' smirked Neville. 'It sounds like you have exceptional power in that department. Two witches, after all.'

Harry chuckled and said, 'I'm certain any wizard could have done it. And I recommend it highly, if you can convince Hannah.' Neville turned red, but Harry couldn't resist adding, 'Try a Hovering Charm.'

Neville's eyes widened and they both laughed. They didn't talk about the prophecy again that night but instead covered a wide range of topics, mostly about life after Hogwarts and the war. Harry could tell from the way Neville talked about Hannah that he was deeply in love. _I wonder if they'll announce their engagement soon._

When Neville was ready to leave, Harry thanked him again. 'I'm glad you could make it. I truly wish you couldn't relate to what I'm going through, but I'm grateful for your perspective. You're a real friend.'

'You are too. Don't let the _Prophet_ or the other Seekers make you believe otherwise.'

After Neville had gone, Harry went to the sitting room and pulled out a parchment and quill. He wrote:

_Dear Hermione,_

_Please excuse me for not replying sooner, and also for chasing you away on Saturday. I'm grateful beyond words for your assistance, and Ryan's as well. You're a wonderful couple, and I'm pleased to have played a role in bringing you together._

_I know you're wondering why I never told you about the Dursleys. It's not that I didn't trust you—I simply didn't want to talk about it. There never seemed any point, particularly since Dumbledore insisted I stay there every summer. You already did everything you could have done to help, like sending me food and writing me letters. It made a tremendous difference just knowing I had friends who cared about me._

_I can't say I'll want to talk about it much, so please don't expect any deep confidences from me. But I'd enjoy seeing you tomorrow night before the broadcast, if you're available. Perhaps you can come to Grimmauld Place for an early dinner, and we can also discuss the details of the goblin handover on Friday and my date with Moaning Myrtle (I can't believe I just wrote that)._

_Please let me know whether dinner on Tuesday will work._

_Yours,_

_Harry_

He sent the message off with Lysander, who knew to deliver it to the charmed letterbox Hermione had installed in the back garden. Harry felt his conscience ease once he'd sent it—he hadn't enjoyed feeling so distant from Hermione. Admittedly he'd brushed Ron off as well, but somehow that felt different.

_I survived Monday,_ he thought. _Everyone knows, but I'm still all right. I got through practice, a trip to Diagon Alley, and an evening with Neville._ Harry still felt overwhelmed at times, but his greater sense of peace and acceptance arose to protect him. _This is how it happened_, he though calmly, before going to bed_._


	43. Chapter 43

Quidditch practice on Tuesday was going better than it had the day before. Harry was having an easier time spotting the Snitch in twilight conditions, and he was more optimistic about Thursday's match. He knew winning wasn't everything, but he'd invited ten guests—including Laetitia and Madam Hooch—and he didn't want to disappoint them.

They were already two hours into the practice match, and Owen and Harry were taunting each other to alleviate boredom more than anything. 'Do you have any big plans for your date tomorrow night?' asked Owen. 'I bet there's a lot of freaky stuff you can do with a semi-corporeal ghost.'

'Get your mind out of the gutter, Barrowmaker. Myrtle was only fifteen when she died.'

'True, but wasn't she classmates with Voldemort? That makes her at least seventy. Which I suppose is a whole other fetish for you to explore ... shall I introduce you to my grandmum?'

'I don't know—is she rich?' asked Harry. 'I come from a long line of gold-diggers.'

'That's true—your mum can't have been the first. Unfortunately my grandmum's no help in that regard, but there must be other women you can fleece—magical and Muggle. In fact, that might be a good way to save up for your future divorces, seeing as you're too proud to accept money from Silver Arrow.'

'That's how Voldemort got his start, you know—fleecing dowagers,' said Harry, recalling the Pensieve memory Dumbledore had shown him, in which a young Tom Riddle had flattered and ultimately murdered a wealthy dowager to obtain Hufflepuff's cup and Slytherin's locket.

'Right, but wasn't he tall and handsome? You mainly seem to coast on fame.'

'Oi, I shagged a Muggle last weekend! No fame required.'

'Then you must be good at wandless Compulsion Charms. Though I'd really thought better of you,' said Owen. 'But back to your date with a ghost ... is this another Oedipal fantasy? Your mum's dead, after all.'

'You're a sick man, Barrowmaker. Then again, I suppose you've had to cultivate your imagination to pass the time while you're in the skybenches watching me play.'

'No, I prefer listening to everyone in the stands slag you off. They're impressed you've found a way to put off becoming a has-been, but of course it's only a matter of time.'

'Yes, please tell me again about the three matches you won before your career ended,' retorted Harry. 'Is that what you tell your daughters at night to put them to sleep?'

'No, I just repeat all the self-involved blather you bore me with day after day.'

Frequently they had to stop taunting because one or both of them burst out laughing—neither of them took the other's insults seriously. Or they reversed roles and did their best to taunt themselves.

'Hey Barrowmaker,' said Owen, 'remember when you thought you were a big deal because you were a starting Seeker? Ironic, since it turned out you'd only be remembered for coaching someone more talented than yourself.'

'Do you mean Potter?' replied Harry. 'Not very bright, that one. He literally had direct insight into Voldemort's thoughts and movements for years, but he couldn't figure out he was a bloody Horcrux who needed to die. It's sad, really.'

'At least Potter did something useful during the war,' retorted Owen. 'Barrowmaker just sat in the stands with a bunch of Death Eaters watching his teammates play.'

Harry knew this was false, and that Owen had been active in the resistance. 'Meanwhile Potter is torching his reputation just to get his wand polished week after week. But I suppose that's what you have to do when witches keep dumping you, and you're too poorly educated to have any intellectual pursuits.'

'And of course he has no hope of learning anything from that poseur Barrowmaker,' countered Owen. 'The poor man thinks he's clever, but that's only because he spends all his time with other Quidditch players. It'll be sad when Darius finally cuts him from the team and he has to beg Potter to help him get an entry-level job at the Ministry.'

'At least Barrowmaker sat his N.E.W.T.s,' replied Harry. 'Potter will probably have to cover his divorce payments by driving the Knight Bus.'

'Nah,' said Owen. 'He can always charge for autographs and public appearances, though he might need to charm his scar darker if it keeps fading.'

'Excuse me, I thought we were self-taunting!' protested Harry. 'There are rules, you know.'

'I'm bored,' grumbled Owen. 'When's the bleeding Snitch going to appear? You're still practicing good spotting techniques, right?'

'Yes, my awareness is an all-knowing cloud. I am one with the bloody arena. And the Snitch is probably hiding behind one of the goalposts, having a smoke.'

'Now that's an image,' said Owen. 'You're really more clever than you get credit for.'

'It's not too late,' replied Harry. 'For all we know, the _Prophet_ is preparing an exposé entitled _"Harry Potter: Genius!"'_

'"_The Boy Who Thought!"' _suggested Owen.

'"_Lord Brainiac!"'_

'Were any of your dead fathers clever?' asked Owen.

'Remus was. The other two, not so much. Sirius ruined his life trying to catch a rat Animagus, and my dad literally thought he could hold off Voldemort even though his wand was in the other room.'

'Please don't tell me you how you know that last detail. It's got to be some spooky way, right?'

'Yes, I saw it through Voldemort's memories. Welcome to my life.'

Both Harry and Owen suddenly jerked to the left and shot downwards. The Snitch had appeared just past Lyle and Gary, who were both jockeying for the same Bludger. Owen swerved out of the way as the Bludger approached but Harry stayed the course, instinctively knowing he wouldn't be struck, and he closed his hand triumphantly around the Snitch.

'Yes!' cried Harry. 'We can go home now!'

'Thank Merlin!' agreed Owen, removing his goggles. 'Oi, it's still light out.'

'You're right,' said Harry, pulling his off as well. 'What time is it anyway?'

'Five o'clock,' replied Lyle. 'Nice work, Snitchbottom.'

'It felt far later than that,' said Harry. 'Those goggles really play with your head.'

They flew to the benches for Tuttle's notes, and then Harry was free to shower and go home. It wasn't long before Hermione arrived.

'Hi, how was practice?' she asked.

'The match went on forever, but I caught the Snitch in the end.' He described the goggles, which fascinated her. 'How are you doing?'

'I'm well, thanks. Minerva and Professor Babbling were at the Ministry today, and I helped them remove the wards preventing people from remembering the other schools. It was an unusual process, because we had no idea why we were doing it. We just had to trust our written instructions.'

'Amazing,' said Harry. 'That should make a tremendous difference. Do you know how things are advancing at the _Prophet?'_

'Oddly, they've been harder to work with than the Ministry was, but we're scheduled to investigate on-site early next week. It's embarrassingly slow, of course, but that's wizards for you.'

'It is,' said Harry as they started eating the dinner Kreacher had prepared. 'Is Moaning Myrtle still willing to help?'

'If you're asking whether you're off the hook tomorrow night, the answer is no. She's dead set on your date—no pun intended—and she promises to get to work right afterwards. Unless, of course, she's too knackered,' said Hermione with a smirk.

'Very funny,' replied Harry. 'Hang on a minute—if the wards at the _Prophet_ are still up, they won't be able to fully explain why I'm on a date with a ghost.'

Hermione sighed. 'That's right. I was hoping you wouldn't realise that until afterwards.'

'Thanks for your faith in my intellect, but no, I managed to rub two brain cells together in spite of my lack of N.E.W.T.s.'

'Harry! There's no need for sarcasm.'

'Ugh,' groaned Harry. 'It's the bloody taunting. Owen warned you, right?'

'Yes, in detail. Do you think you can rein it in for your broadcast tonight?'

'I've no idea, but at least Lee has the delay working. He decided not to take any chances and made it thirty seconds long. That should give me time to describe all the Horcruxes and Voldemort's favourite sex fantasy before he cuts me off.'

'Please tell me you never saw any of Voldemort's sex fantasies,' said Hermione nervously.

'No, I just saw how much he enjoyed torturing people, which was close enough.'

Hermione shuddered. 'Anyway, I hate to jump straight back to the topic of your date with Myrtle, but there's another detail you should know: the venue.'

'She agreed to the Three Broomsticks, right?'

'Er, she changed her mind. Now she wants to go to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'Are you serious? Do they even serve proper food, or is it just cakes?'

'I think it's just cakes. And tea of course.'

'Bloody hell! I can't eat cake for dinner. That might work for a ghost, but I need actual food.'

'Can you have Kreacher bring you something? Or maybe you can get takeaway from the Three Broomsticks. I'm certain Madam Rosmerta would love an excuse to pop in.'

'I suspect the entire village of Hogsmeade will find an excuse to pop in,' scowled Harry. 'But your Kreacher suggestion is a good one ... the match is on Thursday and I'm forbidden from eating outside food a full day in advance, in case of potions. So I can just have Kreacher feed me.'

'Madam Puddifoot won't like that.'

'Madam Puddifoot can blow me,' snapped Harry. 'Ugh! Sorry! Bloody Quidditch!'

Smirking, Hermione said, 'Wow, you're really something. It's a good thing you never talked to Voldemort like that.'

'I'm pretty sure I talked to Umbridge like that,' he said. 'Or I should have done.'

'You'd have had to write a lot more lines in that case.' She reflexively glanced at his right hand and exclaimed, 'Hold on—where's your Umbridge scar?'

'Glamoured to oblivion! I had the goblins add it to the ring.'

'What a clever idea! You deserve an honorary N.E.W.T. just for coming up with it.'

'Cheers. I actually got the idea from the charmed pendant and wristwatches we got for the Dursleys. Which are apparently still earning their keep ... my uncle was attacked getting out of his car this morning, and my aunt was ambushed at the supermarket. But they were unharmed, and no other Muggles saw what happened.'

'I can't believe people are still attacking them, even though the _Prophet_ has run announcements every day. Is that why you're so keen to do the broadcast tonight?'

'Exactly.'

'It serves them right, you know,' scolded Hermione. 'Obviously I'm glad they're protected, but at least they're seeing how many people are angry at them.'

Harry sighed. 'It doesn't help. All it does is confirm that wizards are a bunch of violent freaks.'

'I know, but it also shows how important you are in the wizarding world.'

'There may have been a time when I'd have cared about that, but I don't anymore. They'd just find some new way to make me feel worthless.'

'You're nobler than I am, Harry. I admit there's a part of me that wishes my old bullies could see how far I've come. I'm tempted to drag Ryan around to restaurants and pubs near where I grew up, just to show him off.'

Eventually their conversation came around to his Friday meeting with Ragnok and other high-ranking goblins. 'It should be very straightforward,' said Hermione. 'We'll tell you where to walk and what to say, and you'll be out of there within half an hour.'

'Half an hour? Just to hand over some artefacts?'

'Well, there's a ceremony to go with it. It's an historic event after all.'

'I don't think that's a good idea—goblins like to keep things simple. When I gave back the drinking horn it took less than a minute. Thirty seconds even.'

'Hmm, you may be right. I suppose the Ministry doesn't have a good track record when it comes to goblins. I'll talk to Octavia and see what she thinks.'

Harry was silent a moment. 'That was odd. I'm not accustomed to knowing more about something than you do. Except flying, perhaps, but according to Ryan you're quickly catching up.'

'I'm sure he's exaggerating. Although I did purchase my own broom last week—a Cleansweep Twelve. Obviously not what you'd fly, but I felt rather bold.'

'Congratulations! Perhaps we'll go flying together sometime. I'd like to visit the ruins of my grandparents' house, and I suspect flying will be the best way to explore. Though I'm afraid it'll be depressing, considering my grandparents were probably killed there.'

'That's not true,' said Hermione. 'I took the liberty of looking them up once we learnt their names from the tapestry, and they both died from Dragon Pox before you were born.'

'Dragon Pox? I thought that was curable.'

'It is, but they were elderly. Apparently they were already quite old when they had your father.'

Harry sighed. 'I can scarcely imagine having parents, let alone grandparents. My mother's parents died prematurely as well, but Aunt Petunia never told me much about them. I don't think she liked to acknowledge we had any relations in common. It must have been a great relief to her that Dudley and I look nothing alike.'

'It's a relief to me, certainly!' said Hermione. 'Other than your eyes, you seem to be all Potter.'

'Yes, but I'm considering changing my name.'

'Really? To Black?'

'Potter-Black. Laetitia convinced me that hyphenation is becoming more common. But I want to talk to Andromeda and some of the other Blacks first.'

'Not Narcissa, surely!'

'Can you imagine that conversation? "My dear Lady Malfoy, I'm considering insulting your pure-blood ancestors by adopting your name and dragging it through the mud with my loose morals and generally obnoxious behaviour. Would you mind?"'

'Naturally, Draco would have to be present as well,' said Hermione. '"Hey Draco, this means everyone will know we're cousins! Perhaps we can go flying together. Oh, bother ... you're still under house arrest. Maybe next year."'

Harry laughed. 'It appears I'm not the only one with a devilish streak! But what's your excuse? Surely Ryan's not to blame.'

'No ... I think I've always been this way, but I'm less inclined to stifle it than I once was.'

'It's entertaining,' said Harry. 'And you'll make me look slightly less odious by comparison. But perhaps you can help me redeem myself ... I could use your advice on all the charitable requests I've received since joining the Cannons.'

'Oh dear, you probably have a mountain of them by now.'

'I almost certainly would, except Mrs Thwip compiled them into a single report.' Harry pulled a parchment from his pouch and unrolled it.

Hermione leaned in for a closer look. 'Impressive! I can see why Lockhart engaged her.' She scanned the list. 'Heavens, there really are a lot of dubious charities in the wizarding world!'

'Like the one that puts commemorative plaques on important places in wizarding history?'

'No, that's pretty good compared to some of them. Like the arts organisation that produces a play every year about a past Chief Witch or Warlock of the Wizengamot. Or the herbological society devoted to the cultivation of new types of pumpkins.' Hermione continued reading the list, and exclaimed, 'Really? The Museum of Broken Wands? Why would anyone want to look at those?'

'Maybe I should give them the Elder Wand,' said Harry. 'Surely that would be their most popular exhibit.'

'Do you still have it?'

'Yes, the pieces are in my Mokeskin pouch. I wasn't sure what to do with it, to be honest. I can't say I've ever wanted to reopen Dumbledore's tomb and put it back.'

'I'm certain the museum would want it, but do you really think that's a good idea?' asked Hermione.

'You mean is it safe? I suppose I'd have to ask Ollivander whether anyone could use the pieces to craft a new one. But otherwise I'd love to offer proof I actually destroyed it, so nobody tries coming after me.'

'Alternatively you could give it back to Malfoy, when you tell him you're changing your name. Technically speaking, he was master of the Elder Wand longer than you were.'

'I'm sure he's not at all bitter about that.' Harry looked again at the list of charities. 'There seem to be a number of good charities—particularly the one for orphans.'

'Wizarding Orphans Relief Fund, yes. I can see why that would appeal to you. And according to the description, they help anyone in need and not just orphans.'

They reviewed the list together and check-marked the charities that seemed the most deserving, and Harry resolved to donate money or offer his services in some other way.

He looked at his pocket watch and said, 'I should head to Diagon Alley for the broadcast in a few minutes.'

'Is that what you're wearing?' asked Hermione.

Harry looked down at his outfit. 'What's wrong with it?'

'You're not wearing any flowers. People expect them now.'

'I suppose, but I don't want to become predictable.'

'That's why you vary the type of flower. Do you have any boutonnières at the house right now?'

'Yes, in my bedroom. The florist keeps sending me them.'

'Let's have a look,' she said, leading the way upstairs to his bedroom. There were a half dozen different boutonnières on his dresser, and she appraised them carefully. 'Some of these are too big.'

'Yes, I need to tell them that. Smaller is better, as far as I'm concerned.'

'This white one is lovely,' she said, delicately sniffing a spray of freesia. 'And so is this one.' She handed him a boutonnière composed solely of greenery, and he slid it into his buttonhole. 'Do you know what you're wearing for your date with Myrtle?'

Harry sighed. 'As much as it pains me to do it, I'm pulling out all the stops. She's doing us an enormous service, after all.'

'Does this mean ...' began Hermione.

'Yes, the floral waistcoat.'

Hermione's face lit up. 'Will you wear a myrtle flower as well?'

'No, it would clash with the waistcoat. I ordered a boutonnière with rosebuds and myrtle leaves, and also an extremely pungent bouquet for when I pick her up at her bathroom.'

'Oh, Harry! You're really quite romantic. How will you travel to Hogsmeade after picking her up?'

'On my broomstick,' he said. 'Do you know if she can sit on one?'

'I'm certain she'll make every effort.' She smiled and added, 'You're terribly sweet to do this, especially considering how much you'll be taunted.'

'It can't be worse than anything I've heard already,' he said as they walked back downstairs. 'And people will learn the real reason soon enough.'

'Will you mention it during the broadcast tonight?'

'Yes, but only respectfully, in case anything I say gets back to her.'

They parted company at the fireplace, with Hermione travelling to Ryan's flat and Harry to the Leaky Cauldron. One of the bar patrons asked, 'Are you going to be on the radio again, Harry?'

'Yes, in a quarter hour. Weasley's Wizard Wireless!'

He strode towards the shop, which was even more crowded than it had been the previous week. A number of young witches were standing outside the entrance, and several photographers snapped his photo as he approached.

'Harry,' called a reporter. 'Are you going to respond to the stories about your childhood.'

'No. That's my own business and should never have been made public. My only statement is that I don't want anyone to retaliate against my relations. For Merlin's sake, leave them alone!'

Harry entered the store and George whisked him through the cheering crowd. 'George, how are you?' he asked.

'To be honest we've been working like mad. It took Lee a while to fine-tune the delay button, and I've been charming Prongs pyjamas whenever I have a spare moment. Ever since Saturday's match they've been flying off the shelves.'

'I'm glad something good came out of it,' sighed Harry.

'Yes, let's talk once we're in the booth.' George led him there, and they sat down next to Lee.

'Hi Harry, thanks so much for coming,' said Lee. 'Are you certain you're all right with this? We can do the show without you if you prefer.'

'People are still attacking my relations—I need to address it. I'm sorry to make your show more serious than it might otherwise be, but there it is.'

'Don't worry, we're glad to provide a platform. But I assume we should avoid the topic otherwise.'

'That's right. It's no one's business but my own.'

'Understood. What about the match with Gilstrap?'

'I'd rather not discuss what he said to me, but feel free to talk about how I punched him and got ejected. Go ahead and take the piss—I should never have lost my temper.'

'Brilliant,' said Lee. 'And is it true you have a date tomorrow night with Moaning Myrtle? Please say yes.'

'I do, and I'd like to publicise the situation with the wards and the other schools, but not at Myrtle's expense. She's doing us a huge favour, and without her we're doomed.'

'Noted ... no making fun of your girlfriend. Is there anything else you want to discuss?'

Harry smiled, remembering the condoms. 'I have a product idea for you, but it's not exactly family-friendly.'

George and Lee exchanged glances. 'Just how inappropriate are we talking?'

'It's something I learnt about in primary school when I was ten, so not terribly, but it definitely pertains to my loose morals. Shall I tell you now, or do you want it to be a surprise?'

'Surprise, definitely,' said Lee. 'It'll make the show much more entertaining if we hear about it the same time as everyone else. But George and I reserve the right to use the broadcast delay and censor the idea if you've gone too far.'

'That's fine. And if I accidentally say something I shouldn't, may I ask you to censor it?'

'Yes, but know that the in-store audience will hear it regardless,' replied Lee. 'In fact, we should probably censor at least one statement, just to get more people to show up next time.'

'More people?' exclaimed Harry. 'Where would you even put them?'

'Doesn't matter,' said George. 'Demand is demand. They'll just have to arrive earlier if they want a spot.'

'Do you mind talking with Walburga?' asked Lee.

'Er, does she know about Rita's latest article?'

'I don't think so, unless one of her visitors told her. But I can't imagine that happening.'

'No, rational conversation isn't her strong point.'

George looked at his pocket watch. 'One minute.'

Harry conjured a glass and filled it with water. 'I'm not drinking anything from either of you,' he said testily.

'Excuse me, we stopped selling Love Potions years ago.'

'You mean after Ron got hit with the one intended for me?'

'Well, yes,' said George. 'Though in our defence, it wasn't originally that strong. It's only became so powerful because you didn't ingest it right away.'

Lee held up his fingers to count down. 'Good evening, and welcome to another episode of Weasley's Wizard Wireless!' Harry could see the crowd cheering but he couldn't hear them. 'Once again, we're delighted to have our dear friend with us, the one and only Harry Potter.'

There were enthusiastic cheers outside, and Harry waited a moment for people to stop applauding. 'You realise I'm far from being the one and only Harry Potter. There are bound to be dozens in Britain, and even more overseas.'

'That's very true,' said Lee. 'Which is why we at Weasley's Wizard Wireless pledge only to host the _wizard_ Harry Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class, and not just some poor Confunded Muggle.'

'Actually, how do we even know this is the right wizard?' asked George. 'You could be Polyjuiced.'

'You're right,' said Harry. 'During the war we had a protocol for this sort of thing. Though I'm not certain I should answer an identifying question over the radio. Would it be all right to cast my Patronus instead?'

Harry could see the crowd cheering wildly. 'Would it be all right?' repeated George. 'It would be fantastic! Bring him out!'

'I should probably stand up,' said Harry. 'I'm not certain I've ever cast a Patronus sitting down, except for on my broom.' He stood and raised his wand. _'Expecto Patronum!'_

Prongs leapt from Harry's wand, and the crowd immediately parted to make room for him. But he seemed disorientated, as if unsure why he'd been called forth.

'Listeners,' said Lee, 'I'm pleased to confirm that Prongs is now standing in the store, but he looks a bit lost. Harry, could you give him a task or something?'

'Er, Prongs,' began Harry, addressing the blinking stag. 'Sorry to confuse you like that. Would you mind saying hello to, er ...'

'Draco Malfoy,' said George. 'Go say hello to Draco Malfoy. I'm certain he'd enjoy some company.'

Prongs looked at Harry for confirmation. 'That seems a bit obnoxious,' said Harry. 'Malfoy and I don't have the best history.'

'Nonsense, you kept him out of Azkaban,' replied George. 'Go on, Prongs. Say hi to Draco. He's Harry's cousin, you know.'

'Distant cousin,' said Harry. 'And I'm not certain he'd own the relationship, given my Blood Status.'

'Times are changing!' cried Lee. 'Prongs, don't be shy. Off to Malfoy Manor with you!'

Prongs looked again at Harry, who finally said. 'That's fine, Prongs, go ahead. You can say, "Hi Malfoy. So sorry to drop in unannounced. Enjoy the rest of your evening."'

The stag zoomed out of sight, to more cheers.

'So, Harry,' said Lee, 'now that we've established your identity, and possibly created a new broadcast tradition, is there anything you'd like to say to our audience.'

Harry sat down. 'Yes, and this is very serious. Please stop attacking my relations. If I'd wanted revenge, I could have managed it myself and got away with it. But I've never wanted that, and I beg you to stop. The first thing I did after the match was arrange protections for them—that's why I sent for Hermione. She and Ryan Bellamy accompanied me to my aunt and uncle's house, and they very kindly set up wards. And I went to Gringotts and arranged further protection.'

'That's remarkable, particularly given how they treated you,' said George, in a voice Harry knew was his most sincere. 'Only our in-store audience can see him, but Harry clearly means what he's saying.' Many of the audience members nodded in agreement. 'Please, leave his relations alone.'

'If you want to help orphans,' said Harry, 'there are excellent organisations in need of support. I for one plan to donate to the Wizarding Orphans Relief Fund, and I'm certain there are worthwhile Muggle charities as well.'

'Indeed,' said Lee. 'Does that conclude the serious portion of our broadcast, or would you like to berate us some more?'

'It's tempting,' replied Harry, 'but I'll leave off for now.'

'Excellent! So about your commitment to non-violence, would you care to comment on how you punched Andrew Gilstrap on Saturday?'

'Yes. I used my right hand. Or fist, rather.'

'Did everyone see the photograph?' asked George. 'That was really an impressive blow from such an awkward angle—on a broom no less. Did you ever try punching Voldemort off his broom?'

'No, he didn't require a broom. Plus he was a lot taller than I am, and I was rather frail by the end of the war.'

'You really were. I'm certain Gilstrap could have taken you back then. But is there anything else you'd like to say about the incident.'

'Yes, I'm very sorry I lost my temper. I shouldn't have allowed myself to be provoked like that. And I apologise in particular to the Cannons fans, who deserve a Seeker who can control himself.'

'You really have quite a temper,' observed George. 'You were a serious pain in the arse during my final year at Hogwarts.'

'Dolores Umbridge was running the school! Of course I was a pain in the arse.'

'But to your mates?' persisted George. 'We really bore the brunt of it. In fact, I think you deserve punishment.'

'Not more lines, surely,' said Lee.

'No,' said George with a cheeky grin. 'I think you need a motherly scolding from Walburga.'

'Oh god, no,' cried Harry. 'Not Walburga!'

'I'm afraid so.' George tapped the portrait with his wand. 'Excuse me, Mrs Black. We've got Harry here and he needs a proper scolding.'

Walburga opened her eyes and immediately scowled. _'The filthy half-blood? Why does he keep tormenting me?'_

Harry looked at her pleadingly. 'Because you torment me, Walburga, with your empty promises of love. I lie every night in your old bed, yearning for your return. But you never join me—not once.'

'_You aren't worthy of the bed of my fathers! You've ruined it with your unclean depravity!'_

'How dare you call me unclean!'

'That's right!' said George. 'He's a dandy, not a fop. Fops are the unhygienic ones.'

'_Vile abomination! Your very core is tainted with Muggle blood!'_

'Oh, it's worse than that, Walburga,' smirked Harry. 'I shagged a Muggle at the weekend.'

Lee and George burst into laughter, and Walburga turned purple with rage. _'I curse you! I curse you, foul imp! Begone from my sight!'_

'Furthermore,' continued Harry, 'I highly recommend shagging a Muggle if you get the opportunity. Not you, Walburga—you're a portrait. But everyone else.'

Livid, Walburga pulled one of the mole rats from its cage and threw it at Harry, but it smacked against the front of the canvas and squealed loudly before scurrying off.

'That's enough,' said George, tapping the portrait with his wand. 'Harry, I'm endlessly impressed by your ability to provoke her.'

'It took practice, but remember we lived together for a long time.'

Lee cleared his throat. 'Let's not lose focus, Harry. You just shared some startling new information—you shagged a Muggle. Is it serious? Are you planning to introduce her to the wizarding world?'

'No, I was completely incognito, and we're unlikely to see each other again.'

'And that's what our listeners were waiting to hear,' announced George. 'This week's store discount depended on whether Harry Potter had a one-night stand at the weekend, and the answer is a resounding yes! So bring in our advertisement and receive a ten-percent discount through Sunday.'

'Actually, it was two nights,' said Harry.

'That changes everything,' said Lee. He looked at the audience and asked, 'Judges, how do you rule? Does a two-night stand still unlock this week's discount?'

The crowd cheered wildly, and Harry could feel the floor shake as they stomped their feet. 'That looks like a yes,' he said.

'It certainly does!' replied Lee. 'The discount stands! So Harry, please elaborate. Was Walburga's former bed involved?'

'No, that would have been a clear violation of the Statute of Secrecy. The first night was at her flat, and the second night was at a hotel.'

'A seedy hotel? With hourly rates?'

'No, it was very nice. It reminded me of Malfoy Manor, actually—minus the torture.'

'They should put that in their advertisements,' suggested George. 'What else would you like to tell us about your Muggle adventure?'

'The details are private,' said Harry. 'But this brings me to my product suggestion.'

'Ah, yes,' replied Lee. 'I should warn our listeners that Harry hasn't told us yet what he has in mind, and we may be required to censor him if it's unsuitable. Though our in-store audience will hear everything.' The crowd applauded enthusiastically.

'Lee's finger is poised over a rune right now,' said Harry. 'He's clearly ready to silence me if I cross a line. But here's my idea ... Weasley's Wizard Wheezes should produce condoms, to be used by wizards during encounters with Muggles.'

A portion of the audience exploded with laughter, but Harry could see that the rest were mystified. Lee and George exchanged a quick glance and nodded enthusiastically at each other.

'It's clear that not everyone in our audience knows what a condom is,' said Lee. 'Harry, would you care to explain?'

He took a deep breath. 'Oh dear, I didn't realise it wasn't common knowledge. I learnt about them when I was ten, in primary school. It's a thin rubber wrapper a man uses during sexual intercourse to prevent pregnancy and transmission of diseases.'

Expressions of shock and horror from some of the wizards in the audience. 'Frankly, that sounds dreadful,' said George. 'But it can't be as awful as what I'm imagining if you went back for a second night, correct?'

'That's right. It wasn't the same as without, but it was still perfectly enjoyable. But the problem is the application. It's rather fiddly, and I can't say I was at peak mental acuity.'

'So you can't apply it in advance, like a Contraception Charm?'

'No, it's smack in the middle. Do you see the problem?'

'I'm relieved to say I can't see the problem right now,' replied George. 'You're seated and appear to be perfectly composed. But I can imagine why that would be tricky.'

'Yes,' said Lee. 'So tell us what you're envisioning. It seems you've put some thought into this.'

'I'm picturing something that looks like an ordinary Muggle condom, only magically enhanced. For example it would be self-applying and fortified against breakage. It could also have Contraception Charms, for extra protection.'

George was nodding thoughtfully. 'That's a good idea, yes. But you've only just begun. For this to be worthy of the Weasley name, it needs to be truly outstanding.'

'Frankly, I'd be wary of any contraceptive device named after a Weasley, but I'll overlook that for now,' said Harry.

'Fair enough,' said George. 'But can we add other enhancements? To improve the experience?'

'I can only speak for myself, but I'd certainly appreciate a thinner material.'

'And what do you think the witch might like?' asked Lee. 'The woman, rather.'

'I know they make ribbed ones,' said Harry, 'but I'm told they don't make much difference.'

'I know what would make a difference,' said George. 'Size.'

'Merlin!' exclaimed Harry. 'That didn't even cross my mind.'

'It might have crossed hers,' said Lee. 'Though I suppose she came back for seconds.'

'Damn right she did,' said Harry smugly, and the audience started hooting.

'You've clearly identified a promising market niche,' said George. 'Harry, can we give you the credit in some way?'

'What, Harry Potter branded condoms? Absolutely not. My only endorsement is Livingston's Flowers on Diagon Alley.'

'Yes, of course. But perhaps we could make a charitable donation in your honour, for every condom sold.'

'I'd have to think about it,' said Harry. 'Maybe consult Gringotts first.'

'Definitely. Only an idiot would enter a business agreement without due diligence,' said George. 'Like our original backer, for example.'

'Yes, he was a complete git,' agreed Harry. 'But we've strayed from my original point, which is that every witch or wizard should at least get to know a few Muggles. There are all sorts of brilliant Muggles out there—same as wizards—and you're severely limiting yourself if you never even meet any.'

'But how do you get to know a Muggle without violating the Statute of Secrecy or resorting to memory charms?' asked Lee.

'I'll admit, that takes some ingenuity. But it's definitely worth the effort, and my life is certainly richer for it.'

'And that's nothing to sneeze at,' said George, 'We all know how rich Harry Potter is, after all.'

'Oi! That was last week's _Prophet_. I thought we were past that!'

'Yes, you're right. Silly me ... you're only set for one lifetime and not hundreds. Perhaps we should establish a charity for you.' Harry glowered at George, who started laughing. 'And that's clearly a sore point. Take note, Miss Preston,' he said, referring to the Caerphilly Seeker.

Lee interjected, 'In the interest of not further alienating our most popular guest, after Walburga of course, I'd like to change the topic. Harry, I understand you have a very important engagement tomorrow night.'

'That's right. I'm going on a date with Myrtle Warren, late of Hogwarts.'

'And you're using the word "late" deliberately?'

'I am. Miss Warren is a ghost.'

Numerous audience members doubled over with laughter, but Harry continued, 'She's assisting us with an absolutely crucial task involving the Hogwarts wards. As you may have heard, for more than eighty years, Hogwarts and other key institutions have been warded to make people forget that any other wizarding schools exist.'

'I was certainly shocked to learn about it last month, and I assume most of our listeners were as well,' said Lee. 'Would the members of our in-store audience who attended schools other than Hogwarts be so kind as to raise their hands?' Roughly two-thirds of the audience members obliged.

'Yes, exactly,' said Harry. 'My teammate Owen Barrowmaker had long suspected the existence of interfering wards, and Hermione Granger took action to uncover them, along with Hogwarts headmistress Minerva McGonagall and George's brother Bill. But with help from Myrtle Warren, those wards will be gone soon, and I'm taking her to dinner tomorrow night to show my appreciation.'

'Where will this date occur?' asked Lee. 'Not at Hogwarts, surely?'

'No, in Hogsmeade. I've a lovely evening planned.'

'Will you require condoms?' asked George brightly, and Harry promptly pressed his finger to the broadcast delay rune.

'She's fifteen,' said Harry, still touching the rune.

'You're right. Lee, how do we restart the broadcast?'

Lee lifted Harry's hand from the rune and used his wand to perform a quick charm. 'Listeners, I apologise for the silence. I can assure you that Harry said nothing inappropriate, for once.'

'There's a first time for everything,' said Harry, and the tense moment passed. 'So if Myrtle is listening, I'd like to thank her for her kind service to wizardkind.'

'You mean by keeping you occupied for a few hours?' asked Lee.

'Exactly,' replied Harry. 'And there should be photographs in Thursday's _Prophet,_ though we don't know yet whether Myrtle shows up on film.'

'Listeners, place your bets now!' announced Lee. 'This will make the third witch Harry is photographed with in nearly as many weeks. Should we expect to see you again with your exceedingly lovely companion from last week?'

'Yes, and I can assure you she's equally lovely on the inside,' said Harry, prompting guffaws from both Lee and George.

'I'm certain she is,' said Lee. 'Listeners, I can't believe it, but Harry's actually blushing!'

'Excuse me,' said Harry indignantly, 'I was referring to her personality—Laetitia and I are only friends. But she'll be attending the match on Thursday night, and I imagine we'll be seen together on future occasions as well.'

'You've certainly had a lot of partners since my sister chucked you,' said George. 'Would you care to comment?'

'No, but I'm certain Doctor Niffler will.'

'I'm sorry, who's Doctor Niffler?' asked George.

'That's my name for the Mind Healer the _Prophet_ keeps consulting about me. Cassia something ... she wrote a self-help book called _Be Your Own Niffler_, which I haven't read.'

'Oh, Cassia Dexter. My mum has several of her books—she's quite well-known.'

Harry scowled. 'If she's well-known, you'd think she'd understand the value of privacy. She certainly doesn't respect mine.'

'You mean you didn't like how she said you were a walking wound with a Dursley-shaped knife through your heart?' said George.

'Or how deep down you miss Voldemort, because he gave your life meaning?' added Lee.

'Did she really say that?' exclaimed Harry. 'I only skimmed yesterday's article. What a load of bollocks!'

'Are you making an official statement?' asked Lee.

'Yes, my official statement is that I do not even slightly miss Voldemort.'

'Even though he gave your life meaning?' prompted George.

'If by "meaning" you mean I was subject to a bloody prophecy for years, then yes, I'm delighted to be living a meaningless life,' replied Harry.

Lee and George simultaneously pressed the broadcast delay rune. 'Harry, did you intend to reveal that?' asked George.

'Everyone knows there's a prophecy,' said Harry. 'I'm not planning on revealing the details, but feel free to broadcast what I said.'

Lee used his wand to restore the broadcast. 'Listeners, you heard it here first. There was indeed a prophecy. Harry, would you care to say any more about it?'

'It said I had the power to defeat Voldemort, but it was maddeningly non-specific about how to do it or whether success was even likely. Voldemort heard the first half of the prophecy before I was born, and that's why he tried to kill me as a baby.'

'Interesting,' said George. 'And here I thought it was a trick-or-treating attempt gone horribly wrong. Hallowe'en, you know.'

Harry laughed and said, 'It's really a tribute to my Seeker training that I can laugh about this. Owen and I spend hours taunting each other every day, and I'm certain I've heard every possible dead parent joke.'

'And you're referring to Owen Barrowmaker, Chudley Cannons reserve Seeker?' asked Lee.

'That's right. Also known as the man who saved my arse after I was ejected on Saturday.'

'I thought that was the Snitch and not your arse,' said George. 'Or have I long misunderstood a crucial aspect of Quidditch—or your anatomy?'

'No, I was speaking figuratively. My arse is not a Snitch, and Owen has never interacted with it.'

Lee announced, 'Audience members, please raise your hand if you never expected to hear Harry Potter say, "My arse is not a Snitch." ... Yes, that's pretty much every hand in the store.'

'I would hereby like to offer a special bonus for those of you who present this week's advertisement,' declared George. 'If you say "My arse is not a Snitch," at the time of purchase, we'll raise the discount to fifteen percent. Through Sunday only.'

'Hang on, shouldn't the phrase be, "Harry Potter's arse is not a Snitch?"' asked Lee.

'No, we're trying to respect Harry's privacy,' said George. 'If anyone says "Harry Potter's arse is not a Snitch," you won't receive the original discount and we'll charge you five percent extra.'

'Thank you,' said Harry. 'This level of respect is the reason I'm willing to appear on your broadcast.'

'Indeed. We've been downright obsequious,' said Lee. 'Does this mean we haven't scared you away yet?'

'That's correct. I imagine I'll be back regularly, if only to reconnect with Sirius's dear mother.'

'You're right, she's practically family. Will you be taking the Black name soon?' asked George.

Harry resisted the urge to press the broadcast delay rune, but instead said, 'The Cannons publicity department would be furious if I tried, so for the time being I'm still a Potter.'

'For the time being? Fascinating. I suspect we'll hear more on this topic in the future.'

'Don't hold your breath,' replied Harry. 'Anyway, I should probably leave before I say something I regret.'

'Yes, so far you've only scandalised wizarding Britain with your condom idea, insulted a beloved Mind Healer, and revealed a top-secret prophecy,' said Lee. 'If you don't find a way to be more interesting, Harry, we might not have you back on the programme.'

'I understand,' said Harry, nodding soberly. 'I'll try to come up with something more exciting next time.'

'Please do. Anyway, good luck against the Catapults on Thursday night, and see you again soon!'

'Yes, and try not to punch Isla Preston,' suggested George. 'Nobody seemed to mind when you clocked Gilstrap, but hitting a witch might be frowned upon.'

'Thanks for the advice. And thanks again for having me on the show.'

George ushered Harry from the booth and closed the door behind them. 'That was brilliant! Are you happy with how it went?'

'Yes. I'm sure I'll get taunted for something or other, but that's normal, and I'm not worried about Preston. How did you like the condom idea?'

'Honestly, it's a stroke of genius—we'll definitely pursue it. And seriously, pick a charity you'd like to benefit.'

'All right, I'll get back to you. See you Thursday night.'

Harry received loud cheers as he passed through the crowd, and when he exited the store he spent a few minutes signing autographs. The final witch to approach him was particularly bold, handing him the 'Man Who Lived' issue of the _Prophet_ from the previous month. 'I just love this photograph,' she said breathily. 'I'd never seen you before without your eyeglasses.'

'Who should I sign it for?' he asked, admiring her long blond hair and pouty lips.

'Lydia. Lydia Travers.'

Harry's eyes shot open—Travers was an inner-circle Death Eater, sentenced for life to the lowest level of Azkaban.

'He's my great-uncle,' she said without prompting.

'How would your family feel about you asking for my autograph tonight?' he asked.

'It's none of their concern. I'm of age.'

'Yes, I can see that,' he said approvingly. 'Is this your way of rebelling?'

'So what if it is?' she asked, looking meaningfully at him.

'I've no complaints, certainly. Rebel however you like.'

'I can think of lots of ways I'd like to rebel,' she whispered. 'I'm very imaginative.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'Why don't I know you from Hogwarts?' he asked. 'I thought that's where your family went.'

'My father's family, yes. But my mother's people went to Stodgings, and that's the letter I received.'

Harry smiled roguishly. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Travers.'

'Call me Lydia.' She looked at him through lowered eyelashes and said, 'I'm certain your house-elf can find me.'

The mental image of Kreacher interrupted Harry's mood. 'I should leave. I have practice in the morning.'

'Yes,' she murmured. 'Go Cannons.'

'Perhaps I'll see you sometime ... Lydia.'

'Perhaps you shall.'

As he walked away, Harry looked over his shoulder once more and saw her regarding him steadily, her lips slightly parted. He turned on his heel and returned to the sitting room at Grimmauld Place. _Sweet Merlin!_ he thought as he loosened his necktie and sat down.

He distracted himself by sending his Patronus to Ron and Hermione for their opinion on the broadcast. 'I can't believe you sent Prongs to Malfoy Manor,' laughed Ron's dog. 'You are one cheeky bastard.'

Hermione's otter was equally amused but for a different reason. 'Here I was worried about you all weekend, and it turns out you were off shagging a Muggle! You really are a devil!'

Harry smiled, picturing his two old friends with their new partners, and the contrast with his own unattached state. _This suits me just fine,_ he thought wickedly, recalling Lydia.

_And believe me, Doctor Niffler .._. _I don't miss Voldemort in the slightest._


	44. Chapter 44

Harry was ambushed by Susanna on Wednesday morning. 'Do you have a moment?' she asked. 'Thaddeus and I have a quick question before you start practice.'

'Er, yes?' he said, following her down the corridor to her office, where Thaddeus was waiting. 'Did I say something wrong in last night's broadcast? Bugger! It was the condom thing, wasn't it? Are parents going to boycott the Cannons now? I'm so sorry!'

Thaddeus sniggered, and Susanna said, 'No, the condom thing was fine. But we're wondering what you have in mind regarding your surname.'

'Oh, right,' said Harry sheepishly. 'That.'

Susanna and Thaddeus looked at him expectantly. 'Are you considering changing it?' she asked.

'I'm considering it, yes. But I haven't made a decision—I'd like to talk to some of the other Blacks first.'

'Harry Black?' prompted Thaddeus.

'No, Harry Potter-Black.' They looked at him questioningly, and he continued. 'It's been pointed out to me that changing my name would be the fastest way to establish House Black as a Light family.'

Thaddeus momentarily choked on his tea. 'You really think that's possible?'

'I honestly don't know,' said Harry. 'But Sirius very specifically wanted me to try, and I owe him that. I've recently identified a number of Blacks from disinherited branches of the family, and I owled them to see whether they're interested in a reconciliation. So that's the first step, and I'll proceed from there.'

'All right,' said Susanna. 'Just keep us informed, if you don't mind.'

'Of course—I'm sorry if this causes problems for you and the team.'

Susanna shook her head reassuringly, and Thaddeus said, 'It's actually a canny move, if you want to increase merchandise sales. People who already bought Potter-branded merchandise might also want the Potter-Black version.'

'Ugh, that's not my intention! Do you think people will accuse me of changing my name simply for profit?'

'You should know by now there's no predicting how people will react,' said Thaddeus. 'I'm certain most people will know it's legitimate, but you'll hear some complaints as well.'

Harry frowned. 'How much would it cost to alter the items that have already been purchased? Perhaps I could subsidise it.'

Susanna and Thaddeus looked at each other. 'Good question,' said Thaddeus. 'Probably not much. I suspect that people with the old Potter merchandise will want to keep it as a collector's item. Limited edition, you know.'

'He's right,' said Susanna. 'I've heard your original Chocolate Frog card is highly sought after.' Harry gave her a blank look and she said, 'They issued an updated card with a new photograph and which says you play for the Cannons.'

'Didn't you see it at your party?' asked Thaddeus. 'I understand they sent you the new version.'

Harry groaned. 'No, I never actually saw the cards—I only heard about them.' He looked at his wristwatch and asked, 'Do you need anything else from me?'

'No, just give us advance warning about the name change if you decide to do it,' replied Susanna. 'And of course we can help you with the announcement.'

Harry thanked them and rushed to join his teammates outside. Normally he preferred to run alone, but that morning he found Titus. 'Good morning,' he said, running alongside the reserve Beater.

'Good morning, Harry. Is something on your mind?'

'Yes. Do I recall hearing you attended Stodgings?'

'I did, yes—I finished two years ago. Why do you ask?'

'I met someone from Stodgings last night, and I'm wondering whether you know anything about her.'

Titus grinned. 'What's her name?'

'Lydia Travers.'

'Are you serious? Where did you meet Lydia Travers? Not in a dark alley, I hope.'

'No, I met her outside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She approached me for an autograph after the broadcast.'

Titus shook his head in astonishment. 'Either she's rebelling or she's laying a deadly trap. I assume you recognise her surname.'

'Yes—she said he's her great-uncle. I encountered him several times during the war.'

'Right … she was a few years behind me, but I was classmates with her sister Esme. And they have a brother as well.'

'Did you ever meet her?'

'Lydia? No, but everyone at Stodgings knew of them, because of their uncle. He was in and out of Azkaban, of course, and then he was high up at the Ministry during the final year of the war. But that was after I finished school.'

'And what was her sister like? Esme?'

'A pure-blood princess. They're Sacred Twenty-Eight, you know.'

'No, I don't know,' replied Harry. 'Is this another wizarding concept I'm completely ignorant of?'

'Apparently. It refers to a list published back in the thirties of twenty-eight families who were considered impeccably pure-blooded. I'm certain you'd recognise most of the names, either as Death Eaters or people you knew at Hogwarts. The Weasleys, for example. And the Blacks of course.'

'No Potters, I gather?'

'No, nor my family. Most people disregard it, but certain pure-bloods are obsessed with it and will only allow their children to marry within those families.'

'Not the Weasleys, certainly,' said Harry. 'They take pride in their blood-traitor status. I can't fathom how they stayed pure this many generations. But you're saying Lydia and her sister are considered pure-blood princesses?'

'Yes, absolutely. Sacred Twenty-Eight, wealthy, and good-looking? That's not always easy to find ... a bit too much inbreeding, you know.'

'Sounds like the Gaunts,' mused Harry, remembering Voldemort's mother's family as he'd seen them in the Pensieve.

'Yes, they were on the list as well,' replied Titus. 'Esme married Charles Selwyn, and they were prominent socially during the war, among the younger set anyway. I know I saw them in the stands at several Quidditch matches that year. But they've been less public since the war ended, for obvious reasons.'

'Do you know if they were Death Eaters?'

'Not Marked, certainly. And I don't think they were active participants either. But they were more than compliant, which means they're no longer welcome on the _Prophet's_ society pages.' Titus looked at Harry and added, 'It sounds like Lydia might be trying to take her sister's place, only with a different affiliation. I gather she flirted with you?'

'To put it mildly.'

'Did you take her up on it?'

'No, but I was tempted.'

'Proceed with caution,' said Titus. 'Perhaps she's just rebelling, but she might be out for revenge. It's also possible she's not acting alone—she'd be the ideal bait for someone else's trap.'

'Yes, I can see that. And I appreciate the advice, thanks.'

'Of course. Don't mention it.'

Harry ran ahead to ponder what he'd just learnt. Lydia was definitely the perfect trap, particularly for someone with a reputation for promiscuity. Yes, she was attractive, and he enjoyed how she'd been the aggressor, but he knew better than to risk his life.

_I'm certain there's a way to verify her motives,_ he thought. Because if she was what she appeared to be—a sexually adventurous pure-blood princess—he definitely wanted to learn more.

_But not tonight, _he sighed. He had a very different type of date that evening. Myrtle was also rather forward, although not in a good way. She had a habit of spying on people in the Prefects' bathroom, for example, and her insistence on their date made Harry wonder just what she had in mind.

Practice went smoothly, and he was able to find the Snitch more quickly than the previous afternoon, which gave him plenty of time to fret before heading to Hogwarts. _How on earth do these things happen to me? _he wondered. _Angry seers,_ came the answer, and he shook his head ruefully.

Harry went to his bedroom to dress, and his mood improved slightly when he saw that his new Wizengamot robes had arrived. He tried them on and was once again pleased with Thimble's handiwork, which looked nothing like the ghastly traditional robes. He almost felt bad for the other Wizengamot members—the younger wizards in particular would certainly feel dowdy by comparison.

He began to worry that the robes were a miscalculation. _I need people to vote with me, _he thought, _and not resent me for making them look they're wearing upholstery._ It wasn't too late to order traditional robes, he knew.

But then he remembered how hideous they were. _No, I can't do it._ _People have already formed their opinion of me, good or ill, and what I wear won't make a difference._

Harry changed into his dove-grey robes and floral waistcoat, and he slid the rosebud boutonnière into his lapel. He almost laughed at his own reflection and how effeminate he looked, but both Althea and Helena had assured him he could pull it off.

When he was ready, he summoned Kreacher wordlessly to his bedroom.

_Crack!_ 'Yes, Master! Is it time for Kreacher to be of service?'

'It is, thank you. First I'd like for you to transport the flowers to the spot I described, near the second-floor girls' bathroom at Hogwarts. And then I'll summon you to Madam Puddifoot's when I'm ready for dinner.'

'With pleasure, Master! Kreacher is a much better cook than horrible Madam Puddifoot.'

'I suspect you're right,' said Harry, 'but please don't say anything to her about it. Hermione said she was very offended when she heard I was bringing my own food.'

Kreacher smiled slyly before bowing. 'Yes, Master. Will Master require anything else?'

'No, thank you. See you soon.'

Kreacher Disapparated with a loud _crack_, and after reaching for his broomstick Harry did the same.

He arrived just outside the Hogwarts gates, where he was met not only by Minerva but by nearly all the other professors, including Hagrid and Madam Hooch. Everyone greeted him warmly, but the Flying instructor skipped the formalities. 'Is that your Silver Arrow?' she asked crisply.

'It is,' he said, handing it to her. 'Feel free to try it out while I'm walking to the entrance.' Madam Hooch mounted the broom and immediately took off.

'Harry!' boomed Hagrid as they began walking towards the castle. 'Good ter see yeh! Yeh're a good lad ter do this.' He looked at Harry's outfit and chuckled, 'I see yeh've got yehrself all dudded up fer the occasion.'

_Bugger, I look like I girl! _thought Harry irritably_._ 'Hermione told me to dress formally,' he replied, stretching the truth.

'You look very nice,' said Professor Sprout. 'The myrtle leaves were a thoughtful touch. But remind me what pink roses signify—I've never bothered with that rubbish.'

'Dark pink roses signify appreciation and gratitude,' explained Harry. 'I can't say I ever knew anything about the language of flowers, but I've had to learn it quickly.'

'Yes, the orchid incident,' said Professor Flitwick with a chuckle. 'On another note, I understand you're going to Gringotts on Friday to hand over goblin-made artefacts on behalf of the Ministry.'

'That's right. Apparently the goblins actually like me now.'

'I'm not shocked—they appreciate both action and blunt communication. I'm sure they loved your takedown of the wizarding lords.'

'I have to admit, that went better than I expected. I was afraid the Lord Black thing would dog me for years.'

'I was surprised as well,' said Minerva. 'And Harry, thank you again for taking Myrtle to dinner tonight. I know you'd rather avoid this type of publicity, but you're doing the world a tremendous service.'

'It's more than worth it, to be rid of those wards once and for all,' he replied. 'And as for the publicity, I don't think Isla Preston will be too hard on me. But my teammates will be merciless, and thank heaven I'm done with Gilstrap for a while.'

Minerva scowled. 'Between him and Chiffle I'm ready to give up on the Magpies entirely. I never thought I'd support an English team, but you may have converted me.'

Harry laughed and asked, 'Will you hang a Cannons poster in your office, then? Or wear bright orange at the Sorting Feast?'

'I shan't wear bright orange—ever,' she replied. 'But I may have displayed a photograph of you and Oliver Wood in plain sight of Severus's portrait.'

'Oh dear, how did he react?'

'It varies, actually, depending on how your photograph is behaving. Most of the time you're just smiling and laughing with Wood, which of course irritates Severus but doesn't usually invite commentary. Other times you glare at his portrait, and I once caught you making a rude gesture at it.'

'Are you serious? My photograph did that?'

'Yes, but Severus started it,' she said. 'And sometimes you just stare at each other fixedly.'

_Interesting_, thought Harry, recalling Snape's dying wish to look into Harry's eyes. 'How does that affect him?'

'He'll stare for a long while and occasionally furrow his brow, and then say something like, "Minerva, get that damnable photograph out of my sight! It was bad enough having to look at Potter whilst I was alive!"' she said. 'Naturally I don't move it, so he just leaves his frame until he cools off.'

'That seems a bit cruel, forcing him to look at my picture. He might have hated me, but he did protect me all those years.'

'I know, and I actually moved your photograph the first time he asked, but when I returned the next morning it was in its original spot. I assume he ordered a house-elf to put it back—I suspect he enjoys having an adversary.'

They had reached the castle steps, where they waited a minute for Madam Hooch to land. 'Potter, this broom is top notch,' she declared, handing it to him. 'Silver Arrow really outdid themselves. And thanks again for inviting me to the match tomorrow.'

'I'm glad you can make it,' he said, before turning to Minerva. 'What can I expect after entering the castle? Will I even remember why I've come to Hogwarts?'

'You'll know you're taking Myrtle out to dinner, but you won't remember why until after you leave the castle.' She turned to the other professors and said, 'Harry doesn't need an honour guard. I'll take him the rest of the way.'

Everyone said goodbye, and Harry and Minerva crossed the threshold into the castle. They were silent as they walked until he finally asked, 'Have you any idea why I'm going on a date with Moaning Myrtle? I know I haven't.'

'I can't say I do,' replied Minerva, 'but apparently it's quite important.'

'Yes, that's my impression as well.' They took the main staircase to the second floor and walked towards Myrtle's bathroom. 'I had Kreacher drop off some flowers I can give her. I'd normally have offered her a corsage, but I didn't know if she'd be able to wear them, so I ordered a bouquet instead.'

'That was prudent. Is that it, over there?' A large vase filled with flowers was standing at the corner ahead.

'Yes, but you may want to hold your nose. I asked my florist for their most pungent flowers.' They approached the bouquet, and immediately their eyes began to water.

'Merlin, what are those?' asked Minerva, covering her nose and mouth. 'I recognise the stargazer lilies and hawthorn blossoms, but what are the others.'

Wincing, Harry said, 'The large yellow ones are skunk cabbage, and these white ones are durian flowers. The rest are magical plants—the tall sprays are rotblossoms, the tiny pink ones are carrion daisies, and those are footberries.'

He was reluctant to touch the vase, for fear of coming into contact with any of the flowers, so he used his wand to levitate it as they walked to Myrtle's bathroom. When they arrived he knocked politely on the door.

Myrtle poked her head through it. 'You came! You're really here!' she exclaimed. 'I was certain it was all a cruel joke, but here you are.' She floated the rest of the way through the door and hovered in front of them. 'Flowers!' she cried rapturously. 'For me?'

'Yes,' replied Harry, nudging the horrible bouquet towards her. 'Do you like them?'

She buried her face deep into the flowers, going right through them. 'I can smell them! Oh, Harry … they're wonderful.'

'Shall we put them in the bathroom somewhere?' he asked, desperate to be rid of them.

'That would be perfect,' said Myrtle, beaming at him. But then she turned towards Minerva and glared. 'What are you doing here? Harry asked me out, not you.'

'Of course, I was just leaving,' replied Minerva, stifling a smirk. 'Don't get her home too late,' she said before walking towards the Great Hall.

Harry opened the door to the bathroom and floated the bouquet onto a flat surface near the window. 'May I leave them here?'

'Yes, Harry,' she said, her eyes gleaming. 'Leave them wherever you like. I'm so happy you came. I was certain it was all a joke and that you'd stand me up, and I was preparing to flood all the bathrooms. But here you are!'

'Er, shall we go to Hogsmeade?' he asked, extending his arm. He could still smell the flowers and wanted to get away from them.

She reached for his arm, and he tried not to grimace as her cold limb passed through him. 'Yes, please.' She noticed his broomstick and said, 'Did you fly all the way from London?'

'No, I Apparated, but I thought we could fly to Hogsmeade together. I don't know whether you're able to, though, so we can walk if you prefer.'

Myrtle's eyes grew round within her eyeglasses. 'I don't know either. Is that your racing broom?'

'It is,' he said, leading her towards the main staircase. 'It's the same one I use during Cannons matches.'

'They wanted to sponsor you, but you turned them down!' she exclaimed. 'None of the ghosts could believe it. You're all they talk about, you know.'

_Oh for Merlin's sake!_ thought Harry. _They must get bored when school isn't in session. _'Do they know about our date tonight?' he asked.

'Oh yes! I didn't want to tell them, because I was certain you'd disappoint me, but you talked about it on the wireless last night, and of course we were all listening.'

'What did they think of the broadcast?'

'They were scandalised, of course. The portraits as well.' She scowled and added, 'Some of them made fun of me—they said Harry Potter was surely taking the mickey and wouldn't actually come. They taunted me once you were off the air, and I fled to my toilet and blubbered for hours.'

'I'm so sorry, Myrtle. That was very cruel of them.' They arrived at the front doors, and although Harry opened one for her, she passed through before he'd even finished.

_Wards!_ he thought, the moment he stepped outside. _I'm doing this so she'll remove the wards, and people will know about the other schools._

Myrtle's face fell. 'You're only taking me to dinner so I'll remove those wards!'

Harry wasn't certain how to reply. It was true, of course, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings. 'Er, Myrtle ...' he began.

She started to cry. 'I knew Harry Potter would never want to go out with me. I'm just a dead, ugly, spotty outcast.'

'No, Myrtle, you're brilliant,' he said. 'Do you have any idea how special you are?' He didn't add, _Because nobody else can remove the wards, and we're screwed without you._

She frowned, as if unsure whether to believe him.

_Please_, he implored silently, _if I have any power the way Helena claimed, please let Myrtle believe she's special. _He allowed the coiled energy to rise from his abdomen and fill his torso. _I'm turning on all the charm,_ he thought. _This had better work._

'Oh, Myrtle,' he said imploringly, his eyes fixed on hers. 'Yes, the original reason I asked you out is because of the wards. But I'm also terribly flattered you wanted to spend the evening with me, and it's my goal to show you a wonderful time. And we'll be photographed together for the _Prophet_, and everyone will know what a hero you are.'

She had stopped crying but was still looking at him sceptically. He suspected she was trying to decide whether he was sincere.

_Mum, help me!_ he thought desperately. _Dad, you too! You managed to win over Mum, after all. _

He felt energy flow upwards into his face, along with a hint of magic, and in her eyeglasses he saw his eyes twinkling. _Good lord, is this how Dumbledore did it?_ 'Myrtle, I could have gone out with anyone tonight. Now that I've defeated Voldemort, witches are throwing themselves at me right and left. But I chose you, Myrtle. I chose you.'

She raised her hand to her chest and sighed. 'Oh, Harry! I knew you weren't like the others. You never threw books at me or made fun of me, like everyone else.'

'No, I could never hurt you like that.'

'Of course you couldn't,' she said, gazing earnestly at him. 'Not after all you've endured.'

'You've endured worse,' he replied. 'You're so brave.'

'Not as brave as Harry Potter,' she said admiringly. 'You're a Gryffindor, after all.' His stomach began to growl, and she laughed. 'I forgot, you're still alive. You must be hungry—let's see if I'm able to ride on your broomstick.'

He stepped over his Silver Arrow and said, 'Would you prefer the front or the back?'

'I don't know,' she replied. 'I always hated flying. The school brooms were horrid, and I'm Muggle-born so I hadn't flown before, and the other students made fun of me.'

'Why don't you try sitting behind me, and I'll start slowly to make sure you don't fly off.'

'All right,' she said, floating onto the broom and grasping his shoulders.

_Sweet Merlin! _he thought, as her icy hands passed through him. He lifted off slowly. 'Are you still with me?' he asked.

'Yes,' replied Myrtle hesitantly. 'So far.'

They were flying at a glacial pace. _This is slower than walking,_ he thought irritably. 'I'm going to fly a little faster now.'

He still felt her icy hands within his shoulders, so she apparently hadn't fallen off. 'Yes, I'm still here,' said Myrtle. 'This is wonderful! Can you fly faster?'

'Gladly!' He accelerated to a normal flying speed. 'Are you still there?'

'Yes!' she cried. 'Go faster! Do a feint!'

They were already approaching Hogsmeade, so he didn't have far to go. 'All right,' he said. 'Hang on.' He zoomed ahead and then angled sharply downwards before finally slowing down to land. 'Er, Myrtle? Where are you?'

It was a minute before she arrived. 'I fell off,' she grumbled. 'Did you do that on purpose?'

'No, of course not! You asked me to feint.'

She seemed uncertain whether to be angry or not, so he widened his eyes again and slightly tilted his head. 'Please, Myrtle, don't be cross.'

'All right,' she said coquettishly. 'Shall we go to Madam Puddifoot's?'

'Of course,' he said, extending his arm. A crowd of onlookers had formed, and they followed Harry and Myrtle as they walked to the tea shop.

'Oi, Potter! Is this your newest girlfriend?' cried a teenage wizard. 'She's a step down from the model, eh?'

Harry turned and said, 'I'll ask you not to insult my date. Miss Warren is a rare young witch.'

'Actually, I'm seventy-one,' whispered Myrtle as Harry led her past the chastened teenager.

'But weren't you fifteen when ...'

She scowled. 'When I died, you mean? I can't believe you brought that up on our date! You really have terrible manners.'

'I'm sorry, Myrtle. Please, I didn't mean to offend you. I just thought of you as being closer to my own age—I'm only nineteen, you know.'

'Oh, of course,' she said. 'It would be completely unsuitable for you to take out someone so much older than you.'

_Not if I were a gigolo, like Owen suggested,_ he thought idly. They arrived at Madam Puddifoot's and he held the door open. 'Please, after you,' he said.

Myrtle floated into the tea shop, which was full except for one table in the centre, which had a small framed card on top that said _'Reserved'_ in loopy writing. Everyone was looking at them, and Harry suspected they'd mostly come to watch.

'Mr Potter, Miss Warren, welcome,' said a stout, black-haired witch he recognised as Madam Puddifoot. 'Before you sit down, there's a reporter and photographer whom I'm told you're expecting.'

'Yes,' replied Harry, and he saw Myrtle hastily smoothing her hair and straightening her eyeglasses.

'Miss Warren,' said the reporter, 'how is your date going so far?'

She looked at him cautiously. 'All right, I guess. Harry brought me flowers, which were lovely, and he's wearing awfully nice robes. But he hasn't tried to kiss me yet.'

'On the first date?' protested Harry. 'What do you take me for?'

'I know all about your first dates,' scowled Myrtle. 'No wonder you want to think of me as being only fifteen—it means I'm too young for you.'

'Is this trouble in paradise?' asked the smirking reporter, and the photographer snapped Harry and Myrtle's photograph.

'Myrtle, please, there's no need to make a scene. Don't you want Olive Hornby to read about our nice evening together?'

'Oh dear,' she said. 'You're right. Excuse me, reporter? Please revise my last statement and say Harry's been exceedingly romantic. He gave me flowers and told me how brave and special I am, and how witches throw themselves at him right and left but he only wanted to go out with me. And then he flew me here on his broomstick.'

Harry felt his face turn red, and the other patrons started chuckling. 'Er, shall we have our photograph taken properly? For Olive to see?'

'Yes, of course,' replied Myrtle, taking his arm again. 'Is that a floral waistcoat?'

'Yes, it is,' said Harry dully. _So much for subtlety,_ he thought.

'Be sure to mention that in the article,' she told the reporter. 'And his boutonnière as well. But can you say it had red rosebuds instead of pink? That's the colour of passion, you know.'

'Of course, miss,' replied the reporter. 'I'm certain my editor won't mind if I change it. We can alter the photograph as well.'

Harry was flabbergasted. _The colour of passion? What on earth is happening?_ he thought. 'They're pink rosebuds, symbolising gratitude. And myrtle leaves ... see!' He pointed them out, hoping that would resolve matters.

'I've never cared for myrtle plants,' sniffed Myrtle. 'But I'll forgive you because of the red rosebuds.'

She floated next to him as they posed for photographs, and he tried to let go of his annoyance. _Expand into awareness_, he thought, remembering what Owen would have advised.

'Very nice, Mr Potter,' said the photographer. 'You've got a lot better at being photographed in the last month. You hardly ever sneak out of the frame anymore.'

_Don't give me any ideas,_ he thought irritably. But then he felt his compassion stir. _The poor girl was murdered by Voldemort. She's stuck forever as a spotty teenager in a loo. The least I can do is take a decent photograph with her._

He smiled warmly and attempted to put his arm around her, ignoring the icy sensation. 'I'm very grateful to Myrtle for coming out with me tonight. She's a rare individual, and wizarding Britain is lucky to have her.'

The photographer snapped another picture and said, 'That should do it. Thanks, and enjoy your evening.'

When the reporter and photographer had gone, Madam Puddifoot reappeared and said, 'Please, have a seat.'

Harry moved to pull Myrtle's chair from the table, but she passed through it and floated as if she were seated. 'I can't believe I'm at Madam Puddifoot's,' she said rapturously, looking around the excessively frilly tea shop.

'Neither can I,' he said, sitting opposite her.

'Did you never come here as a student?'

'Only once, and it went poorly.'

'Was that with Ginny Weasley?' she asked, her eyes narrowing.

'No, it was with Cho Chang.'

'I remember her,' grumbled Myrtle. 'She was in Ravenclaw. I once saw her in the Prefects' bathroom with Cedric Diggory.'

_Well done, Cedric!_ thought Harry, before he realised just how inappropriate that was. 'I hope you don't still spy on people,' he admonished.

'You mean you hope I never spied on you and Ginny Weasley.'

'Er, did you?' he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

She smiled lasciviously at him. 'Why do you think I wanted to go on a date with you.'

_Bloody hell!_ thought Harry. _There has to be another way to get rid of those wards._

'I'm only joking,' said Myrtle. 'I never watched you with Ginny Weasley. I would have done, but last year someone warded the Prefects' bathroom to keep me out.'

_Thank you, Hermione!_ thought Harry. It could only have been her.

He showed Myrtle the menu. 'Would you care to order anything? I need to bring my food from home, because I have a Quidditch match tomorrow and I'm not allowed to eat outside food. But perhaps there's something you'd like?'

Myrtle looked at the menu and frowned. 'None of this will taste like anything to me. But some of the cakes have fancy decorations, and then perhaps I could take one back to my loo and let it decay.'

'That sounds lovely,' said Harry in spite of himself. 'You're welcome to order more than one if you'd like.'

Her eyes lit up from behind her glasses. 'Of course I can!' she exclaimed. 'You're rich! I should order all the cakes!'

'Er, you should really save some for the other patrons,' he said, looking around sheepishly. Everyone was still watching them.

'Do you want me to remove those wards or not?' she asked testily.

Harry realised he needed to be firm. 'Myrtle, this won't be a very pleasant evening if you keep threatening me. Can we agree that you'll remove the wards and I'll do my best to show you a good time?' He quickly added, 'A good time appropriate to our ages?'

Myrtle scrunched her mouth and glared at him but then nodded. 'All right. I agree. I'll remove the wards even if you don't buy me all the cakes.'

'Thank you. Would you like your order served at the table, or should we have my house-elf bring it back to Hogwarts for you?'

'You can have your house-elf do it,' she said. 'That way we can fly back together on your broomstick.'

'Do you mind if he delivers my dinner now? I'm rather hungry.'

She nodded. 'That's fine.'

_Kreacher! _he called silently. _Would you please bring my dinner now? But please Apparate outside, to avoid startling anyone._

_Yes, Master!_ replied Kreacher. _Right away!_

Harry heard the loud _crack_ outside, and there was a tinkle of bells as the door swung open. Kreacher used magic to keep the door from closing as he pushed in an enormous tea trolley laden with dishes and a large vase of flowers.

'What's all this?' said Madam Puddifoot as Kreacher entered. She looked disapprovingly at everything he'd prepared, which included starters, a full rack of lamb, multiple side dishes, and several elaborate desserts.

'I'm sorry,' said Harry, 'my house-elf seems to have gone overboard. He was only supposed to bring food for me, because Cannons regulations forbid me from eating outside food before a match.'

'As if I would have poisoned you,' muttered Madam Puddifoot. 'Of all the insults!'

'We'd like to order some cakes, though,' he said hastily. 'Myrtle wanted to bring something back to Hogwarts with her, for later.' Slightly mollified, Madam Puddifoot took Myrtle's order while Kreacher began serving Harry.

He was embarrassed to eat such an elaborate meal while the other patrons were sipping tea and nibbling on dainties. Several of the wizards looked longingly at all of Harry's extra food. _I'd gladly offer them some, if I weren't afraid of getting kicked out_.

After glancing around the shop to see if Madam Puddifoot was visible, Harry motioned to one of the other wizards. 'I can't possibly eat all this,' he whispered. 'Would you like some?'

'I'd love some,' said the wizard, 'but I don't think outside food is permitted, except in your case.'

'I'm good at Transfiguration,' whispered another wizard. 'I could make it look like the pastries we already ordered.' Harry nodded, and the wizard pulled out his wand and got to work.

His companion looked up from her plate and said, 'I'd much rather have lamb and veg than these macarons.'

Another witch used her wand to Vanish the contents of her teacup. 'Could I have some soup?' she asked. 'This tea is way too sugary.'

'Cheers,' said the first wizard, helping himself to some mashed potato disguised as blancmange. 'We arrived early to get a front row seat, and I didn't realise they only sold sweets.'

Myrtle couldn't take it any longer. She floated up from her seat to address the crowd, who were all clamouring for food while someone kept watch for Madam Puddifoot. 'Leave us alone!' she cried indignantly. 'This is my date, and you're interrupting us!'

'You're right,' said Harry apologetically. 'I'm sorry, Myrtle, I just hated to waste all this food.' He turned to the other patrons and said, 'Please just help yourselves and let us alone. And don't take all the lamb—Myrtle will enjoy it in a few weeks.'

Still glowering, she floated back into her chair. 'You're not treating me very well. I'm certain you treated that model better. Or that witch who hid from the camera.'

'You have all my attention now,' he said. 'Is there anything you'd like to talk about?'

Myrtle's expression softened, and she said, 'I want to know what happened during the broadcast last night, when it went quiet for a moment. You were talking about me and said you had a lovely evening planned, but then it went silent, and the host said you hadn't said anything inappropriate. What happened?'

_Oh bugger_, thought Harry. _That was when George asked whether I'd need a condom._ After a pause, he said, 'George Weasley cast aspersions on your virtue. I activated the broadcast delay out of respect for you.'

To Harry's alarm, Myrtle looked fascinated. 'Really? What did he say?'

_Ugh, do I really have to answer this?_ he thought. 'It's not worth repeating,' he said quietly.

She replied at full volume. 'You like fast witches, don't you? Everyone says so. Ginny Weasley was fast, after all—she had more boyfriends than you had girlfriends.'

'Ginny wasn't fast!' he said, louder than he'd intended. _Was she?_ he wondered inwardly. _She did teach me quite a bit._

Myrtle shrugged. 'Believe what you like. But I've another question: How old were you the first time you kissed a girl? I bet I know, but I want to hear your answer.'

'I was fifteen,' he admitted quietly.

'Fifteen?' she blurted. 'Really? All those girls fancied you and you didn't kiss anyone until you were fifteen?'

'I was distracted!' Lowering his voice again, he said, 'How old did you think I was.'

'Thirteen at the latest,' she said. 'For Merlin's sake, you were at a boarding school!'

'Hogwarts was surrounded by Dementors when I was thirteen! They didn't exactly create a romantic atmosphere.'

'That didn't stop your classmates,' said Myrtle. 'Draco Malfoy was up to all sorts of hanky-panky when he was thirteen.'

'Malfoy didn't hear Voldemort murdering his parents every time he passed a Dementor!' snapped Harry. 'Why are you hassling me?'

'Because it's fun to make you angry,' admitted Myrtle. 'Your nostrils are flaring and your forehead is all wrinkled. You'll probably have those same wrinkles when you're older. That's what happened to Olive Hornby, you know.'

'Why are you so obsessed with Olive Hornby?' he asked irritably.

'Because she made fun of me!'

'Yeah, but Tom Riddle killed you! Why didn't you haunt him?'

'I didn't know he killed me. I just saw big yellow eyes. And when I came back I knew I needed to haunt Olive, and so I did!'

Harry sighed. Of course Myrtle had needed to haunt Olive—she'd died with a strongly held belief, and it stayed with her. 'Do you still need to haunt her? She's dead now, isn't she?'

'I wish I could haunt her forever and ever, for what she did to me!'

'Can't you stop?' he asked.

Myrtle started to cry. 'I don't want to stop. She made my life miserable at Hogwarts.'

'She's still making you miserable. I wish you could let her go.'

'That's easy for you to say! What would you know about it?' grumbled Myrtle.

'I know everything about it!' he said sharply. 'Didn't you read the _Prophet_ on Sunday?' Everyone in the tea shop was silent and Harry knew they were listening, but he didn't care.

'I read it,' she said quietly.

Harry looked her in the eye. 'I got called names too.' Remembering tearful nights in his cupboard when he was little, he said, 'I cried too.'

'But you're Harry Potter,' she said, beginning to sob. 'None of those names were true.'

'They called me a freak, and they were right. I was a bloody Parselmouth, for Merlin's sake!'

'No, that makes you special,' said Myrtle. 'You're not a freak.'

He shook his head. 'If you knew even half of what I experienced and saw ... you'd call me a freak too.' His hand drifted automatically towards his scar.

'But you're a hero,' she said miserably. 'I'm just a spotty, speccy ghost.'

'No you're not, Myrtle—you're a hero too. You're the only person who can remove those wards and interrupt that pipe.' He looked at her imploringly and said, 'Do you know how many deaths you're going to prevent? A far sight more than I did.'

She sulked for a long while before floating from her seat. 'Where's the loo?' she asked, looking around. 'I need to be alone.'

He rose and said, 'You'll come back, right? You're not trying to end our date early?'

'No, I'll be back. I just need to be alone for a few minutes.'

Harry ate while Myrtle was in the loo. He could see the other patrons studying him, but he kept his eyes fixed firmly on his plate. _Poor Myrtle,_ he thought. _Teased by her classmates and then murdered by Voldemort. If I'd been murdered right after Dudley had pounded me, I might have turned out just like her._

She eventually returned to her chair, and Harry could see she'd had a long cry. After a silence she asked, 'Why don't you want to hurt your relations? I heard you on the wireless—you begged everyone to leave them alone.'

'I just want to forget about them,' he said. 'They're in the past and I never want to think about them again. But that's not possible when I have to worry about wizards attacking them.'

'So just kill them,' said Myrtle. 'Or let someone else do it for you.'

He looked squarely at her. 'Did you feel better when Olive Hornby died?'

She averted her eyes. 'No.'

They were both quiet as Harry ate a slice of the treacle tart Kreacher had prepared. Madam Puddifoot brought out two boxes containing the cakes Myrtle had ordered, and she looked suspiciously at Kreacher's tea trolley. 'You certainly eat a lot, Mr Potter,' she said. 'You'll have to come back and try something from our menu, when you don't have a match the next day.'

'Yes, definitely,' he said without thinking. _Ugh, now I need to come back._

Sensing that Myrtle was ready to leave, he paid for the two cakes and silently instructed Kreacher to transport them and the leftover lamb back to Hogwarts. Leaving a generous tip—mostly to apologise—he rose and invited Myrtle to follow him outside.

'How would you like to return to Hogwarts?' he asked. 'You can float beside me as I walk, or we can fly back on my broomstick together.'

'I'd like to ride on your broomstick,' she said. 'But not as fast as last time.'

He mounted his broom and allowed her to hold him from behind. Her arms and body were unpleasantly cold, but he tried not to stiffen as he had before.

'You feel warm,' said Myrtle. 'I'd forgotten what that feels like.'

Harry flew slowly, hardly faster than a walking pace. He could hear Myrtle crying again but he didn't say anything.

'Nobody ever kissed me,' she said. 'I was fifteen when I died and I never kissed anyone. I was ugly and the boys all made fun of me.'

Her icy arms sank into his torso, and he allowed the energy from his core to surround her.

'Tom Riddle was handsome,' she continued. 'The girls all fancied him, but he never noticed. He spent all his time in the library or with his Slytherin mates.'

_His future followers,_ thought Harry. _The first Death Eaters._

'You're not as good-looking as he was,' she said. 'Your face is thinner, and you don't have nice floppy hair like he had. But you're so much kinder looking ... I could look at you all day. No wonder the witches all throw themselves at you.'

They arrived at the castle but he didn't land. He flew over the grounds and through the various towers, most of which were dark. There was no moon, but the stars were visible and his eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light. 'Can you see?' he asked.

'Yes. Ghosts can see in the dark, much better than living people can.'

He kept flying around Hogwarts. 'I'm so sorry, Myrtle. I'm so sorry you died when you were fifteen, on a crap day during a crap year. You deserved a much better life than that.'

She started crying harder and didn't reply.

'I nearly died more times than I can recall,' he continued. 'It's a bloody miracle I'm still alive. I hardly understand why I survived all those times.' He wasn't referring to his two Killing Curses—he was thinking of all the other times, when he'd only survived by dumb luck or Hermione's quick thinking.

'I wished you'd died in the Chamber of Secrets,' admitted Myrtle. 'I wished we could have haunted the lavatory together. It's awfully lonely, you know.'

He didn't reply but allowed more warmth and energy to flow into her.

'You wouldn't believe how lonely it is,' she repeated.

'Can't you leave?'

He felt her shake her head. 'The rest of the castle is even worse,' she said. 'The other ghosts are horrid, and the portraits too.'

'I don't mean the rest of castle. I mean leave off being a ghost. Why can't you move on like most people who die?'

He half expected her to get angry, but she didn't. 'I needed to haunt Olive Hornby. She was awful to me.'

'Yes, but now she's gone. Can't you move on too?' She stiffened, and he hastened to add, 'I'm not trying to get rid of you, Myrtle. You just seem so unhappy, unlike the other dead people I've talked to.'

'Ghosts?' she asked.

'No, I talked to Dumbledore after my second Killing Curse. And I saw my parents through the Resurrection Stone, and also Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.' He paused and said, 'They seemed more ... whole. I wish you could experience that too.'

'I feel whole now,' she said, sniffling. 'Why can't I feel like this always?'

'I think you could,' he said without understanding how he knew. 'You need to find the rest of yourself.'

'But I want to be with you.'

He shook his head. 'That's not how it works. It's like the Resurrection Stone, only in reverse. The dead and the living aren't meant to be together. I'd have loved to keep my parents around—and Sirius, and Remus, and any number of others—but it would have hurt them and probably driven me mad. You need to finish things here and move on.'

'The wards?' she asked quietly.

'I think so. I reckon that's why you're still a ghost.'

'That's probably why you're still alive,' she said. 'Not because of the wards, but for some other reason.'

He shrugged. 'I survived so I could defeat Voldemort. Everything else is just a nice bonus.'

'Maybe. Or maybe not. I'm certainly no expert.'

'You're the Ravenclaw. I'm just the Gryffindor.'

'You're less stupid than most Gryffindors,' said Myrtle, and he laughed.

'I should bring you inside,' he said, flying to the front entrance. He landed, and she drifted off the broom but still hovered close to him.

'Yes, I should get started on the wards. I've found heaps of them already.'

'How does that work, if you can't even remember them when you're inside the castle?'

'I remembered them,' she confessed. 'Not well, but enough to find them and get rid of them.'

'Then why did you get upset the moment we walked outside the castle, before dinner?'

'I'd forgotten about them until we were outside,' she said. 'It's easy to forget unless I'm trying not to.'

He looked up at the castle door. 'Would you like me to walk you to your bathroom?'

'No, it's nice out here. We can say goodbye out here.'

He nodded but didn't speak. This was her date, and she was allowed to decide when he left.

After a silence, she finally asked, 'Would you kiss me? I know I'm a ghost, and ugly and spotty and all the rest, but could you pretend for a moment I'm one of your beautiful witches?'

Nodding, Harry closed his eyes and expanded fully into awareness, allowing all his inner energy to flow into the icy girl standing before him. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her thin shoulders and back, and gently pressed his lips to hers. He felt her tears on his cheeks and held her for a long moment before finally withdrawing his energy back into his own body.

'Thank you for coming to dinner with me, Myrtle. I had a lovely evening.'

She was crying too hard to reply. Instead she just looked at him through her large glasses, which were nearly opaque from the starlight.

'I'll miss you when you're gone,' he said. 'But I'll always remember you.'

'And I'll remember you too, Harry,' she said between sobs. 'Always.'

She floated through the castle door, leaving him alone on the stone terrace. He still felt the broad expansiveness he'd come to associate with flying, and he mounted his broomstick and lifted off. If he'd been sensible he'd have landed just beyond the Hogwarts gates and Apparated straight home, but instead he flew over the castle grounds a while longer.

_I almost died there,_ he thought, flying over the edge of the lake where they'd been swarmed by more than a hundred Dementors. _And there as well,_ he thought, over the dark recess within the forest where Aragog's children had nearly devoured him and Ron.

He saw where he'd evaded the Hungarian Horntail, and the spot on the Quidditch pitch where he'd returned with Cedric Diggory's body. _I could have died so many times, just like Myrtle._

And finally the clearing within the forest where Voldemort's curse had struck him. _That's where I first knew peace,_ he thought, remembering the deep acceptance and love he'd felt upon his return from King's Cross.

His mind was silent after that, and eventually he landed on the path to Hogsmeade and Apparated home. The silence held him as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom and removed his dove-grey robes and his floral waistcoat. He felt only stillness as he prepared for bed, and he slept undisturbed until morning.


	45. Chapter 45

_Author's note:_

_Greetings from endless quarantine, and thanks for reading this far. My writing has slowed down a bit since the pandemic started, but I'm still averaging maybe 10K words a week, which brings me up to 850K words as of April 28, 2020. I won't be able to publish three chapters a week indefinitely, but I have enough for at least a few more months. _

_And now a request. I'd like for more readers to find my story, specifically because I think people could use a break from mortal peril right about now. So if you are enjoying this fic and are willing to favorite a story that's not yet complete, please click "favorite." I realize I've reduced my chances for a wide audience by "nerfing" Harry, although you've probably figured out by now that he's alpha AF. Furthermore, some readers aren't interested in a story with so many original characters, and I'm sure Quidditch is a turn-off as well (I always skimmed those parts in canon). But I think _Loose Cannon_ breaks the mold in some good ways, and I'd love for more people to find it, even if that means I get more angry reviews after chapter 7 screaming "What about his Patronus?!" _

_Be well and safe,_  
_MvW _

_-––—––—––-_

Harry had expected to feel embarrassed when the _Prophet_ published the photograph from his date, but the picture was actually very nice. Yes, they'd changed his rosebud boutonniere from pink to red, but they'd also removed Myrtle's spots, and her joyful expression made her look almost pretty. He hoped she'd be happy with the photograph as well.

_Chudley Cannons Seeker Harry Potter, 19, took a break from his usual romantic exploits last night for a date of a different nature, with a Hogwarts ghost named Myrtle Warren. Killed in 1943 by Tom Riddle, later known as You-Know-Who, Miss Warren became friends with Potter in 1993 when he slew Salazar Slytherin's Basilisk, hidden deep beneath Hogwarts._

_Miss Warren was delighted to spend an evening with wizarding Britain's most pursued bachelor. 'Harry's been exceedingly romantic. He gave me flowers and told me how brave and special I am, and how witches throw themselves at him right and left but he only wanted to go out with me. And then he flew me here on his broomstick.'_

_They enjoyed an evening in Hogsmeade at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop—the exclusive domain of courting couples. Potter was a model of dandy elegance, wearing dove-grey tailored robes and a floral waistcoat, which daringly crossed the boundary of traditional masculine attire. And the red rosebuds at his lapel attested his burning passion, which could surely warm the iciest ghost. Of Miss Warren he said, 'I'm very grateful to Myrtle for coming out with me tonight. She's a rare individual, and wizarding Britain is lucky to have her.'_

_Eyewitnesses at Madam Puddifoot's did not reveal the details of Potter's conversation with Miss Warren, but they said he was an extremely solicitous escort, with particular sensitivity to her painful status as a murder victim. According to Hogsmeade resident Chester Wiffin, Potter's behaviour impressed all onlookers._

'_He may have a Casanova reputation, and I reckon it's true, but he was a right gentleman with that poor ghost. Everyone in the tea shop talked about them after they left, and we all agree Potter's a good egg,' said Wiffin._

_Hogwarts Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was unable to explain the precise reason for Potter's date with Miss Warren, but she praised his motives. 'Harry wishes to express his extreme gratitude to Miss Warren. She is apparently performing a service of great benefit to wizarding Britain, but I'll be hanged if I know what it is.'_

_The _Prophet_ is unable to speculate as to what service a ghost can perform, but noted Mind Healer Cassia Dexter theorises it may have to do with Potter's and Miss Warren's shared status as young victims of You-Know-Who._

'_Who but a teenage ghost can understand Harry's deep feelings of alienation from his peers?' asked Dexter. 'Like Harry, Miss Warren is locked in a pattern of victimhood, made stronger by her ghostly tendency to fixate on the circumstances surrounding her death. Is Harry similarly trapped? Will he too spend the next fifty years reliving the tragic events that define him?'_

_Dexter added, 'And Miss Warren may have a secondary draw for Harry—death itself. Does any young person, even in our war-scarred society, have as close a link with the great beyond as Harry Potter? Consider the evidence: the two Killing Curses he survived; the loss of his parents and his obsession with his three dead fathers; his known ties with a Vampire; and even his death-defying Quidditch feints. In spite of his enduring moniker, "The Boy Who Lived," Harry is above all a young man consumed with death. It's only natural he'd seek the company of a young person already within its cold embrace.'_

_The _Prophet_ consulted an anonymous Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries to learn whether carnal relations are possible between a living wizard and a ghost. 'Seventeenth-century wizard Mortimer Lovell researched the topic exhaustively following the premature death of his fiancée and reported that the only successful methods involved the Dark Arts, which he personally was unwilling to explore. I suspect Harry Potter has the same aversion, but it should be noted he has access to the fabled Black family library, which surely contains the requisite texts.'_

_It is unknown whether Potter will continue to date Miss Warren. The pattern of his intimate relations has been hard to predict ever since his rupture several months ago from Ginevra Weasley, 18, whom all sources confirm initiated the split. Out of respect for their privacy, the _Prophet_ will refrain from speculation as to why and only note that ongoing relations between the two appear to be friendly, if distant._

Harry was relatively satisfied with the article. He was relieved there was nothing to hurt Myrtle's feelings, and the usual slights on his morals and behaviour didn't bother him. _At least they called me a dandy this time and not a fop,_ he thought with satisfaction. Isla Preston would probably have fun with Doctor Niffler's insinuations, as well as the suggestion he delve into the Dark Arts to go further with Myrtle, but he didn't mind.

He was surprised by the Unspeakable's assertion that physical contact between ghosts and living beings was impossible without Dark magic, since he'd been able to touch her when they'd kissed. She'd been ice cold, and he hadn't particularly enjoyed the sensation, but his strong feelings of compassion had warmed them both. He wondered idly whether he'd see her again, but something told him she'd move on after removing the wards. _She deserves peace,_ he thought tenderly. And the next great adventure, as Dumbledore had called it.

Harry was touched that nobody at the tea shop had revealed the details of their conversation. He'd spoken plainly about his experiences with the Dursleys and revealed other private information as well. If Rita Skeeter had been present she'd have quoted him calling himself a freak, among other things.

He wondered what his teammates would have to say about the article, but he wouldn't know until after lunch—their evening match meant he wasn't expected at practice until half past two. Knowing Ron wouldn't be available to distract him, he'd arranged to visit Andromeda and Teddy that morning, with the goal of bringing them back to Grimmauld Place to show her the restored tapestry.

Before going to see them, he went to Diagon Alley to buy a toy broomstick for his godson. Uncertain whether to go to a toy shop or a Quidditch supply shop, he started with the latter. Years earlier, Quality Quidditch Supplies had been his favourite shop in Diagon Alley, and he was curious to see it from his new vantage point as a league Seeker.

He arrived before the shop opened, hoping to nip inside as soon as they unlocked the front door. Not wanting to attract attention, he'd Disillusioned himself prior to arriving, and he took the opportunity to look at the merchandise in the front window.

The Silver Arrow Seeker Edition was prominently featured, and although Harry hadn't endorsed it, the store had conveniently placed the new broomstick next to a large photograph of him flying on his own Silver Arrow. A large sign proclaimed, _'The League's Best Seekers Choose Silver Arrow!' _

Harry knew that a solicitor would advise him to complain about the implied endorsement, but he didn't care. It was clear that the shop had crafted the display, and not the Silver Arrow company. Furthermore, he thought it was a great broom and he was happy to recommend it unofficially, particularly since they'd agreed to send him another one. And truth be told, he was gratified to see himself described as one of the league's best Seekers.

While he waited, a couple of kids approached the window to gawk at the new broomstick. 'Look, it's the new Silver Arrow!' exclaimed the girl, who might have been fourteen. 'What I wouldn't do for one of those!'

'Do you think you'll make Starter this year?' asked her friend, a boy roughly the same age.

'Not likely, with my sad old Comet 240,' she grumbled. 'Evan Dozier has a Cleansweep X-20.'

'Evan Dozier isn't half the flyer you are,' insisted the boy, making Harry wonder whether he had a crush on her. 'He's only Starter because his grandparents are rich and bought it for him.'

'That's Quidditch for you,' she said with a shrug. 'Sometimes I wish North Squiffing offered Muggle sports as well. In football it's about the best players, and not who has the fanciest equipment.'

'That would certainly make matches against schools like Binglingham and Stodgings more competitive,' he said. 'We hardly have a chance against them.'

'As if they'd play Muggle sports,' she scoffed. 'What a bunch of snobs.'

'At least we don't have to play Hogwarts,' her friend replied. 'They probably fly on dragons.'

'I bet you're right,' she laughed, and Harry saw the boy light up at her approval. 'I wonder what it'll be like, once they realise the rest of us exist.'

'My dad says it'll change everything, but my mum's not so sure. Apparently those wards have only been there for eighty years, so they can't have made that much difference. It's not as if schools like ours were well represented before that.'

'You mean in the Ministry and the Wizengamot?' she asked.

'Yeah. My mum reckons it'll take a lot more than just getting rid of those wards for things to really change.'

The shop door opened, and the small knot of customers waiting outside filed in. Harry took advantage of the commotion and entered without making himself visible. Navigating tight spaces while Disillusioned was always tricky, but he found his way to the display of children's brooms without bumping into anyone.

_All of these are too big_, thought Harry. He was certain they made broomsticks for infants, having seen a photograph of himself riding one before his parents died, but clearly they weren't here. He started looking around the store when someone crashed into him from behind.

Harry felt the point of a wand at his back. 'Reveal yourself now,' said a stern male voice.

'I'm so sorry,' said Harry, pulling out his wand. 'Just a moment.' He knew better than to move while the wizard couldn't see him, since he'd consider it a threat, so he made himself visible again before turning around.

'I should kick you out of the store for sneaking around like that,' began the wizard, until he recognised Harry. 'Great Merlin!' he exclaimed. 'You're Harry Potter!'

'I apologise ... I shouldn't have entered the store Disillusioned. I hope you know I wasn't trying to steal anything.'

'After turning down Silver Arrow? I should hope not! Is there something I can help you with? My name's Jonathan, by the way.'

'Er, yes ... I'm wondering whether you carry toy broomsticks small enough for a fifteen-month-old. I'd like to get one for my godson, and I wasn't sure whether to come here or to a toy shop.'

'You've come to the right place,' said Jonathan, who was fiftyish and bald. 'They'll carry something at a toy shop, but the charms won't be nearly as good, and it won't grow with him.'

'Really, they make toy brooms that grow with the child?'

'Up to a certain point, yes. With young children it's important to match the broom to their size, since their own magic is less able to compensate.' He led Harry to a display of Quidditch-themed toys and indicated several small brooms. 'This one adjusts for weights ranging from twenty to thirty pounds, which should last him another couple of years, depending on how fast he grows. Do you have any idea how much he weighs now?'

Harry realised there was a complicating factor. 'That's a tricky question. Firstly, I have no idea how much he weighs. But more importantly, he's a Metamorphmagus, so his size changes more quickly than a typical baby's would.'

Jonathan's eyes widened. 'A Metamorphmagus? Yes, that complicates things ... you'll need something that adjusts more quickly. Is he likely to change size while flying, or does he need to concentrate to do it?'

'I can easily imagine him changing mid-flight. He definitely doesn't need to concentrate.'

Jonathan led Harry back to the display of children's brooms and pulled over a ladder. 'We have a specialty item that might work,' he said, climbing the ladder and reaching for the uppermost shelf. 'There's not much demand for it, since it's expensive and most kids are fine with a regular children's broom.'

He stepped off the ladder and showed Harry the box he'd retrieved. 'This is a quick-action broom, suitable for children weighing between twenty and forty pounds. It requires a more magically powerful child, but in your godson's case I'm not concerned, since he's a Metamorphmagus. I wouldn't sell it to someone whose child hadn't yet displayed accidental magic, for example.'

'No, his hair started changing colour the day he was born,' said Harry. 'His parents never had to worry whether or not he was magical.'

'I'm certain they're proud of him,' said Jonathan. 'I know I'd be, if I were his father.'

Harry sighed. 'Unfortunately his parents both died less than a fortnight after he was born, in the Battle of Hogwarts, and he's being raised by his grandmother. But she's very proud of him, as am I.'

'He'll have a good head start at flying, with a league Seeker teaching him,' said Jonathan. 'Are you enjoying playing for the Cannons?'

'Yes, tremendously. They're a great organisation.'

'That's my impression as well. Is there anything else I can help you with? A Cannons jersey perhaps?'

Harry smirked, 'You don't have Andrew Gilstrap's jersey, do you?'

Jonathan laughed out loud. 'We do, actually. Are you serious?'

'No, but I've half a mind to get Phil Routledge's jersey and wear it in public sometime.'

'It'll be my pleasure to sell it to you. Are you friends with Routledge, or are you just taking the mickey?'

'Both. But yes, we've become friends. He's a great flyer and a solid bloke.'

'I'm glad to hear it. He certainly has a good reputation.'

'I hope I haven't ruined mine,' confessed Harry. 'I should never have lost my temper like that.'

Jonathan shook his head reassuringly. 'Don't worry about it—everyone blames Gilstrap. But don't make a habit of getting ejected, or you will get a bad reputation.'

'I don't intend to, believe me. Tuttle would have my hide!'

'Marjorie Tuttle!' he exclaimed. 'What a character! How do you like her as a coach?'

'She's brilliant, and definitely a character. I can only imagine what she was like with Ludo Bagman.'

'I saw them play quite a few times, actually. They were a marvellous pair, with her discipline and his showmanship. It's a shame he couldn't keep himself in line without her.'

'Yes, where is he now anyway?' asked Harry. 'Is he still hiding from his creditors?'

'No, he's back in England, and his debts are paid. The rumour is he made it all back in Muggle casinos.'

'You mean he cheated?' asked Harry, aghast.

'What else?' said Jonathan. 'Frankly I'm surprised he didn't think of it sooner, but then he was never the quickest broom in the shed. Anyway, he's back in England and is apparently doing well as a bookmaker ... of the dodgy variety. His main focus is side bets, and not exclusively about sports. I'm certain he takes all sorts of bets about your activities—who you're photographed with and so forth.'

Harry rolled his eyes. _You'd think he'd have learnt by now not to bet on me_, he thought, recalling how poorly Bagman's attempts to fix the Triwizard Tournament had gone. 'I don't even know what to make of that,' he admitted.

'You could probably make a killing placing bets on your own activities through a proxy,' said Jonathan, 'although you'd get kicked out of the league.'

'No, if I were that desperate for gold I'd come crawling back to Silver Arrow, if they'd still have me.'

'I'd say you missed your chance—it turns out they don't need your endorsement with all the free publicity you've given them. We've taken heaps of orders for the new broom already.' He sheepishly added, 'I hope you don't mind that we hung your photograph next to the display.'

Harry shrugged. 'I probably ought to, but I don't. It's a terrific broomstick.'

'I'm glad to hear it. Anyway, if you're ever looking for extra gold, or to raise money for a cause, I'm certain we could arrange something in the shop. You could come in for a couple hours and sign photographs and merchandise, and we'd give you a cut of the sales.'

'Interesting,' said Harry, thinking of some of the causes he wanted to support. He looked Jonathan in the eye and asked, 'What are your feelings about werewolves?'

Jonathan looked around to make sure no one was listening. 'I actually have one working in the shop,' he whispered. 'But we're not public about it, because we don't want to scare away customers.'

Harry sighed. 'I wish more people understood there's no reason to be afraid.'

'I agree,' said Jonathan. 'What do you have in mind?'

'I've offered to help a werewolf rights group. I think it's called Facing Lycanthropy and Overcoming Old Fears.'

'Yes, FLOOF ... they're a wonderful organisation,' said Jonathan. 'The reason we engaged our sales assistant was because they approached us, to see if we we'd be willing to employ someone.'

'I'm glad you were. My godson's father was a werewolf, and he was a dear friend.'

'What about your godson? Is he a werewolf too?'

'No, he's perfectly normal, other than being a Metamorphmagus, which he got from his mother. But back to your earlier question about how I'd like to help ... I'm not sure exactly. I'd be glad to raise money for them, and I definitely want to support them publicly. I suppose an event here would accomplish both goals.'

Jonathan was nodding slowly. 'I'd have to ask my partners, and my employee of course. Perhaps it's time for us to display a FLOOF Certified logo in our window.'

'FLOOF Certified?' asked Harry.

'It means we employ one or more werewolves, but that they're fully compliant with FLOOF's safety protocols. Monitored Wolfsbane use, proper containment at the full moon, short fingernails—that sort of thing.'

'What a great idea—I'm sorry Remus isn't alive to see it. But yes, talk with your colleagues, and then owl me in care of the Cannons. I'd definitely like to help.'

'Your participation would make a huge difference,' said Jonathan. 'But don't let me keep you any longer—I know you have a big match tonight.' He led Harry to the section with team merchandise, and Harry selected a premium jersey with Routledge's surname and player number on it.

'I hope you start a fad amongst league Seekers,' said Jonathan. 'It would be hilarious to see you all wearing each other's jerseys.'

'Yes, I'll have to get a Barrowmaker as well. You don't still carry them, do you?'

'We had a few in the back, but they've sold out since Saturday. If the demand keeps up we might ask the Cannons to produce some more.'

'I hope it does,' said Harry. 'He's really a brilliant Seeker—I'd probably be zero for four without him.'

'Then you'd be a real Cannon! I assume you've heard that other teams are trying to steal him away as a trainer.'

'I hadn't heard that,' said Harry, concerned. 'I'm glad he has other opportunities, but I'd hate to play against anyone he's trained. Not to mention I'd miss him terribly.'

'Put in a good word with Tuttle and Sprott. I suspect they'll do anything to keep you happy right now.'

'In case I punch them?'

'Exactly. But let's get you out of here before nightfall.'

Harry paid for the two items and departed, eager to see whether Teddy liked his present. _Is this how Sirius felt when he gave me my first broomstick?_ he thought, and he realised it was nice to uphold a fatherly tradition.

He Apparated to the cottage Andromeda had shared with her late husband, Ted. Harry had planned to knock on the door, but it turned out Andromeda and Teddy were in the back garden.

'Harry, welcome,' she said warmly. 'It's sweet of you to visit when you have so many demands on your time.'

He felt a little embarrassed, knowing how frivolously he spent a lot of his leisure time. 'On the contrary ... I've felt remiss for not visiting more often. I didn't have very consistent role models when it comes to parenting, and I'd like to do better with Teddy.'

The toddler, who had turned towards Harry when he arrived, began bouncing and babbling upon hearing his own name. He was relatively normal looking, only with grass-green hair and hands shaped like scoops for better dirt manipulation. 'Dama!' he cried, reaching for Andromeda.

'Dama?' asked Harry.

'It's his name for me,' she sighed. 'I tried getting him to call me Nana, but he heard someone call me Andromeda and he did his best to copy it.' She turned to Teddy and said, 'Teddy, it's your godfather Harry. You remember Harry, don't you?'

'Gof-fa,' he said brightly, and she picked him up.

'I think that's supposed to be "godfather,"' she said. 'I don't imagine he could pronounce "Harry" yet, so that may have to do for now, unless you'd like me to promote another nickname.'

Harry laughed and said, 'My teammates call me Snitchbottom, due to an incident during practice, but Goffa is fine for now.' He held out the wrapped box containing the broomstick. 'I've brought him something—I hope that's all right.'

'Yes, of course. I've no intention of spoiling him, so the occasional present won't hurt.' She set Teddy back on the ground, and they helped him remove the wrapping paper, which he quite enjoyed. The box was equally mesmerising, and it took him a while even to notice its contents.

Harry saw that Andromeda was frowning. 'Is there a problem?' he asked.

She explained that Dora had been unable to use toy brooms at that age, but Harry conveyed what he'd learnt from Jonathan. Her face brightened and she said, 'That's splendid! Ted loved flying, and Dora eventually got the hang of it as well.'

They set Teddy on the broomstick, which adjusted to fit him, and before long he was lightly skimming the grass. At first he fell off because he let go of the broomstick to clap his hands, which were back to their normal shape. But he quickly grasped the importance of holding on and expressed his enjoyment with chirrups and shrieks.

'I see you've introduced a new favourite activity,' said Andromeda. 'It's a good thing we'll have warm weather a while longer, since he won't be permitted to fly indoors.'

Harry recalled the letter his mother had sent Sirius, thanking him for the toy broomstick he'd given Harry. Baby Harry had apparently broken a vase Aunt Petunia had sent and nearly killed the cat. 'That's a shame,' he said. 'Perhaps I can clear one of the guest rooms at Grimmauld Place and he can fly there when the weather's foul.'

'That's very kind, but don't let us impose.'

They were seated on two garden chairs, and Harry looked at her earnestly. 'You mustn't think that way. You and Teddy are family, and I want him to grow up feeling welcome wherever I live. And when I eventually marry and have children, I hope he'll be like a brother to them.'

'So you think you'll marry?'

'Of course,' he said, only slightly annoyed. 'I don't want to marry right now, but I'd love to have a family one day.'

'I'm glad to hear that,' she said. 'Neither of us had the best family life growing up, and yours was far worse than mine. But it's entirely possible to create the sort of family you've always wanted. And not just with a spouse and children—with friends as well.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'Actually, that's part of what I wanted to talk to you about. I should have told you this sooner, but I've restored the tapestry, and it turns out there are a lot of Blacks in the disinherited branches. I wrote to them last week, to see if they're interested in a reconciliation.'

Andromeda raised an eyebrow, which Harry knew was her expression of extreme shock. 'Have you heard back from anyone?'

'Yes, from several in Britain. Some of the owls haven't returned yet, so I can only assume the recipients are overseas. The responses were cautious but friendly.'

'I'm not surprised they were cautious. That used to be a Black family trait, before the madness set in, but interbreeding might have brought it back. Did you hear of any Metamorphmagi?'

'No, but we haven't exchanged much personal information yet. I explained who I was and how I came to be Head of House, for those living abroad who might not know the story, and I said I'm committed to reestablishing the Blacks as a Light family. But otherwise I didn't go into detail.'

She nodded. 'That was probably the right approach. How are you hoping to proceed?'

'Once I hear from enough people, I'd like to invite everyone to Grimmauld Place to meet one another. I'm certain they'll want to see the tapestry at the very least. But I'm hoping you'll take a central role, if you're willing. You grew up a Black and can provide continuity in a way I can't.'

'Might I see the tapestry?' In a softer voice she added, 'Is Ted on it?'

'Yes, and Tonks as well. Er, Dora. Would you like to go there now?'

'If we can get Teddy off that broomstick!' she laughed.

It took a while to reconcile Teddy to being carried instead of flying, but once he was settled they travelled to Grimmauld Place by Floo. Harry greeted them as they emerged from the formal fireplace and said, 'You may have heard that Walburga no longer lives here. Would you care to meet her replacement?'

'I'd love to. Is it really Sirius?'

'No, not even slightly. But it's really Padfoot, and he's brilliant, particularly now that he's trained.'

They walked to the entrance hall and found Padfoot, who was somehow flying around on a dog-sized broomstick.

'Where did he even get that?' marvelled Harry. 'Every time I pass the portrait he's doing something new.'

'There's a lot of background magic in the house,' said Andromeda. 'It's mostly been used for Dark purposes until now, but apparently Sirius has tapped into its playful side. Padfoot, rather.'

They went upstairs to the drawing room, and Andromeda's eyes grew large when she saw the newly restored tapestry. And she shed several tears when she saw her husband's and daughter's names. '_Toujours puissant,_' she murmured. 'That was the original family motto, you know. _Toujours pur_ came later.'

She spent a while looking at the tapestry, and like Hermione she laughed when she saw Priapus Maximus. 'I wish Dora had seen that,' she said. 'She couldn't possibly have complained about Nymphadora, compared with that.'

Harry waited for her to discover his own name. 'Harry James Black?' she read in a surprised tone of voice. 'It appears the tapestry has accepted you.'

'What do you mean, accepted me? How is that different from the ring accepting me?'

'The ring accepted you because Sirius was the legitimate heir, and he designated you his successor. But if the tapestry didn't recognise you, your name would have remained Potter and there wouldn't be a gold border around it. In fact, you and your parents mightn't have appeared at all.'

A jumble of questions formed in Harry's mind, but he wasn't sure where to start. 'What does this mean?' he asked simply.

'That's up to you,' she said. 'But if you wanted to change your name to Black and pass it to your children, nobody could call you a half-blood upstart or blame Sirius.'

'That was awfully specific,' said Harry. 'I gather you've talked to Narcissa?'

'Yes, but that's not who I was quoting.'

'Draco,' he said simply, and she nodded.

'Was he counting on inheriting?' he asked.

'He'll be fine without it ... half the Malfoy assets are still plenty,' she said, referring to the amount confiscated by the Ministry after the war. 'But I think Narcissa had built him up as the heir to two noble houses, and it was a blow to his ego.'

'You mean he only gets one rubbish lordship and not two?' said Harry irritably. 'Oh, the tragedy!'

'Harry, you need to be careful with Draco. He's weakened now, but he won't always be. And yes, you kept him out of Azkaban, but I'm certain he doesn't like being in your debt.'

'He doesn't owe me anything,' said Harry. 'It was a life debt, or something like it, and now we're even.'

'I don't think you understand how serious this is. You have all the power right now, but you won't always. The way you treat him now could have huge repercussions for wizarding Britain.'

Harry uncomfortably recalled Tuesday's broadcast, when he'd needled Draco by sending Prongs to Malfoy Manor. 'You're right. How do you suggest I fix things?'

'I think the family connection is your best bet. We could invite Narcissa to look at the restored tapestry, and she'll see your name there. And then you'll need to visit them at Malfoy Manor.'

'Not Malfoy Manor!' pleaded Harry, his heart racing. 'I was there was during the war ... I had to listen to Bellatrix torturing Hermione.'

'I'm sorry, Harry, but that's the only place you can see him. And you have to act now while you still have the upper hand. Is there anything you can do to prepare yourself? I'd be glad to accompany you.'

He took a deep breath. 'Yeah, that would help. And I've learnt some mental techniques that might help as well,' he said, thinking of what Owen had taught him. 'Actually, there's a related matter. Several people have suggested that the fastest way to rehabilitate House Black would be for me to change my name.'

'To Harry Black?'

'No, Harry Potter-Black. I'm the last of the Potters, and even though I hardly remember my parents I don't want to end the line if I can help it.'

'Would you want to join the two houses like that?'

'Is there such a thing as House Potter?' he asked.

'Not really. The Potters are an old family, but they don't have a seat on the Wizengamot.'

'Right. I don't want to look like I'm trying to make the Potters into something they aren't. I'm proud to be part of an honest, unpretentious family, and I'd like to keep them that way. But when I hopefully have children, perhaps they can choose a surname when they reach majority. Ideally I'll have at least two sons, and they could each carry on one of the names.'

'And what about House Black?'

'I'd thought to designate Teddy, but I'm reluctant to erase his Lupin name.'

Andromeda shook her head. 'You've done more than enough for Teddy. Assuming you have children, you can designate one of them, or perhaps someone from a restored branch of the family.'

'That's a good idea, at least until I have sons of my own. I know it sounds petty, but I don't want House Black reverting to Draco, and Sirius wouldn't have wanted that either.'

She nodded. 'I'll certainly support your decision to change your name, should you do it. In fact, I'd be delighted. In the last month, I've noticed a shift in people's attitudes when they learn my maiden name. For years they associated it with Sirius or Bellatrix. But it's come up twice recently, and both times the reply was, "Really? Like Harry Potter?"'

'In a positive way, I hope?' he asked.

'Yes, very much so.' She gave him a slightly bossy look that reminded him of Hermione and said, 'Here's what I recommend: Invite Narcissa to see the tapestry. I'll come as well. And then ask to meet with both her and Draco at Malfoy Manor, to discuss the future of House Black. That would be a good time to tell them you intend to change your name, if that's what you decide.'

'I'd like to talk with the other Blacks as well. But yes, that's good advice.'

They reviewed Harry's calendar and came up with several dates to offer Narcissa, which Andromeda would arrange. And the visit to Malfoy Manor would come after that.

_Not too soon,_ he hoped. Harry knew he needed time to get used to the idea of returning to Malfoy Manor. _Maybe I should hang around the foyer at Claridge's, or even have tea there. I could invite Lydia Travers,_ he thought with a smile.

Kreacher served them lunch, which they ate quickly in order to get Teddy home in time for his nap. Andromeda successfully prompted him to say 'bye bye' to 'Goffa,' and Harry promised to vacate one of the guest rooms for flying during inclement weather.

Before leaving, Andromeda took Harry's arm and said, 'Thank you for restoring the tapestry. I don't regret running away to marry Ted—not at all—but it was always painful to have been cast out. Seeing my name on the tapestry, along with Ted's and Dora's, did my heart good.'

Harry nodded and said, 'It made a difference to me as well, seeing the names of people I know and love—not to mention my parents and grandparents. It made me feel more connected to the Blacks.'

Andromeda hugged him and said, 'We're family now. I know that's a painful subject for both of us, but things are changing. I look forward to seeing what House Black becomes.'

After she and Teddy had gone, Harry still had another hour to kill before practice began. _This is interminable_, he thought, and he resolved to ask his teammates how they passed the time before an evening match. He wandered the house looking for potential new punishments for Kreacher, and he eventually found an interesting book in the library about wizarding enclaves throughout Europe. He longed to travel, ideally with a witch for company, but he hardly knew when that might happen or with whom.

It was finally time to leave, and when he arrived at the training facility he took a quick spin on his broomstick just to clear his head. When he landed and walked into the building, Janet greeted him. 'Feeling antsy, Snitchbottom?'

'What gives you that impression?'

'You just flew like a maniac for no apparent reason. Is it sexual frustration from not being able to shag your ghost friend last night? Or did you dabble in the Dark Arts after all?'

'No Dark Arts,' he said. 'But I think I found some of the books that Unspeakable was referring to. One of these days I need to decide what to do with all of them.'

'You keep talking about turning the Blacks into a Light family. But I think you're being hasty ... are you certain you want to discard a thousand-year-old tradition?'

'What, and go Dark after all?' he asked.

'Exactly!' replied Janet. 'You have the robes already. And what could be Darker than making everyone believe you're the embodiment of all things Light?'

Harry looked at her appraisingly. 'You raise a good point. There's just one problem, though.'

'One problem's not bad. What is it?'

'It's the part where I bloody hate the Dark Arts and never want to go anywhere near them,' said Harry vehemently.

'That sounds negotiable. What if we got you drunk first?'

He laughed and said, 'If I ever have children, remind me never to let you watch them.'

'No argument there, Snitchbottom. I hate kids.'

They gathered at the benches, and Tuttle gave her preliminary talk. 'It's always a weird day when we have an evening match, but you've got through the hard part. Now it's time to remember why the Cannons are the best team in the league. You might think it's because we've won four in a row, which I'm pretty sure hasn't happened since before Grindelwald's War, or because the bookmakers say we have a shot at this year's cup.

'But that's not why we're the best in the league. In fact, that load of bollocks is likely to drag us back under. No, we're the best because we fucking love Quidditch. We love flying together. Every one of you—reserves included—brings something to this team. Potter was the spark, but the rest of you are the fuel, and we sure as hell aren't going to burn out now.

'Potter, you're probably wondering how we're going to fill the next four hours,' she said, and Harry nodded. 'We're going to have the most fun you've ever had in the air. It'll be like the first time you really got the hang of flying, which for most of you was probably the first day you sat a broom, or near to it. So give me five laps and we'll go from there.'

After running, the trainers took them through light calisthenics, and then the flying began. They didn't run drills, but instead the trainers had created an obstacle course for them to fly through, which was terrific fun. Harry had never been to a Muggle amusement park, but Dudley had been and taunted him with descriptions of roller coasters. The flying exercises matched what Harry had imagined, only less nausea-inducing—Harry learnt later that Dudley had vomited after the first roller coaster and avoided the others.

They played flying games which his teammates were familiar with from childhood, and then they played a practice Quidditch match using two Quaffles, three Snitches, and modified Bludgers which didn't hurt at all—instead they turned their victim's hair a different colour until the next person was struck. By the time they'd finished, the players weren't particularly tired, and they enjoyed a leisurely picnic dinner served on blankets over the pitch.

They travelled by Floo to Chudley Stadium and changed into their robes, and there was mild excitement when the referee discovered the new charm on Harry's ring. 'You've hidden your scar?' asked Suresh, looking at his forehead. 'Bad news, Potter … it didn't work. How much did the goblins charge you anyway?'

'Not that scar,' said Harry. 'It's a souvenir from Dolores Umbridge, and I'm thrilled I'll never have to see it again. That's the one benefit of having this ring glued to me until the end of time.'

'Yes, that and being the head of an ancient house,' said Darren. 'Is it true you're appearing at the Wizengamot next week?'

'It is. I've discovered I get anxious if I go too many days without appearing on the cover of the _Prophet_, so I've arranged to set off Weasley's fireworks in the main chamber before declaring myself Britain's newest Dark Lord.'

'I knew I'd convince you!' cried Janet. 'Do you have a name picked out?'

'Er, no. Can you suggest one?'

'I'm not certain we'll ever surpass the Dark Lord Snitchbottom,' she said, 'but I'll think on it and get back to you.'

Tuttle gave them a final pep talk, which they hardly needed, and soon it was time to fly out. Harry was announced last, as always, and when he heard the cheers he remembered why playing at home was considered an advantage. He saw a smattering of banners supporting the Caerphilly Catapults, but otherwise the stands were overwhelmingly orange.

This time there were numerous ghost-themed signs and banners. _'We're dying to go out with you, Harry!'_ proclaimed a banner held by three witches. Another depicted him on his broomstick simultaneously kissing a floating ghost and catching the Snitch. And a third showed Harry surrounded by ghostly players wearing the Catapults' striped robes and the legend, _'Knock 'em dead, Potter!'_ and he hoped it wasn't a reference to punching Gilstrap.

He wasn't pleased to see signs referring to the Gilstrap incident, and there were plenty. _'Gilstrap deserved it!'_ said several banners, and another said, _'Next time use your wand.'_ And one particularly alarming sign depicted Gilstrap in something resembling Death Eater robes, with Harry cursing him from his broomstick.

He was cheered, however, by the numerous banners praising Owen. There were several variations on _'Thank you, Barrowmaker!'_ and one remarkably well-drawn sign depicted Harry as a prizefighter and Owen as his coach. To his relief, there weren't any overt references to his childhood with the Dursleys, but there was more than the usual amount of _'We love you, Harry,'_ signs, several of which depicted him as a child. Harry found them oddly touching—it meant a lot to learn he'd been loved from a distance during the years he'd felt so alone.

The four balls were released, and Harry began circling above the pitch. He automatically expanded into awareness, but he was careful to set a strong set of intentions. _Let the Snitch appear within my field of awareness. Dodge the Bludgers automatically. Feint unerringly. Don't punch anyone._

He wasn't actually worried about punching Isla Preston. She didn't even approach him until after his first feint—a particularly bloodthirsty dive into a tangle of Beaters, which drew gasps from the crowd.

'Crazy as ever, eh Potter?'

'Punch drunk,' he replied cheerfully.

'Yes, so I hear. Do I need to worry you'll come after me as well?'

'No, I'll just use my wand this time. You won't even see it coming,' he laughed.

'I'm glad to hear it ... apparently you're a wizard after all,' she said warmly. 'I'd have thought Hogwarts would teach you better than that.'

'No, not at all. I had six different Defence professors, and then I dropped out—I'm lucky I know which end of a wand to hold. Which school did you attend anyway?'

'I can't remember ... either Beauxbatons or somewhere in North America. Is there something funny about Chudley Stadium?'

'Yes, I had wards added this morning. I'm glad they're working properly.'

'Did your ghost friend help you, after you had breakfast together in your enormous bed?'

'Are you accusing me of practising the Dark Arts?'

'I might be. Was that how Gilstrap set you off?'

'No, he claimed his father had been tortured to insanity five days before the war ended, and that I shouldn't have dragged my heels.'

'Ouch! And nobody told you not to believe a word he says?'

'Alas, no.'

'Tough break, Potter. Is that why you punched him?'

'No, but it was the beginning of the end.'

'Right, I assumed it was something about your family that finally did it.'

'It was,' replied Harry stiffly. 'Should I expect Dursley-themed taunts this evening?'

'Merlin, no!' she exclaimed. 'I'm actually a good spotter, and I'm not a vile git. And besides, a number of the Seekers have agreed not to mention your relations. Which I suppose I've done, unfortunately.'

He could tell she was being sincere. 'That's all right. Shall I punch you now or after the match?'

'After the match, please,' she said. 'Make sure the _Prophet_ is there, and wear some appropriate flowers. Which ones signify uncontrolled anger?'

'Petunias, actually,' replied Harry. 'I only learnt that last week—I can't imagine what my grandparents were thinking when they named my aunt.'

She laughed. 'I'll have you know my coach told me to taunt you about your floral waistcoat.'

'Really? Anything specific?'

'All sorts of things, actually. My teammates brainstormed over dinner. They wanted to know just how pretty the sales assistant was, and whether you shagged her afterwards.'

'Very pretty, and no. It turned out she was married.'

'How disappointing,' said Preston. 'Did you try cancelling the order when you found out?'

'No, she'd earned her commission by flattering my ego for hours.'

'Your ego! Now that's a tall order.'

'At least something about me is tall,' he said, and she burst out laughing. 'Oh dear, that came out wrong. Bloody self-taunting … Owen and I got bored on Tuesday and decided to taunt ourselves.'

'That's a good idea! I should try that with Stephen, the Catapults reserve Seeker.'

'I highly recommend it,' he said, but before he finished speaking she shot upwards and to the right. Harry automatically followed but quickly determined she was only feinting.

'Thanks,' he said afterwards. 'That was invigorating.'

'I know how much you like chasing witches,' she said.

'No, I don't bother chasing them. They prefer to chase me.'

'Are you really that arrogant? I honestly can't decide.'

'Neither can I,' he admitted. 'Rita Skeeter was right about Dumbledore—he kept me down for years. So lately I've been trying on arrogance just for kicks. What do you think ... should I stay with it or go back to being downtrodden?'

'I'm not sure. "Downtrodden" and "lord" don't really go together.'

'For Merlin's sake, try to keep up! Wizarding lordships are bollocks.'

'Of course, you're right. Personally, I'm finding the arrogance entertaining. I was honestly disappointed you didn't give out the Chocolate Frog Cards on purpose.'

He raised his eyebrows and said, 'Pretty impressive how I fooled everyone, isn't it?'

She burst out laughing again. 'And did you really spend hours auditioning sexual partners?'

'No, I assigned that task to the vampire.'

'I have to say, everyone I know wishes they could have attended that party. You won't throw another one, will you? For all the Quidditch teams?'

'Now there's a thought. I don't think I have room, to be honest—not for Starters, Reserves, and a guest for everyone. And besides, there would be too many blokes.'

'It wouldn't bother me,' said Preston, 'but I see your point. I hope you'll throw more parties, though. Nobody will mind your arrogance if you host an orgy every month or so.'

'It was bloody expensive! Contrary to the rumours, I'm not richer than the Muggle Queen.'

'Yes, that was another disappointment. Next we'll find out you didn't actually defeat Voldemort.'

'What, and that he's still out there? There's a horrible thought,' exclaimed Harry.

'No, that someone else did all the dirty work. Your house-elf, for example.'

'That's not far from the truth, actually. A house-elf gave his life to rescue us from Malfoy Manor. We wouldn't have won the war without him.'

'Really? A house-elf?'

'Yes, really. We kept telling reporters but they weren't interested.'

'I think it's all in the presentation. I can easily see the _Prophet_ running an exposé entitled _"Harry Potter fraud! You-Know-Who defeated by house-elf!"'_

'You're right! That's brilliant! I should leak it somehow.'

'It ought to knock your ego back down to size,' she said, but this time Harry shot into a feint. He aimed for the Catapults Keeper, who was trying to defend the goals from the Cannons Chasers. Harry flew recklessly through one of the hoops, forcing the Keeper out of the way, which allowed Darren to score a goal. Preston only followed Harry part way, not wanting to get tangled in what was clearly a feint.

A whistle blew, and the referee shouted 'Potter, Stooging. Goal nullified, one minute penalty.'

'That wasn't Stooging!' cried Tuttle, who'd immediately flown to the hoops. 'Challenge!'

Challenging a foul was a standard Quidditch practice, though it normally just bought time, since it automatically froze and concealed the Snitch. But Harry thought Tuttle's complaint was legitimate—Stooging referred to a long-banned practice in which two of the Chasers shoved the opposing Keeper aside to allow the remaining Chaser to score a goal. But Harry wasn't a Chaser, and he'd acted alone.

The two other referees conferred with the one who'd called the foul, and a pair of Omnioculars was passed around. After a less than a minute, one of the other referees amplified his voice and announced. 'Challenge sustained. No foul on Potter. The goal stands.' He blew a whistle and the match recommenced.

Huge cheers from the stadium, and they started chanting, 'Potter! Potter!' Harry took the opportunity to expand into broad awareness and refresh his intention for the Snitch to appear. He circled for a long while before Preston approached him again.

'Well done, Potter! I think you invented a brand new foul!'

'It wasn't a foul,' he said smugly.

'It will be. They'll call it Pottering.'

'I'm pretty sure that's already a thing. Pottering around the garden.'

'You're right. Can they call it Blacking?'

'No, that's also a thing. Blacking one's boots.'

'Dammit, Potter. Don't you have any other surnames? What was your third father called again? The poor one.'

'Lupin.'

'That'll work. Lupinning.'

'That sounds a bit floral, but I'll let it pass,' said Harry. 'Do you want to propose that to the International Quidditch Association?'

'I don't know—how's our bid to rewrite the rules going? Weren't you going to write to Viktor Krum?'

'I did, ages ago. But I haven't heard back yet—I think he might be touring.'

'And he hasn't dropped everything to respond? That must be a terrible blow to your ego.'

'I know, it's tragic. I had to shag three Muggles just to ease the pain.'

The match continued like this for a while longer. The sun had dipped below the horizon but it wasn't completely dark yet, and the stadium was brightly illuminated. Harry was impressed, however, by how perfectly the goggles had simulated the conditions. He was confident he'd spot the Snitch as easily as Preston could.

And he was right—they both shot towards it in the same instant, from different directions. It was the same distance from both of them, and Harry wasn't sure who would reach it first. But then it zig-zagged towards several Chasers, and Harry unflinchingly plowed into them to make the catch.

'Cannons win! 210-50!' cried the announcer, and the crowd went wild.

Renée was the first to grab Harry. 'Well done, Snitchbottom! Time for a long weekend!'

His other teammates piled on, and then they circled the stadium together before Harry took his customary victory lap with the struggling Snitch. He remembered with pleasure how many of his friends were in the stands, and he looked forward to greeting them on the ground.

As soon as Harry landed, Owen hugged him and said, 'You've invented a new foul! This belongs on your next Chocolate Frog Card!'

'Take that, Voldemort!' cried Harry. 'He never invented a Quidditch foul! Except maybe flying without a broomstick.'

Tuttle congratulated him. 'Nice job on your brand new foul, Potter!'

'I'm pretty sure that one was your idea,' he replied. 'I probably shouldn't try it again, though.'

'No, you'd better not. But the fans will be talking about it for years—I'm glad you did it at home.'

Next they shook hands with the Catapults players, and Isla Preston gave Harry a big smile. 'Congratulations, Potter. I can't say I enjoyed losing, but at least it was close.'

'It was—that was just plain luck on my part. But you're a great rival, and I look forward to seeing you at the next Seeker's night out.'

'And at your next party,' she ordered. 'You can get around the gender problem by making everyone bring witches. And I'm certain you can stuff more people into that townhouse of yours.'

'I suppose I could,' he mused. 'If there were some way to lock all the bookcases full of Dark magic texts, we could use the library. And if everyone provided their guest's name in advance, I could skip the portkeys and add people to the Floo wards for one night. That way I'd only need Gringotts for curse wards and charmed goblets.'

'Don't forget the music! We're all counting on another rooftop dance orgy—you've a reputation to uphold!'

'You're right! I suppose I should go all the way with this loose morals thing.'

'Yes, and the arrogance as well,' she said. 'Just for a short while, mind you. But it's hilarious, and you seem to be having fun with it.'

'I am,' he admitted. 'Enjoy your long weekend!'

After speaking to the reporters, who were agog about his unique new foul, Harry greeted his friends on the pitch.

Oliver Wood was the first to arrive. 'Potter, don't even think about flying into my hoops, or I'll reveal every bit of dirt I have on you to the press.'

'What do you even have on me?' said Harry. 'I doubt there's anything left!'

'How about that time Fred and George put your Nimbus 2000 on a high shelf, but you didn't know how to do a Summoning Charm and you needed me to retrieve it because you didn't want Ron to take the piss?'

'Do you really think that holds a candle to anything they've printed recently? Just today they proposed I start practising the Dark Arts to have sex with a ghost.'

'You're right,' said Oliver resignedly. 'From now on Seekers are going to fly into me every weekend.'

'No, they'll make it a foul,' said Minerva. 'Well done, Harry.'

He chatted in turn with all his guests, including his old teammates Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell. Madam Hooch raved about his performance, and Luna commended him for taking Moaning Myrtle to dinner the previous night.

'She'll be leaving soon,' said Luna simply.

'Yes, I know.'

'I'm glad for her. She's been so unhappy. You were very kind to help her.'

'I could have turned out just like her,' he said. 'Honestly, I wish I'd been more friendly to her back in school.'

'You were struggling too,' she said. 'This way is perfect.'

The last friend to approach him was Laetitia, who was accompanied by a man Harry assumed was her fiancé, Eric. She was wearing Harry's jersey, and her hair was straight and pulled back into a ponytail, revealing her delightfully goofy ears.

'Your hair!' he cried. 'It's so tame!'

'I know,' said Eric with dismay. 'But she insisted because she didn't want to block anyone's view. And at least I got to see her ears,' he added, tweaking one affectionately.

'Harry, this is Eric,' she said. 'Congratulations, that was a brilliant match!'

'I'm so glad you could make it, and I'm pleased to meet you, Eric. Had you seen Quidditch before?'

'No, this was my first time. I hadn't even seen flying before—it's fantastic! Do you reckon a Muggle can sit a broom?'

'I honestly don't know,' said Harry. 'Not on their own, certainly, but possibly as a passenger. You might ask Ryan—his father's a Muggle. I can introduce you.'

The three of them chatted while waiting for Ryan to finish talking to some friends. 'How are you doing?' Laetitia asked Harry. 'You sounded good during Tuesday's broadcast.'

'I'm well. Better than I expected, frankly. But I'm honestly nervous about being at loose ends for the next three days—it turns out I'm no longer accustomed to it.'

Laetitia turned to Eric and briefly whispered in his ear. He raised his eyebrows but nodded, and she turned back to Harry.

'Eric and I are leaving tomorrow for a long weekend in Paris,' she said. 'Would you care to accompany us?'

Harry was taken aback. 'That's a kind offer, but I wouldn't dream of imposing during what I assume is a romantic getaway.'

She laughed and said, 'You wouldn't be staying with us! We'll be staying in a Muggle hotel, but you could stay at a wizarding hotel. My friend Sophie is planning to show us around—I'm certain she'll enjoy not feeling like a third wheel.'

'That's hardly how I'd describe Sophie,' said Eric. 'She's one of Laetitia's modelling friends.'

'Is she a Muggle, then?' asked Harry.

'No, she's a witch. We're represented by the same agency.'

Harry was beginning to feel very tempted to join them. 'What time are you leaving tomorrow morning? I have an important meeting at ten o'clock.'

'We're leaving at half nine,' said Laetitia, 'but we're taking the train. You can just take a portkey and meet us whenever it's convenient.'

'I've never actually left Britain,' he admitted. 'Would I need a passport?'

'You would if you took the train, but for portkey travel all you need is documentation from Gringotts.'

'Perfect, that's where my meeting is.' He turned to Eric and said, 'Are you sure you don't mind?'

'No, not at all. If anything Laetitia and I will have more privacy, since you can keep Sophie occupied.'

'And Sophie won't mind?'

'No, she's mad curious to meet you,' replied Laetitia.

Harry took a moment to consider whether he could just disappear for three days. _I haven't anything scheduled,_ _other than possibly contacting Lydia Travers, but that can surely wait._

'Yes, I'll do it! Just a few days ago, a friend urged me to go to Paris,' he said, recalling Penelope. 'But I hardly know a word of French. Will that be a problem?' He knew he wouldn't get very far with the phrase _'Toujours pur.'_

'Just learn how to say, "I'm sorry, do you speak English?" and you'll be fine. It's all tourists this time of year, so as long as you're polite nobody will mind.'

Laetitia wrote down instructions for Harry, including the names of several wizarding hotels, and they agreed to meet at her Muggle hotel at two o'clock the next day.

He took her written instructions and said, 'I can't believe I'll be in Paris tomorrow. I know it's actually much closer from London to Paris than it is to Hogwarts, but it feels completely different somehow.'

'I'm sure you'll love it,' she said. 'It'll be a pleasure to see how you react to everything.'

Harry introduced Eric and Laetitia to Ryan and Hermione, and Ryan confirmed that Muggles can ride brooms as a passenger. 'But be ready with Cushioning Charms,' he said, 'since Muggles aren't as resilient in case of injury.'

'Are you certain you want to sprog with me?' Eric asked Laetitia, and she replied by kissing him very sweetly on the cheek.

'Definitely.'

Hermione asked, 'So Harry, does this mean you'll take Dudley up on a broom?'

'Merlin, you're right—he'd love that. I'll have to think about it.'

'Do you have everything you need for tomorrow's meeting at Gringotts?'

'What do I need besides myself?' he asked. 'I thought your team was bringing the artefacts and providing the script.'

'We are. No, all you need to do is turn up at quarter to ten wearing traditional robes.'

'No flowers?'

She hesitated. 'Do you have any with an appropriate meaning?'

'Yes, alstroemeria. They symbolise prosperity and fortune, and also friendship.'

'That's all right, then.' She smiled and said, 'I'm glad we'll be working together.'

'So am I ... see you in the morning.'

After listening to Tuttle's abbreviated notes and then showering, Harry stopped briefly at the Cracked Spyglass to greet the fans. 'Oi, Potter,' cried a fan after Harry sat down. 'We're trying to decide what they'll call that new foul of yours.'

'Oh? Preston and I came up with "Lupinning," in honour of my third dead father, but I'm open to alternatives.'

'Right now the lead contender is "Pocking"—a cross between Potter and Black.'

'Not bad,' replied Harry. 'Or maybe "Plocking."'

'That's good too,' agreed the fan. 'We'll keep you posted, and don't be shy about inventing knew ones. Fouls, that is.'

'I intend to,' he said, and everyone within earshot cheered.

When he returned to Grimmauld Place and prepared for bed he found himself wondering what Paris would be like. _Will wizards even recognise me there, or will I be anonymous?_ As he drifted towards sleep, he wondered about Laetitia's friend Sophie, and how French witches differed from their British counterparts. _I can't wait to find out._


	46. Chapter 46

_Author's note:_

_My version of magical Paris does not match what was depicted in 'The Crimes of Grindelwald,' which I never saw. _

_If you see any French errors, please PM me corrections. _

_-––—––—––-_

Harry arrived early at Gringotts wearing dark, formal robes and a boutonnière fashioned from newly-opened alstroemeria flowers. He'd told his florist he preferred smaller boutonnières, so he no longer had to reject any for being too gaudy or bridal-looking.

'Good morning, Mr Potter,' said the goblin at the front entrance. 'Do you need assistance prior to your meeting this morning?'

'Yes, I'm going to Paris later today, and I need travel documents and French currency.'

'Trapskin will be glad to help you,' said the goblin, and he directed Harry to the banker he'd met six weeks prior, when his account was unfrozen.

'Good morning, Trapskin,' said Harry. 'It's good to see you again.'

Trapskin nodded. 'Likewise, Mr Potter. You've exceeded my expectations,' he said simply, as they walked to an office.

Harry recalled Trapskin's previous attitude, which had conveyed strong disapproval. 'I've come to appreciate goblin directness and efficiency,' said Harry. 'I always know where I stand with goblins, and that's seldom the case with wizards.'

'Indeed. And yet you're representing the Ministry later this morning.'

'Yes, at Director Ragnok's request. Otherwise I'm no longer affiliated with the Ministry of Magic. It was never a good fit, to be honest.'

'I imagine not.' They reached the office and Trapskin said, 'Have a seat, Mr Potter. I can provide travel documentation and French currency. Do you want both wizarding and Muggle currency.'

'Yes, please. Do I need to withdraw the full amount of wizarding currency to pay for my hotel, or can I just authorise the expense as I can in England?'

'The latter,' said Trapskin. 'Gringotts is as fully enmeshed in France as it is in Britain. More so, in fact.'

'Really? How do you mean?'

'Goblins aren't nearly as restricted in France as in Britain. In France, goblins can own property outside Gringotts, for example.'

'Interesting. Are there goblin villages and such?'

'Yes, and there have been for centuries. British wizards insist on confining goblins, citing the International Statute of Secrecy, but it's never been a problem in France. Goblins are perfectly capable of keeping our presence a secret—it's only wizards who constantly require Obliviators and the rest.'

He opened a large volume on the desk and pulled a seal from his waistcoat. Holding a quill, he asked, 'Which name would you like on your documentation?'

'Do you mean Potter or Black?' Trapskin nodded, and Harry asked, 'Is it hard to change later?'

Trapskin raised an eyebrow. 'No, you'll only need to pay the fee again.'

'That's fine. For now just say Harry Potter, or Harry James Potter if you need my full name.'

After inscribing Harry's name, Trapskin pressed his seal to the book, which glowed temporarily. A small parchment also appeared, featuring Harry's name and likeness.

'Did you just take a photograph without a camera?' asked Harry, impressed.

'Goblins have no need for cameras,' scoffed Trapskin. 'Our magic alone is sufficient for capturing a likeness.'

Harry looked more closely at his picture. It wasn't actually a photograph—it was more like an engraving, comprised entirely of etched black lines. Only his head was visible, but it moved and blinked just like a wizarding photograph. 'Am I likely to disappear from the frame at the wrong moment?' he asked. It wouldn't do for his image to disappear when the portkey agent was inspecting his travel papers.

'No. That's why it only shows your head. You can't move without the rest of your body.'

Trapskin led Harry to a counter, and the clerk gave him a sheaf of French francs, including a variety of coins. He also provided plenty of Bezant coins, the French wizarding currency. After leaving the counter, Harry inspected the franc notes with interest—they were much more varied than British currency, all of which depicted the Queen and an assortment of stodgy old men. The fifty-franc note was particularly charming, with an old-fashioned aeroplane and a world map with little drawings over it.

After finishing at Gringotts, he walked to the travel agent Laetitia had recommended. The front window was covered with travel posters, and according to the timetable there was a portkey to Paris at half past eleven. He entered, and even though he was the only customer he had to wait for the two young witches chatting behind the counter to offer him assistance.

'Oh my goodness, you're Harry Potter,' one of them exclaimed. 'Sorry to keep you waiting—what can I help you with?'

'I'd like to travel to Paris today. Is there still space on this morning's portkey?'

'Yes, of course. How many spots will you need?'

'One, please.'

'Really?' said the other witch. 'You're not bringing anyone with you?'

'No, just me.'

'Then surely you're meeting someone there. You can't possibly be going to Paris alone,' she persisted.

'Er, I'm travelling with friends, but they've arranged separate transport.'

'And when would you like to return?' asked the first witch.

'Sunday evening. What times do you have available?'

She showed him the timetable, and he reserved a spot on the nine o'clock portkey, which would give him time to eat dinner there. He was extremely fond of Kreacher's cooking, but French cuisine was legendary and he was keen to sample a wide array.

The witch verified that he had the correct travel documents, and she advised him about luggage. 'You can't carry a suitcase during portkey travel, but for a small surcharge we can transport it for you simultaneously.'

'I don't even own a suitcase, but I can purchase one this morning. Can you recommend a shop?'

'It's not in Diagon Alley, but you'll find excellent luggage at Strauss Leather Goods in Northampton,' she said, handing him a card with a Floo address.

_Helena's family_, he thought. 'Er ... is there a shop in Diagon Alley instead?'

The second witch elbowed her colleague and said, 'Of course, yes. Try Portmanteau's, about a quarter mile down, on the left. I believe they open at ten o'clock.'

He paid for his portkey reservations and went to Flourish and Blotts to purchase a guidebook. There were several to choose from, and he bought a deceptively slim book containing what seemed like heaps of information about Paris and everything he'd want to see and do there.

He returned to his usual alcove near Gringotts and started thumbing through his guidebook. As he'd learnt from the book about European wizarding enclaves, the magical district was on a secret island in the River Seine. Unlike the Île de la Cité—home to Notre Dame Cathedral—and the neighbouring Île Saint-Louis, the Îlot Gicale was completely hidden to Muggles and contained a thriving wizarding district. It was much larger than the width of the river would suggest, and boats were able to pass right through it.

L'Îlot Gicale was accessible by foot through one of the book stalls on the Quai Voltaire, but it was also connected to Paris's wizarding transport network, the Magipolitain_._ Like the Paris Métro and the London Underground, the _réseau Magipolitain_ allowed rapid transit between a vast network of points, but unlike the Muggle systems there were no trains. Instead, the Magipolitain, which locals called the _Magi _(pronounced mah-zhee), allowed passengers to travel magically from one point to another. Every Métro station included a _point Magi_, but there were many other points as well.

The guidebook nevertheless recommended exploring Paris by foot._ 'Avoid the temptation to travel exclusively by Magi. Paris is best experienced serendipitously, and the tourist who 'magies' from one attraction to another with maximum efficiency will miss the true magic of the City of Light. Consider taking the following public buses to identify districts worthy of exploration by foot.' _

The guidebook listed a half dozen bus routes traversing historic districts, and it even provided a charm for turning a discarded Métro ticket into a reusable transit token. _Surely I can buy tickets,_ thought Harry contemptuously. Wizards had enough advantages without shamelessly stealing public resources.

'Harry,' said Hermione, prompting him to look up from his guidebook. Her hair was tied back in a braid, and she looked very unlike Bellatrix Lestrange. But she was frowning and said, 'I told you to wear traditional robes.'

He looked down to confirm he was wearing what he'd intended. 'These are traditional robes. They're black, and I'm wearing dress shoes instead of my Doc Martens.'

She sighed heavily and said, 'I meant the robes you wore for our Order of Merlin ceremony. These robes are a bit too daring.'

'You mean because I can't fit someone in here with me?' retorted Harry. 'That's a lot more daring, if you think about it.'

Hermione looked at her wristwatch. 'There's still time for you to go home and change.'

'Hermione, I'm not going to change. These robes are fine—I was at Gringotts this morning and none of the goblins batted an eyelid. They're just robes.'

'Fine,' she said resignedly. 'Octavia and the rest of my colleagues will arrive presently, and they're bringing the treasure you'll offer to Ragnok.' She handed him a small card with text on it. 'Here's the speech you'll need to deliver. It's longer than it looks, but the words will scroll automatically as you read them aloud, and you can fit the card in the palm of your hand.'

'May I read it in advance? I'd rather not be surprised.'

'Yes, of course. Just run your finger up it and it'll advance automatically.' Before Harry could start reading, she said, 'You'll walk in behind Octavia and the other Ministry representatives, and they'll present you at the appropriate time. Then you'll use your wand to convey the treasure chariot and read your speech.'

'Treasure chariot?' he said incredulously.

'It's really just a wheeled platform, but that's what we've nicknamed it. You won't have to call it that.'

'That's good. It makes me sound like Julius Caesar or something.'

'Actually, that's basically who you are in this ceremony. The goblins see you as a mighty warrior, which seems to be central to why they respect you so much.'

'What a load of bollocks! You're more of a warrior than I am. All I had was my mother's protection, the Elder Wand, and a bloody Horcrux.'

'Be that as it may, that's how the goblins see you.' She looked over her shoulder and said, 'It looks like my colleagues are here. I should talk to them, and in a few minutes we'll walk in together.'

Hermione let him alone, and he read through the card she'd given him. _This speech is awful,_ he thought. _I can't read this. _It was a bunch of pompous drivel about a momentous occasion on which two great races were setting aside old differences to forge an historic new fellowship. _No, it's not,_ thought Harry. _It's wizards bribing goblins to ignore the fact that they're cooped up in an underground warren, even though they could curse the shit out of us easier than breathing._

He looked guiltily at Hermione and her colleagues. They'd worked for weeks on this, but he was certain it was doomed to failure and would probably drag him down as well. _I don't work for the bloody Ministry anymore,_ he thought savagely. But he cared about wizarding Britain, and he knew what he had to do.

Hermione returned several minutes later with her colleagues. 'Harry, this is Octavia Wind,' she said proudly. 'She's been a tremendous mentor, and she feels just as I do about improving relations with the other magical races. Octavia, this is Harry Potter.'

'Yes, of course,' said Octavia, extending her hand. 'Harry, thanks so much for your willingness to participate. I know you have better uses for your time than presiding over ceremonies, but this is crucially important to the future of wizard-goblin relations. You're probably aware we got off to a rocky start last month, but we're poised to get things back on track, with your help.'

'I'm glad to be of assistance,' he said sincerely. 'I have great respect for the Goblin Nation and would love to see our relationship improve.'

Hermione also introduced a middle-aged wizard named Augustus Larch. 'Mr Larch is the deputy director of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and he's been working for years on preserving peace between wizards and goblins.'

Larch looked at Harry's robes sceptically before saying, 'Good to meet you, Potter. I was asked to join the task force after last month's disaster, and I'm glad you're willing to help clean up the damage.'

Harry noticed Hermione's downcast expression, but he shook Larch's hand and exchanged greetings with the rest of the Ministry delegation. After the introductions, they formed a loose queue with Harry at the back, followed only by the treasure chariot and the witch in charge of it.

The wagon was roughly six feet long, and it was covered in velvet and laden with a dozen goblin-made artefacts. Each piece was lit by a charm, either from within or without depending on the nature of the object. Harry approved of the presentation, since it emphasised each item's exquisite craftsmanship.

At the appointed time they filed into Gringotts, where they were greeted by a pair of goblins. 'Come this way,' said the elder goblin, and they were led into a very grand room that was lit by chandeliers and lined with tall mirrors. Harry noticed that the witch behind him was using her wand to propel the wagon, and that the two goblins guarding the door exchanged glances as she passed. An old treaty forbade goblins from using wands, and Harry knew it was still a sore point.

Director Ragnok was presiding, and he nodded minutely at Harry, who nodded back. Hermione stood behind her colleagues, clearly not wishing to draw attention to herself after the fiasco a month earlier.

And then came the blather. It started with some obsequious yet arrogant prattle from the Ministry representatives, which was followed by formal yet contemptuous responses from Ragnok. _This is nothing like how goblins address me,_ thought Harry. He hoped the difference was due to the formality of the occasion, but he suspected it was the goblin version of taking the piss.

Eventually it was Harry's turn, and he glanced again at the card in his palm. Hermione kept looking at him meaningfully, twitching her fingers to indicate it was time for him to pull out his wand. He subtly shook his head, thinking, _There's no bloody way I'm going to insult goblins by flaunting my wand, when they're not permitted to use them._

Harry walked behind the wagon and pushed it manually through the vast room, until it was in front of Ragnok. Without consulting the card, he said, 'Please accept these goblin-made treasures on behalf of the Ministry of Magic, offered with deepest respect for the mighty Goblin Nation.'

From the corner of his eye he saw Hermione and the other Ministry wizards exchanging frantic glances. Ragnok stepped forward to inspect the offered items, and he didn't say anything right away. Harry took the silence as a good sign, but after about fifteen seconds Augustus Larch began to speak.

'Director Ragnok, please accept these treasures—goblin-made and wizard-owned—to commemorate this momentous occasion in which two great races are setting aside old differences to forge an historic new fellowship.'

Harry saw Ragnok stiffen at the words 'wizard-owned,' and he knew the meeting was going off the rails. 'Director Ragnok, I ask you to forgive the Ministry's appalling gaffe just now. These are goblin items which wizards have treasured for many generations. But we both know this is a bribe to get wizard-goblin relations onto better footing.'

Larch tried to speak again but Harry interrupted him. 'I should add that I'm not speaking for the Ministry, but as a private citizen who longs for a peaceful and prosperous future for all magical races, and for Muggles as well. Personally, I'd love to see what goblins could do if you were given the freedoms you deserve, assuming you don't wipe the rest of us off the map.'

Some of the goblins were smirking, either at what Harry had said or at the Ministry delegation's shocked expressions.

Ragnok looked directly at Harry and said, 'Harry Potter, I accept your return of these artefacts on behalf of their rightful owners.' He turned to the delegation and added, 'I invite the Ministry to consider Harry Potter's words, since he seems to understand goblins better than most wizards do. Though I suspect you'll never allow him to speak on your behalf ever again.'

Octavia stepped forward and said, 'On the contrary, I'd like for Mr Potter to continue to prod the Ministry to reevaluate all the laws regarding the Goblin Nation, and even to revisit the treaties that established the nonsensical and frankly shameful treatment of goblins within Great Britain. Like Mr Potter, I'm only speaking on my own behalf, but I hope that improved relations between our two races will yield a future that benefits us all.'

Ragnok nodded, which Harry knew was a sign of respect. 'The Goblin Nation would like that as well. Does this conclude today's business?'

'Yes, it does,' replied Octavia. 'Thank you for your time.'

Ragnok motioned to the guards who'd led them into the room and said, 'Please escort our guests to the lobby.' The two guards directed Harry and the Ministry delegation back to the main entrance, and they reassembled outside.

'That was a disaster!' cried Larch. 'Potter, are you trying to incite another goblin rebellion?'

'What, by suggesting they deserve equal rights?' retorted Harry.

Octavia said, 'I'm glad he said it. Britain is behind France and plenty of other countries when it comes to goblin rights, thanks to a bunch of old treaties that no longer make sense. We need to chuck everything and start from scratch, because this piecemeal approach isn't going to get us anywhere.'

'You'll need Wizengamot approval,' said Larch, 'and that's never going to happen. So now you've set up a disaster down the road.'

'The goblins don't want war,' said Harry. 'They want to make money off wizards, same as always. And we want their banks and wards, and their frankly brilliant magic. They'll never be able to fully subjugate wizards because they can't pass among humans and we can, so there's bound to be a way to make things work. The Ministry just needs to have some bloody imagination for once.'

Larch sniffed and said, 'If you want to convince the Wizengamot, be my guest.'

'I can't do it alone,' snapped Harry. 'Frankly, there are plenty of ways I'd rather spend my time than shouting at a bunch of geezers at the Wizengamot.'

'Yes, we all know how you like to spend your time.' said Larch.

'And why shouldn't I? I'm nineteen years old, and I had a seriously shitty life until recently. If British wizards want to move forward, I'll gladly help, but it's not my job to get them there singlehandedly.' Larch scowled and Harry added, 'Do you even realise how close you were to getting kicked out again? That speech I was given would have infuriated Ragnok, and you'd have been chucked outside and they'd have kept all those artefacts. I saved your arse in there, so quit complaining.'

'Harry, that's enough,' said Hermione. She turned towards Larch and said, 'Harry's right. Things were going poorly, and we couldn't see it. He stated clearly that he was speaking for himself and not for the Ministry, and it gave Octavia the perfect opening.'

'Yes, Harry, thank you,' said Octavia, who was clearly trying to defuse the situation. 'We've taken up enough of your time this morning, so don't let us keep you any longer. Hermione, you can meet us back at the office in ten minutes, and we'll discuss the next steps.'

Harry gave Octavia a friendly nod, and everyone but Hermione began Disapparating or walking towards the Leaky Cauldron to use the fireplace—_or possibly get a drink_, thought Harry. He turned towards her and said, 'I'm sorry, I hope I didn't create trouble for you.'

'No, but next time you go off script could you at least warn me?'

'There wasn't time for a debate. I could see at a glance that the goblins would hate it. Bloody hell, I couldn't just pull out my wand, when they're not permitted to use them. Or drone on about artefacts long held within wizarding manor houses when goblins aren't allowed to own property. I'm surprised you didn't see the problem yourself.'

'You're right,' she said. 'I'm starting to wonder whether I'm well matched to the Ministry. I feel like it's eroding my critical thinking skills.'

'Octavia seems sensible enough,' said Harry. 'But yeah, you never normally would have missed something like that.'

She sighed heavily. 'But I want to promote equal rights among magical races, and I have no idea how to accomplish that outside the system.'

'I don't know either, but surely you'll think of something. You always do.'

'You really are a devil,' said Hermione. 'Have you always been like this?'

'I couldn't say. I think I'm only beginning to find out who I am.'

'You were appalling, you know. The way you talked to Larch ... I wish Owen could have seen it.'

'Why, because I was an arrogant bastard?'

'Exactly. You should have called him "Riddle,"' she laughed.

'Just promise you'll tell me when I go too far. I'll admit, I'm enjoying spreading my wings like this, but I don't want to become insufferable.'

'I don't want that either, and you'll notice I stopped you back there.'

He smiled and said, 'If only I could drag you around, and you could give me a swift kick whenever I cross the line.'

'I reckon you'll learn for yourself eventually. So what are you going to do with your weekend off? More Muggles?' she asked mischievously.

'No, I'm actually off to Paris in an hour.'

'Really? Are you going with someone, or on your own?'

He told her about Laetitia's last-minute invitation, and that her friend Sophie was to show them around.

'Is that one of her model friends?'

'Yes, and she's a witch as well.'

'So much the better. But don't let me keep you—have a wonderful time.'

Harry walked to the luggage shop, and with the sales clerk's advice he selected something that resembled an old-fashioned leather suitcase but was charmed featherweight and extended into a travelling wardrobe. He knew it would be perfect for transporting robes and also Muggle clothes, and that there would be room for gifts and anything else he chose to bring back with him.

He returned with his suitcase to Grimmauld Place and very gently told Kreacher he'd be away for three whole days. The ancient house-elf was heartbroken and began to wail. 'Master has spurned Kreacher! Master no longer thinks Kreacher is able to serve him.'

Listening to Kreacher's lamentations, Harry had a flash of inspiration. 'Kreacher, you're an excellent house-elf, and of course you're still able to serve me. But you tend to go overboard sometimes, as you did with that meal you served at Madam Puddifoot's, and I think you need punishment.'

'Punishment?' asked Kreacher hopefully. 'What does Master have in mind?'

'I should have made it clearer. I'm leaving for three days. That's your punishment.'

'That is a severe punishment indeed,' said Kreacher with satisfaction. 'Kreacher will need to think about his bad behaviour. And perhaps find other ways to punish himself.'

'No, there you go again, taking matters into your own hands. You are not to punish yourself in any other way. I'm your master and I choose the punishments. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Master. Master will be away for three long days. Perhaps Kreacher will repair the peeling wallpaper in the entrance hall.'

'If you insist, but don't go overboard. I rather like the house as it is.'

Once Kreacher was sorted, Harry went to his bedroom to pack, and he changed into a smart Muggle outfit and his trusty Doc Martens. It was always disappointing to change out of wizarding robes, but perhaps he'd find new sartorial inspiration in Paris. The French were reputedly very stylish.

He travelled by Floo to the portkey station and was directed to a series of counters and turnstiles leading to what Harry assumed were the terminals. Each of the counters had a mechanical sign on top, similar to signs he'd seen in train stations, and he found the one that said _'Paris - 11:30.'_

Harry walked up to the counter and pulled out his travel document. 'Good morning, I have a reservation for the portkey to Paris.'

'Yes, Mr Potter,' said the agent, who gave Harry's document a cursory glance. 'I see you've paid to transport one suitcase—you can hand it to the porter and then wait over there.'

Harry gave his suitcase to the porter and passed through the turnstile. He sat down where the agent had indicated and pulled out his Paris guidebook.

Less than a minute later a wizard sat next to him and started talking. 'Going to Paris?'

_Isn't it obvious?_ thought Harry, but he only said, 'Yes,' and kept reading.

'You won't learn anything from that guidebook,' continued the wizard. 'You need someone to show you around. I've spent heaps of time in Paris, and I lived there during the war.'

_Why weren't you fighting?_ thought Harry. 'Yes, I understand a lot of people fled back then,' he said, with only a slight edge to his voice.

'Exactly, there was a huge expat community there. It was the only sensible thing to do, of course.'

'I wish I'd known,' said Harry. 'It would have saved me a lot of trouble.'

The wizard frowned. 'Surely You-Know-Who would have found you there, if there was a prophecy. It's better for all of us you stayed at home and finished the job.'

'Yes, that's what we concluded as well. Are you Muggle-born?'

'No, but I lived through the first wizarding war and that was quite enough for me. I came home last year, and so did a lot of expats. There's lots of business opportunities in a society rebuilding from war.'

Harry nodded without looking up from his guidebook, but the wizard persisted. 'There's still money to be made, even a year on. I'm travelling to Paris to meet with a commercial baker, to see about importing French bread and pastries on a daily basis.'

'Yes, my house-elf makes French pastries,' said Harry. 'I imagine there's a market for them.'

'I doubt a house-elf could make proper French pastries, or even a decent croissant,' scoffed the wizard. 'Have you ever had the real thing?'

'If you're asking whether I've been to France, the answer is no. I never had the opportunity to leave Britain until recently.'

'You won't believe the difference,' said the wizard, who seemed impervious to Harry's not-so-subtle digs. He pulled out a business card and handed it to Harry. 'I'm certain you'll agree there's a tremendous business opportunity. We're still looking for investors. My name's Clive, by the way.'

Harry groaned. 'You realise the _Prophet_ greatly exaggerated my assets, right?'

'Perhaps, but you're hardly poor. And I'm certain you'll want to put something away for when you're no longer earning a Seeker's salary.'

_Not to worry,_ thought Harry. _I'll sell autographs and drive the Knight Bus. _'Thanks,' he replied tersely, placing the card in a pocket.

'Do you need a tour guide, then?' asked Clive hopefully.

'No, thanks. I'm meeting friends there, one of whom is French.'

Clive lowered his voice and asked, 'A French woman?'

'A witch, yes.' _And she's a model who's dying to meet me_, thought Harry with satisfaction.

'They're different from English women. Less uptight. That's what they think of us Anglo-Saxons, you know.'

_I must be part French, _thought Harry.

'There's no beating about the bush with French women,' Clive continued. 'If they want to sleep with you, they'll do it the same day they meet you.'

_That's been my experience with English women,_ thought Harry. _But then I didn't flee during the war. _'Cheers, I'll keep that in mind.'

'If your friend doesn't work out, I know some girls,' said Clive helpfully.

Harry couldn't hide his disbelief, and Clive laughed. 'Just leave me a note at the front desk of the Hôtel Gicale—I check my messages regularly. How long are you in Paris anyway?'

'I'm leaving Sunday night.'

'Oh, I'll be there all next week,' said Clive. He was about to say more but he was interrupted by an announcement from the ticket agent.

'Paris passengers, please take your places around the portkey.' Eight or nine people rose and walked around the pedestal in the middle of the terminal, which was thickly carpeted. On top of the pedestal was a metal wheel with twelve spokes, and there was a ball at the end of each spoke, about three inches in diameter. The agent said, 'Grasp one of the balls, and I'll count down when it's time to leave.'

Harry contrived to stand next to people other than Clive and took hold of one of the metal balls. The rest of the travellers looked at him with interest, and a little girl said, 'Look Mum, it's Harry Potter.'

'Yes, dear,' said her mother. 'Now hold onto the ball, and to my hand as well. And whatever you do, don't let go.'

The agent counted down, and the dreadful pulling sensation began. _Ugh, portkeys_, thought Harry as they swirled together in the howling wind. He dimly perceived the English Channel below him, followed by countryside and then increasingly dense suburbs, until they slammed onto another carpeted floor.

Harry was shaken but didn't fall down. _'Bienvenue à Paris._ _L'heure locale est douze heures trente._ Welcome to Paris. Local time is twelve thirty,' announced a voice.

_Did that take an hour?_ thought Harry, before he recalled that Paris was an hour ahead of London. Smiling, he thought, _I've never been in a different time zone before._

After letting go of the portkey he adjusted his pocket watch and stood in a short queue to have his travel documents inspected. '_Vos documents, s'il vous plaît_. Your documents, please.'

Harry handed his travel papers to the agent, who hadn't looked up. '_Mon dieu!'_ he exclaimed, raising his eyes—first to Harry's face and then to his scar. He quickly regained his composure and said, 'Welcome to Paris, Monsieur Potter.'

'Thank you,' said Harry. 'Er, _merci beaucoup_.' He'd have sworn the agent stifled a smirk, but he simply touched his wand to the travel document and waved it in front of Harry, presumably to confirm his identity.

'I wish you a pleasant stay, Monsieur Potter. _À bientôt_.'

'_Au revoir_,' said Harry. _And now I've nearly exhausted my French,_ he thought nervously.

He retrieved his suitcase and found himself in the lobby of what looked like an elegant train station, only it was round and didn't have any trains. The sign behind him said _'Arrival Londres - 12H30'—_he supposed _Londres_ was the French name for London, and he made a mental note so he wouldn't miss his portkey home.

Harry just stood and looked around at first. The station was crowded with people speaking French, and all the signs were in French as well. 'Are you sure I can't help you get around?' asked Clive, who'd somehow found him again.

'No, thank you. If you'll just point me to the exit I'll be on my way. My friends are waiting for me,' he added, a trifle dishonestly.

Clive pointed out a sign labeled _'Sortie' _and said, 'It was a pleasure to meet you, Potter. And don't hesitate to find me if I can help you with anything.'

'Cheers,' said Harry, making haste for the _sortie_. He pulled out his guidebook and unfolded the detailed map of the Îlot Gicale, where he knew he'd landed. Laetitia had recommended two hotels, but one was the hotel where Clive was staying, and he'd just as soon avoid him.

It was only a short walk to the Hôtel des Lauriers, but his senses were overwhelmed the entire way. Harry couldn't believe he was only a few hundred miles from London, because Paris felt completely different. The buildings weren't any older than in parts of Britain, but they were mostly made from large pale stones or smooth stucco, and the wrought iron balconies were more ornate than their English counterparts.

There were awning-covered cafés on every street, and where the sidewalks were too narrow the seats faced outwards, allowing the occupants to watch passers-by. Nobody appeared to recognise him as they would have in Britain, since he no longer wore eyeglasses and wasn't expected to be walking around Paris. But then he turned a corner and heard his name.

'Potter! What are you doing here?'

'Krum!' exclaimed Harry, extending his hand. 'What a nice surprise! I just arrived for a long weekend.'

Viktor Krum rose from his seat at a café, where he was accompanied by three wizards Harry assumed were his teammates. 'What about your Quidditch team? Don't you have a match tomorrow?'

'No, we played last night, so this is my chance to get away. Are you here for Quidditch or on holiday?'

'A bit of both,' replied Krum. 'The Eastern European league is taking a break this month, and the Bulgarian national team is playing exhibition matches across Europe.'

'Will you be coming to England, then?'

'No, the United Kingdom doesn't participate.'

'Classic,' said Harry, before looking cheerfully at Krum again. 'I need to check into a hotel and meet my friends, but are you free sometime this weekend?'

'Do you have a hotel reservation? I think every place is full.'

'Er, no,' he admitted. 'I just have a few recommendations—I was about to check at the Hotel des Lauriers.'

'They're definitely full,' said Krum. 'I'm staying there, and so are my teammates. But you can stay with me if you like.'

'Really? I hate to impose.'

'It is no problem. We can go there now, and I'll ask them to add a portable bed.'

_That sounds worse than a futon,_ thought Harry_. _'Thanks, that would be great.'

They walked to the hotel, just a few doors down, and Krum explained to the clerk in English that he'd require an extra bed until Sunday. Harry was amused to hear both of them speaking heavily accented English, and he felt lucky his native language was widely understood.

'Monsieur Potter,' said the clerk, 'I'm sorry that we don't have a room available. If we had known in advance, it would have been our pleasure to accommodate you.'

'It's fine,' said Harry. 'I didn't know until last night I was coming to Paris. I'm just lucky I ran into a friend who's willing to put me up.'

The clerk looked as if he didn't quite understand everything Harry had said, but he nodded agreeably and handed him a comically large key. 'Here is your room key, monsieur. It is number 27, on the third floor. There is a lift, but with your suitcase you may find the stairs more comfortable.'

Krum didn't show Harry to the room, since his food was likely to arrive at any moment, but they agreed to meet for breakfast the next morning at half eight. Harry walked up to the room and could see why the clerk had talked him out of using the lift—it was nestled in the middle of the stairwell and only big enough for two people at most.

The room was small but tidy, and he assumed the staff would cram a single bed into the open space in front of the window. _It's not Claridge's,_ he thought, _but it certainly beats staying with Clive._

He tucked his suitcase out of the way and went back downstairs. He was to meet Laetitia and Eric at their hotel at two o'clock, which gave him an hour to explore and figure out how to get there. Harry didn't think it would be hard, looking at the instructions she'd provided; he just needed to take the Magipolitain to Bastille and walk a short distance from there.

_The Bastille!_ he thought with excitement. _Even I've heard of the Storming of the Bastille! _He looked forward to seeing the old prison and other monuments he might recognise from French history.

Using his guidebook, he identified the nearest _point Magi_ and started walking towards it. He was surprised by how many French words he recognised, at least in context—_boulangerie_, _patisserie_, and _charcuterie_, for example. He looked into the window of the charcuterie but was alarmed by the items he saw there. _Do they actually eat that bit?_ he wondered upon seeing a disturbingly complete hind section of a pig, which was cleaned and laid out for display.

In spite of what he'd just seen, he was hungry and considered going to a café, but he was intimidated by the menu posted outside. Each item had three separate prices: one for bar, table, and _terrasse_, which he assumed meant the front terrace. To complicate matters, prices were listed in both francs and Bezants, whose value he hadn't yet worked out.

He decided a boulangerie was probably safer, since it appeared you purchased your food at the counter and then left. There were several, but one appeared to be more popular with people who looked like locals, as opposed to bewildered tourists like himself.

The only place he'd seen such a wide array of pastries was at Harrods the week before, but these were much less fussy-looking and somehow more appealing. He could hardly decide what to order, so he chose to keep things simple and try a chocolate croissant, to see how it compared with the ones Kreacher made.

He managed to purchase it by pointing and saying _'s'il vous plaît'_ a lot. He said _'merci beaucoup'_ at the end, and the clerk didn't even hide her laughter. _Clearly I'm pronouncing it wrong,_ he thought.

There was a small park across the street and the ground was dry, so he decided to sit down to eat his croissant. But he'd only eaten a single bite when an elderly witch admonished him and said, _'Vous pouvez pas vous asseoir sur l'herbe. Levez-vous! Vite!'_

A little frightened, he looked at her blankly and said the phrase he'd memorised. _'Désolé, je ne parle pas français. Parlez-vous anglais?'_

'You cannot sit on the grass!' she said in heavily accented English. 'Get up.'

'Oh, dear, I'm sorry,' he said as he hastily stood up and stepped back onto the pavement.

'_Zut alors, c'est bien Harry Potter!'_ she exclaimed. 'You are Harry Potter?'

'Er, yes. _Oui.'_

'_Mais que faites-vous en France?_ Why are you in France?'

'I'm visiting?' he said uncertainly.

'_Mais oui, bien sûr.' _She turned to another witch and called, _'Alice, c'est Harry Potter!'_

Heads turned from all directions, and people started to gather. Harry heard his name being repeated in a French accent—_Arry Potteur_—and he felt himself turning red. The elderly witch's friend, presumably Alice, wore thick eyeglasses and was leaning close to get a better look at his scar.

'_Votre cicatrice, vous l'avez toujours?'_ she said, squinting. 'Your scar, you still have it?'

Harry was torn between irritation at the colossal invasion of privacy and compassion for someone with poor eyesight. He moved his fringe out of the way and bent down so she could see his scar more easily.

'_Oui, c'est ça! Voldemort.' _It struck him that Voldemort's name sounded different in a French accent—softer and more poetic.

The onlookers all craned to get a closer look, and to his horror somebody snapped a photograph. 'Excuse me,' he said. 'Er, _excusez-moi._ I need to leave now.' He tried extricating himself from the group that had formed around him.

'_Vous cherchez quelque chose?'_ asked a middle-aged witch. 'Do you need help finding anything?'

'Er, no, just the _point Magi_.'

Six different hands all pointed in the same direction, but the middle-aged witch took his arm and pulled him from the crowd. 'I will show you.'

He ate the rest of his croissant as they walked, unsure when he'd have a better opportunity. _Clive was right,_ he thought grudgingly. _This is better than what Kreacher makes._

'You buy a ticket here,' explained the witch when they arrived. 'You can buy a _carnet_ with ten tickets, or a pass for three or seven days.'

'I should buy a three-day pass,' he said, and she led him to the counter and helped him with his purchase. The clerk gave him a token, similar in size to a Galleon, which he paid for using Bezants.

'You will hold the token here,' she said, indicating a metal plate next to a large map. 'And then you press your finger to the _point Magi_ you wish to travel to. Where are you going?'

'The Bastille,' he replied, still astonished that a stranger was bossing him around so helpfully. _This is like a country full of Hermiones,_ he thought.

'_Oui, Bastille,'_ she repeated. 'Right here.'

Before pressing his finger to the point on the map, he said, 'Thank you, I'm very grateful. I only just arrived in Paris.'

'_Je vous en prie_—you are welcome. _Amusez-vous bien!'_

He held the token to the plate and pressed his finger to the spot labelled _Bastille_, and then he felt himself pulled as through a hidden subway system. There was momentary pause in the middle, and then a sharp turn as if he'd switched to a different rail line. And after that he found himself standing before a large sign that said _Bastille_. The entire trip lasted perhaps ten seconds.

_Not bad_, he thought. _Definitely better than the Floo network, and infinitely better than a portkey._

He looked and saw a sign marked _Sortie_, so he followed it and exited into what looked like a Muggle subway station, also marked _Bastille_. He found another exit and emerged onto a huge circular intersection that reminded him of Trafalgar Square.

He looked around and was immediately puzzled. _Where's the prison?_ he thought. There was a large circular building at the far side of the plaza, but it was new and seemed to be an opera house. He opened his guidebook and found _'Bastille, Place de la'_ in the index.

'_The Place de la Bastille is the former site of the notorious Bastille Prison, which was demolished in the aftermath of the famed 1789 storming,'_ read the guidebook. Harry was disappointed the prison was gone, but apparently it was ghastly so he could hardly lament it.

He looked at his map and saw that he'd need to travel partway around the plaza to reach the street leading towards Laetitia's hotel. Waiting at the stoplight, he was unnerved by a sense that something was off. He was downright uncomfortable for a minute, and his fingers were itching to hold his wand, when he realised the problem. _The cars are on the wrong side of the road! _He felt silly for not figuring it out sooner, but then he'd never left Britain before.

Once he found the correct street, he was able to explore nearby, knowing he was unlikely to be late. He was in the eleventh arrondisement, whatever that meant, and it wasn't as quaint as the Îlot Gicale, but it still felt nothing like England. The main street wasn't very interesting, but a side street called Rue de Lappe looked promising, with lots of bars and restaurants.

Harry arrived at the hotel at the appointed time and found Eric waiting in the lobby. 'Laetitia will be down in a minute,' he said. 'She's just arranging where we'll meet Sophie.'

'Have you been to Paris before?'

'Yes, several times, and once before with Laetitia. But this will be the first time since I learnt she was a witch, so I'll get to see l'Îlot Gicale and other parts that are new to me.'

'Leelo-zheecal?' repeated Harry.

'Yes, that's the French pronunciation for the hidden island. The T is silent.'

'Oh dear, I wonder what else I've mangled since I arrived.'

Laetitia emerged from the stairwell wearing a sundress and with her hair back in its usual cloud. 'You made it! Were you able to get a hotel room? I realised last night that everything may be full this time of year.'

'It is, but I ran into an acquaintance and he's letting me share his room.'

'Remarkable,' said Eric. 'Is the wizarding world so small that you'd ordinarily run into someone you know?'

'No, it really was quite a coincidence. Though I had a fallback,' said Harry, and he told them about Clive.

Laetitia laughed and said, 'I'm glad your other friend turned up. But you might also have stayed with Sophie in a pinch. And speaking of Sophie, we're to meet her nearby—let's go.'

They walked about a quarter mile to a café on a side street, and a young woman approached and greeted Laetitia, kissing her once on each cheek. She did the same with Eric, and then Laetitia said, 'Sophie, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Sophie Tavernier.'

Sophie surprised him by kissing him on either cheek, though it was really more of an air kiss with their cheeks touching. 'It's very nice to meet you, Harry,' she said, in charmingly accented English.

She was shorter than Laetitia, but perhaps an inch taller than Harry. She had brown hair and eyes, and her heart-shaped face reminded him of Tonks. _Definitely a model,_ he thought admiringly. She wasn't drop-dead gorgeous like Laetitia, but she had an impish quality and casual elegance he suspected were very French.

'It's lovely to meet you, Sophie,' he said, deliberately turning on the charm. 'I hope it's not a problem I turned up at the last minute.'

'No, of course not. Any friend of Laetitia is my friend as well. Is this your first time in France?'

'Yes, I've never left Britain before.'

'Never? _C'est dommage! _But now you have done it.'

'I have, and it's brilliant so far. I've already had the best chocolate croissant of my life.'

'And it was probably average by French standards,' said Laetitia. 'But we'll get you sorted this weekend.'

They sat down and Sophie helped Harry with the menu. After ordering for him, she said, 'You could have ordered in English, but you'll get better service in French, particularly this time of year. It's all tourists in August.'

'Myself included,' said Harry. 'But perhaps you can help me with my French. I think I'm pronouncing something wrong: _merci beaucoup_.'

Sophie laughed. 'Yes, that wasn't quite right. The problem was the _beaucoup_. It's supposed to have an 'ooh' sound, but you said it with an 'u' sound, and that changes the meaning.'

'Oh dear, what did I say?'

'_Beaucoup_ means "very much," but you said _"beau cul,"_ which means "nice ass."'

'Are you serious?' he exclaimed, horrified.

'Do not worry, I'm sure nobody misunderstood you. But it is funny.'

'So how do I say it correctly?'

She showed him the difference between the two sounds, and he was slightly distracted watching her lips form the 'oo' shape. And when he tried it he had the impression she was similarly distracted.

'That's good enough,' she said. 'But you will have to practice if you want to really sound French.'

'I don't think that's likely, but I'll make the most of my three days here.'

'Where shall we visit?' asked Laetitia.

'I haven't seen anything, other than the former Bastille and parts of l'Îlot Gicale,' said Harry, trying to pronounce it as Eric had done. 'But I don't want to force you to visit things you've already seen—I can explore on my own if you prefer.'

'Nonsense,' said Laetitia. 'I'm certain we can make it work for everyone.'

'I've been told to visit the Musée d'Orsay,' said Harry. 'That's the one in the old railway station, right?'

'Yes, and it is _merveilleux._ Better than the Louvre in some ways,' said Sophie.

'And I'd also like to see some cathedrals. It looks like Notre Dame is fairly close to l'Îlot Gicale.'

'It is, but there's also the Sainte Chapelle, which has the most beautiful stained glass. We should visit in the morning, when the sun touches it.'

Harry felt a little embarrassed, but he added, 'I'd also like to see the Eiffel Tower, although I'm sure you've all seen it already. But really, I don't mind going on my own.'

'Actually, there is a good way to see the _Tour Eiffel,'_ said Sophie, 'and many other sights. We will take a flying carpet tour.'

'Really? How does that work, with the Statute of Secrecy?'

'It is necessary to go through the _bureau touristique. _They have special carpets charmed invisible to Muggles, and you must wear an Invisibility Cloak. And it's only at night.'

'That sounds brilliant. Is it too late for me to get a spot?'

'Normally, yes,' said Sophie. 'I reserved our places weeks ago. But I spoke to them this morning and was able to persuade them to allow one more. You will forgive me, Harry, but I told them your name.'

'That's fine. Normally I don't like jumping the queue, but I won't turn down a flying tour of Paris.'

They spent the meal getting to know one another. Harry learnt that Eric was a computer programmer of some kind, which he hadn't expected.

'Forgive me, but I assumed you'd be in banking or something similar.'

Eric and Laetitia both laughed. 'Because Laetitia's a model?' he asked. 'Yes, that's the usual pairing, but fortunately she discovered they weren't actually her type.'

Laetitia smiled affectionately at Eric. 'It took me a while, but I eventually caught on. And Eric was definitely worth the wait.'

'Eric, what was it like discovering she was a witch?' asked Harry.

'It hardly came as a surprise, to be honest. She was already the most amazing person I'd ever met, both inside and out, so to learn she could perform magic was just a minor detail.' He looked at her fondly before continuing. 'The real surprise was learning about the wizarding world, and particularly that there were two major wars recently. I knew someone who died in a bridge collapse several years ago, and it was upsetting to learn that it had been caused deliberately by wizards.'

Harry nodded. 'That's the horrible thing about magic. One person can do so much damage.'

'Yes, but one person can make an enormous difference as well,' said Laetitia. 'Harry's proof of that.'

'It wasn't just me. I had help—lots of it.'

'Even so, the war ended the minute you killed Voldemort,' she said.

Harry felt his usual discomfort with the verb she'd chosen. He normally let it pass, but that afternoon he was inclined to speak up. 'To be honest, I don't like when people say I killed Voldemort. I know it's a fine point, but I prefer the word "defeated."'

'Interesting,' said Laetitia. 'What's the difference, in your mind?'

'In the end I didn't use a Killing Curse on him, or any curse at all. I could never have defeated him that way—Voldemort was far more powerful than I am. I used a Disarming Charm, and it worked because of factors that had nothing to do with Dark magic.' He added, 'Don't get me wrong, I wanted to stop him. I wanted to end him, and we'd spent more than a year ensuring he wouldn't come back this time around. But if I could have done it without killing him, I would have done.'

Sophie looked thoughtfully at Harry and said, 'You quit your _gendarme_ apprenticeship, no?'

'Do you mean Auror training? Yes, that's right.'

'You are not a killer,' she said. 'But you would have had to become a killer, if you were an Auror.'

'Unfortunately I am a killer,' said Harry. 'When I was eleven I killed my Defence professor with my bare hands.'

Eric was visibly shocked, and Sophie and Laetitia looked surprised as well.

'He was possessed by Voldemort, and he tried to kill me to get the Philosopher's Stone. When he touched me, his skin started to burn, due to the protection from when my mother sacrificed her life for me. I instinctively pressed my hands to his face, and then I grabbed his arm and didn't let go until I finally passed out.'

'Surely that was self-defence,' said Eric.

'Of course, and nobody blamed me for it. I was desperate to stop Voldemort from getting the Philosopher's Stone. But looking back, it's disturbing to see how strong my killer instinct is, and I reckon we all have one. And later, during the war, I performed Dark curses. They weren't natural to me at first, and I wasn't successful. But eventually I was.'

'You are not a killer,' repeated Sophie. 'Yes, you have killed, but then you chose not to. And when you quit your Auror programme, you chose it again.'

'To be honest, I quit being an Auror because I wasn't very good at it and I thought I'd have more fun playing Quidditch.'

'_Et alors?_ You think I have a meaningful career? I sell clothing. And besides, it's important to have fun.'

'I certainly like it,' he said, looking suggestively at her, and she smiled in return. _I suspect I won't need that portable bed tonight_, he thought with anticipation.

Their food arrived, and Harry was amazed by how good it was. There was nothing pretentious about it, but it was perfectly executed, from the crusty bread to the subtly flavoured sauce. 'What is this herb?' he asked, indicating the little green bits in the salad dressing.

Sophie tasted it and said, _'L'estragon_ ... I don't know the name in English.'

'Tarragon,' said Eric. 'French tarragon, not Russian—they're a bit different.'

'Do you cook?' asked Harry.

'Yes, that's how he wooed me,' said Laetitia fondly. 'Harry, you know how to cook, right? You said something on the radio about making breakfast for your girlfriends.'

He laughed. 'I try to, but usually my house-elf wins the battle. He's very territorial. It's a good way to impress witches, though—not many wizards know how.'

'Sophie, is it the same in France?' asked Laetitia.

'No, French wizards can cook. In school we learn cooking charms and also how to appreciate different foods. It is considered an essential topic, just like Potions and Transfiguration.'

Harry leaned back in his chair. 'That settles it, I'm moving to France. I just need to find a job and learn the language. That shouldn't be hard, right?'

They planned their afternoon over lunch, with Sophie issuing orders. 'The best way to see Paris is on foot,' she insisted. 'We can walk from here through the Marais, which is an old _quartier_ that has unfortunately become very chic. It is almost too crowded now. But it is very charming, and the Place des Vosges is lovely. And we'll walk to the river from there.'

As promised, they strolled after their late lunch, and Harry was enchanted by the tiny streets and hidden courtyards. Sophie showed him how to spot _points Magi_ not associated with Métro stations. 'There is a floating M, and then you look through your fingers like this.' She made a circle with her thumb and index finger, and held it up to Harry's eye. 'And you will see the entrance.'

'Yes, I see it,' he said, enjoying the touch of her hand against his cheek and brow. 'Do you want to look?' he asked, holding his circled finger and thumb to her eye.

'It looks English,' she said, laughing. 'You are very English.'

'What makes you say that?' he asked playfully.

'Your shoes. And your _visage_—the look on your face. And of course your hair. A Frenchman would wear it shorter.'

'I've tried! Anytime I cut it shorter than this, it just grows back.'

'But of course, that's what hair does.'

'No, the next morning!'

'_Tu rigoles!_ You are joking.'

'I'm not. Do I need to prove it to you?'

'You mean get a haircut? Today?'

'If you like. There must be a barber somewhere around here.'

'_Un coiffeur?_ Yes, of course. But why bother, if it grows back in the morning?'

'To make you smile,' he replied. 'And I'll look like a Frenchman for one night.'

_'Pfft, j'en ai marre des Français,'_ she said without providing a translation._ '_No, it's not worth the effort. You will find other ways to make me smile.'

They arrived at the river and walked across a bridge to the Île Saint-Louis. There was an extremely long queue along the narrow pavement, and Harry asked what everyone was waiting for.

'Berthillon,' replied Sophie. 'It is very good ice cream, but we can get it on l'Îlot Gicale.'

'Is that where you live?' he asked.

'Yes, with my family.' Harry's face must have fallen, because she laughed and said, 'But they are in the provinces for the month of August. I am only here this week for work, and to show Laetitia and Eric around. And now you.'

'So you're all alone this weekend?'

'Yes. And where are you staying?'

'I couldn't get a hotel room, but I ran into a friend and he's letting me stay with him in the Hôtel des Lauriers on a portable bed.'

She made a face and said, 'No, you must stay with me. You will be more comfortable.'

'I'm certain I will be,' he said in a low voice.

Sophie surprised Harry by kissing him, long and deep. _'Pas de suspens._ No suspense.'

_France is brilliant_, he thought, and he took her hand as they strolled the narrow streets.


	47. Chapter 47

Harry was awestruck by Notre Dame—he had never seen anything like it. He'd seen several cathedrals in London, from the outside anyway, but they all looked like Gringotts compared to the soaring gothic masterpiece. The interior reminded him a little of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but Notre Dame was much larger and infinitely more inspiring.

'How did they build this without magic?' he asked Sophie incredulously. 'Or did wizards help?'

'No, it was built entirely by Muggles. There was no secrecy back then, but the Church refused magical help.'

'Remarkable,' murmured Harry. He wasn't looking at her, because he was too enraptured by the cathedral, but he held her hand and their fingers twined together. Leaning towards her, he asked, 'Would it be wrong to kiss you inside a church?'

'Yes, very wrong. You must wait.'

But he didn't hurry through Notre Dame. He was thrilled to look around and he felt himself automatically expanding into awareness, as he did while flying. 'Imagine exploring this on a broomstick,' he said reverently.

'No. It wouldn't be the same. It was designed to be seen from the ground, where you are now.'

They eventually exited and walked around the exterior through a sort of park. 'We're outside now. Can we kiss yet?' he asked, and she responded in the affirmative. When he opened his eyes he saw that Laetitia and Eric were doing the same.

Harry asked where they were going next, and Sophie looked across the river towards the Latin Quarter but shook her head. 'The _Quartier latin _is classic Paris and you should see it, but in August there are too many people. We should _magi_ somewhere less crowded.'

'Where do you recommend?' asked Eric.

'There are many places to choose from,' she said. 'But I think Ménilmontant.'

Sophie led them to a _point Magi_, which Eric was able to see with the help of an amulet and by looking through Laetitia's circled fingers. Sophie showed them which stop to press on the map, and soon they were standing on a platform similar to the one at Bastille. They walked up the stairs, and Harry was enchanted by the elegantly curving metal entrance to the Métro station.

'How can a city be so beautiful?' he wondered aloud. 'Didn't they consider it frivolous?'

'What makes you think beauty is frivolous?' asked Sophie.

'I don't know. I grew up in the suburbs, and the only beauty permitted was flowers. I suppose that's why I like them so much.'

Laetitia explained, 'Harry has developed a reputation in Britain for appreciating flowers. He's never photographed without them.'

'_C'est vrai?_ You are a dandy?'

'Yes!' said Harry triumphantly. 'Finally someone who knows what a dandy is, besides Hermione of course. I'm impressed you know the word, though. What's the French word for it?'

'_Un dandy,'_ she said. 'It's even spelled the English way, because the original dandies were from England. But we had them here too. I will show you paintings tomorrow, at the Musée d'Orsay.'

They strolled through Ménilmontant and the neighbouring Belleville district. Sophie knew exactly which streets were most picturesque, which meant they didn't waste time on ordinary commercial streets. The sun was getting lower, and Laetitia and Eric seemed keen to return to their hotel before the flying carpet tour, so they agreed to meet at the _Bureau touristique _and eat dinner afterwards.

Harry and Sophie travelled by Magi back to l'Îlot Gicale, and they went together to Krum's hotel room to retrieve Harry's suitcase. They both laughed at the portable bed, which was worse even than Penelope's futon. 'Thank you for rescuing me from a horrible fate,' he told her. 'I'm afraid I've no tolerance for uncomfortable beds.'

'You are _un peu gâté, n'est-ce pas_?' she teased.

'What does that mean?'

'It's when a child is too much indulged.'

He laughed, fully aware of how differently he'd reacted when Gilstrap had made the same accusation. 'The word is "spoilt," and unfortunately no, I wasn't. But I've an impossibly comfortable bed now, and it's hard to go back.'

He wrote a note to Krum explaining his absence and promising to meet him for breakfast as planned, and instead of taking the stairs down to the lobby they crammed themselves into the lift, where they enjoyed a brief snog. When they exited the lift Harry held up his key and asked, 'Are you certain I should give this back? It means you're stuck with me for two nights.'

'_Pfft,' _she replied dismissively. 'If you're no good I will make you sleep in another room tomorrow night.'

He returned the key to the front desk, with the instruction that they remove the portable bed, and Sophie led him to the flat where her family lived. She started to show him around, but they didn't get past her bedroom.

Afterwards she murmured, 'That was ... _très agréable_. Are all English wizards like you?'

'I don't know. I've never been with any English wizards.'

'_Quel dommage pour eux,'_ she said. 'Then you are not a true dandy.'

'Apparently not. Were they all gay?'

'Many but not all. The Comte de Montesquiou, a French dandy of the 19th century, once made love with the actress Sarah Bernhardt to see if he liked women, but according to the story he vomited the whole day after.'

Harry laughed out loud. 'I think it's safe to say he wasn't attracted to women. But I don't have that problem ... if anything, I'm a bit hooked.'

'What is hooked?' she asked, not understanding.

'It means I can't get enough,' he replied, reaching for her again.

'Ah, _accro_. Like with drugs.'

'Yes, completely _accro. _Thank you for teaching me a new word.'

'It's not a good word. Don't call yourself that in public.'

He smiled and said, 'Fortunately we're in private.'

'We should leave soon, for our tour. I presume you want to wash first?'

'Yes, I'm dandy, not a fop,' he said, and she laughed when he explained.

Afterwards he opened his suitcase and asked, 'Are we going into Muggle Paris tonight, or can I wear robes?'

'I haven't decided,' she said. 'It is probably better to wear Muggle clothes.'

'But Muggle clothes are boring. I much prefer robes.'

'English clothes are boring,' she countered. 'But you are in France.'

'Yes, but my clothes are English. Or do you have something I can wear?' he asked cheekily.

'_Oui, un foulard._' She opened a drawer and started to dig through it. 'You have a shirt with buttons, right?'

'I do,' he said, pulling on his trousers. 'What's a foo-lar?'

'It's a scarf,' she replied, holding one up. 'French men wear them.'

Harry raised his eyebrows but said nothing, and when he finished buttoning his shirt she tied the scarf around his neck. 'There, now you are a little bit French.'

'I'd probably get beat up if I wore this in England. Particularly in my neighbourhood,' he said, looking in the mirror at the colourful silk scarf she'd selected. 'But I like it.'

It was a short walk from her flat to the Bureau touristique, and Laetitia and Eric were waiting outside. 'Harry, I see you're already turning into a Frenchman,' exclaimed Laetitia.

'It was either this or flowers, and I didn't see a florist. But I may have to bring one home, as a souvenir if nothing else.'

They entered the Bureau, and when Harry paid for his and Sophie's tickets he was handed a pair of headsets and Invisibility Cloaks. 'You will go up to the roof,' instructed the ticket vendor, 'and the tour will start from there.'

'I've never seen a flying carpet before,' he confessed as they climbed the stairs.

'Really?' said Eric. 'I'd have thought they'd be old hat for you.'

'No, they're banned in the UK,' said Laetitia.

'Are they unsafe?'

'No, I think it's just politics. Most of the broomstick manufacturers are British,' she replied.

The carpet was large—nearly twenty feet long and ten feet wide—and all the passengers were instructed to put on their cloaks and sit on one of the cushions along the edge.

But Harry was hesitant. He whispered to Sophie, 'I think the last person to wear this cloak was a fop, based on the smell. Would it be all right if I used my own Invisibility Cloak?'

'Yes, as long as the charms are good.'

He pulled his own cloak from his pouch and returned the one he was given, and then he sat next to Sophie. They were told to put on their headsets—Harry's was charmed to speak English—and soon afterwards the carpet rose into the air.

At first Eric was uneasy, since he couldn't see the carpet, but he discovered there was an invisible barrier along the outer edge, preventing the passengers from sliding off. He and Laetitia soon leaned against each another, and Harry and Sophie did the same.

Harry had spent countless hours on a broomstick, but riding a flying carpet was completely different. He'd never been so passive in the air, and he didn't particularly like the feeling, but it was the perfect way to see Paris. They flew past what he assumed were all the major sites, including the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, Montmartre, and the Louvre. He saw some of the places he'd already seen, such as Notre Dame and the Place des Vosges, and they also passed the Musée d'Orsay, which he still planned to visit.

'_Merci beaucoup,'_ he said to Sophie, pronouncing it correctly. 'I can't believe I'm on a flying carpet over Paris. It's just so beautiful.'

'Yes, Paris is very beautiful.' They were flying over the Seine, and he was gently stroking her hand.

'I never thought I'd see this,' he confessed. 'I didn't even bother dreaming about it—there wasn't any point.'

'How strange … you had to save a world you never even saw,' she said tenderly.

He shook his head. 'I didn't save the world.'

'In France we were worried. Voldemort had already conquered England, and we were afraid he'd come next to France.'

Harry had no idea whether her fears had been justified—he'd never seen or heard Voldemort's thoughts on the subject. But he understood being afraid of an unstoppable evil.

'I was scared too,' he admitted. 'I knew what he was capable of, and also what he wasn't capable of. I don't think he appreciated beauty ... only power. And the only thing he feared was death.'

'Do you fear death?'

'No,' he said honestly. 'Death is simple—it's life that's complicated.'

'And yet you are living. Don't they call you the Boy Who Lived?'

'Yes, but I've only just started to.'

She kissed him, and Harry knew they weren't the only passengers engaged in a public display of affection. _France must be unbearable when you're alone,_ he mused. _No wonder they have sex so readily._

The tour ended, and they walked over a footbridge that led to the Left Bank. They emerged through the book stall on the Quai Voltaire, and Sophie led them to a bistro on a side street in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Harry's senses were overwhelmed—by the ambiance, by the incredible food, by the wine Sophie selected. He felt drunk on the pleasure of sitting next to her at the cramped table, looking at Laetitia's beautiful face and hair, and seeing the love between her and Eric.

_What the hell was wrong with Voldemort?_ he wondered yet again. The world was so beautiful and Voldemort couldn't see any of it. _He lacked love,_ thought Harry. Voldemort had been conceived and raised without love.

_Bollocks!_ came an opposing thought, and Sirius popped into his mind. Sirius had been conceived and raised without love—by Walburga of all people. He'd grown up in a cesspit of Dark magic and spent more than a decade in Azkaban, and yet he'd had nothing but love for Harry.

_Dumbledore made a lot of mistakes,_ _but he was dead-on about love. _Then why had the headmaster been alone nearly all his life? Harry had heard the rumours about Dumbledore and Grindelwald, and he reckoned they were true. But why hadn't Dumbledore fallen in love again? _These days I seem to fall in love at least once a month,_ Harry admitted to himself.

The wine had gone to his head, he realised. It was also late, and he had to meet Krum early for breakfast. 'Sophie, _mon cher_,' he whispered, and she laughed.

'You made a mistake,' she said. 'It is _ma chère._ I called you _mon cher_ because you are masculine, but I am feminine.'

'You're very feminine,' he said, with an admiring look. 'Women are brilliant. There should be nothing but women.'

'You really are _accro! _But there must be some men who can stay. You don't need all the women.'

'That's true. Where would I put them? And a lot of my mates are blokes ... I'd miss them if they were gone. All right, you've convinced me—the men can stay.'

They finished their meal, and after fighting over the bill Harry and Eric agreed to split it. 'Thanks again for inviting me to Paris last night. I'd have gone out of my mind in London this weekend.'

'No you wouldn't have,' said Laetitia, 'but I'm glad you could join us.'

Sophie and Harry walked back to her flat, and they fell asleep soon after. But she woke him from a nightmare several hours later, and for once he was willing to describe it.

'I was flying over Paris—unassisted, like Voldemort. I was Voldemort, and I hated what I saw, I wanted to destroy it. And I was in Notre Dame and Travers was there and I tortured him, and then it was the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and Tonks was there, only she couldn't see me and I wanted to apologise but she couldn't see me, and she was holding a baby but it was Voldemort like in King's Cross.'

His heart was racing, and Sophie was soothing him in a jumble of English and French. '_Mon pauvre, aie pas peur,_ you are safe, I am here, _mon cher, mon joli garçon, je suis là.'_

'When will they end?' he asked, his throat dry. 'Why won't they end? He's gone now, it's gone now.'

She was facing him and ran her hand through his hair. '_Mon cher_, you are so _courageux.' _She kissed his forehead and tears fell from his eyes, and she kissed those as well.

'I close my eyes and still see it. Still see him.'

'Then open your eyes,' she said, and he saw her looking tenderly at him. 'Do you want some water?'

'I can get it,' he said, starting to sit up, but she stopped him.

'No no, I get it,' she said, and she rose from the bed and returned moments later with a glass.

He sat up to drink, and the water soothed his parched throat. 'Thank you. _Merci beaucoup._'

'_De rien_.'

They lay down again and he curled into her, and he felt himself expand into awareness. _I should have done this earlier,_ he thought, and eventually sleep overtook him.

He awoke hours later, after sunrise, and they enjoyed a playful morning until he had to leave to meet Krum. 'You're welcome to join us,' he said, but she refused.

'No. We still have another day and night together, and all day tomorrow.'

'Then I'm allowed to stay in your room another night?' he asked, with a roguish gleam in his eye.

'You know the answer, _coquin!'_

'What does that mean, co-can?'

'It means you are a little devil.'

He smiled. 'That's what Hermione calls me, a devil.'

'That's because you are one.'

Harry dressed in wizarding robes, even though he knew he'd need to change into Muggle clothes after breakfast, and he walked to the hotel to meet Krum. 'I could use something to eat,' Harry told him. 'There was only yoghurt and fruit where I'm staying.'

'Yes, I am hungry too,' said Krum. 'We played a match last night.'

'How was it?' asked Harry, as they walked to the café where they'd met the day before.

'A little boring, to be honest. The other Seeker and I didn't speak a common language, so we couldn't exchange insults.'

'You do that as well? That's been a huge part of my new career—much more than at Hogwarts.'

'Yes, all professional Seekers do it.'

They sat at a table inside the café and looked at the menu. Neither of them spoke French, but even they could tell that only beverages were listed. Puzzled, Harry asked their waiter if they served food as well.

'Yes, I will bring something,' said the waiter in accented English. 'You will have _café_ also?' They both nodded, and the waiter left.

'So Harry, how do you like flying professionally? I hear you are winning.'

'My teammates are brilliant, and so is my trainer,' he said, referring to Owen. 'I couldn't do it without them.'

'Yes, but you have also caught the Snitch every time, no?'

'I was ejected for fighting the game before last, but other than that yes.'

'I saw that. Your photograph was in the Italian newspaper.'

'Are you serious?'

'Yes, everyone is wondering whether you'll play for England.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'That's a bit premature. I only started with the Cannons last month.'

'You have time,' shrugged Krum. 'But do you enjoy it?'

'Yes, more than I'd have imagined.'

The waiter arrived with a pair of bowl-like cups of milky coffee and two croissants.

'That's a start,' said Harry, reaching for a croissant. 'And how are you doing?'

'Better than the last time I saw you.'

'At the wedding you mean?'

'What wedding? No, I meant at Hogwarts, right after Diggory died.'

Harry was puzzled—he and Krum had spoken at Bill and Fleur's wedding two years earlier, right before the Ministry fell and they went into into hiding. But then he remembered.

'I'm sorry, I was in disguise! I saw you at Fleur's wedding to Bill Weasley—I took Polyjuice Potion and claimed I was Ron's cousin Barny.'

'That was you?' exclaimed Krum. 'We spoke about Grindelwald's sign, which that man was wearing, and then you asked me about Gregorovich.' Krum was referring to Xenophilius Lovegood, who had worn a pendant with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, and to the European wandmaker Voldemort had murdered in his search for the Elder Wand.

'I couldn't reveal myself ... we went into hiding that night and didn't come out until the Battle of Hogwarts. But I should thank you for the information you provided—it was extremely helpful.'

'That is a relief to hear. I was very suspicious at the time.'

'You must have been surprised to receive my recent owl, if you thought we hadn't seen each other since the Triwizard Tournament,' said Harry. 'I assume you got my letter?'

'Yes, and I'm sorry for not replying sooner. You made very interesting proposals,' said Krum, referring to Harry's suggestions for changing the rules of Quidditch.

'I know it's a crazy idea, but I figured there's no harm in asking. What do you think?'

'Perhaps I'm the wrong person to ask, because Bulgaria doesn't have the best Chasers, but in principle I think it's a good idea. The reason I didn't write back is because I'm still talking to other Seekers about it.'

'Really? What do they think?'

'It's not a new idea. Chasers all complain about the scoring, and the fans don't like when the match ends too quickly. And as you know, catching the Snitch is sometimes just a matter of luck. There is skill, yes, but not like what the other players do.'

'So are they interested in changing the rules?' persisted Harry.

'Yes, all of them. Me too. But I don't think you'll succeed.'

'Even though all the players think it's a good idea, and probably the fans and team owners as well?'

'Yes, even with that. Wizards are very stubborn about tradition.'

They'd both finished their croissants and were looking expectantly at their waiter, but he didn't bring anything else. Eventually he returned and set down a small metal tray with a slip of paper, which Harry assumed was their bill.

'Excuse me,' said Harry. 'Is that all the food you're serving? We were hoping for breakfast.'

'Yes, that was breakfast,' replied the waiter before walking away.

Stunned, Harry looked at Krum. 'Am I hallucinating, or did he just serve us two croissants and call it breakfast?'

'No, I saw it too. You were hoping for an English breakfast?'

'Er, yes. Admittedly I didn't play a match yesterday, but I walked quite a lot.'

Krum pointed out the ashtray on their table. 'I think the French smoke instead of eating.'

Harry looked at the other patrons, nearly all of whom were smoking, and realised Krum was right. 'Do you have any cigarettes?' he joked.

'No. But there's a bakery nearby. We can go there after finishing our coffee.'

They both drained their cups and left a couple of Bezants on the metal plate provided.

'How is Hermione?' asked Krum as they walked. 'Are you still friends?'

'Yes, very much so. She's doing well.'

Krum hesitated. 'Is she still with Ron Weasley?'

'No, they broke up last month,' said Harry, and Krum looked at him hopefully. 'But she's started dating my teammate, Ryan Bellamy. He's a Chaser.'

'Chasers,' growled Krum. 'We should leave the Quidditch scoring as it is.'

'Are you still hung up on Hermione? You didn't date her very long, and she was only fifteen.'

'She was special. I'm surprised you don't see it.'

'Did you even talk to her before asking her to the Yule Ball?' asked Harry, and Krum shook his head. 'Then why were you interested? She wasn't the only pretty girl.'

'She was intelligent. I saw her at the library all the time, and she was actually reading books and not just talking with friends. But that wasn't all—I knew she didn't like the Dark Arts.'

'Because she's Muggle-born?'

'Yes, and also because she was friends with you. I assumed you didn't like the Dark Arts either.'

'You were right. In fact, I dislike them now even more than I did then.'

'Really? What changed?'

They arrived at the bakery, so they paused their conversation to look at the pastries. _It's not an English breakfast,_ thought Harry, _but everything certainly looks good._ He selected a spiral-shaped pastry with raisins and something he hoped contained apples.

After buying their pastries, he and Krum sat on a bench at the park Harry had been chased from the previous afternoon. 'We were talking about the Dark Arts,' Krum reminded him. 'Did you ever pursue them? I suppose you had to, when you fought Voldemort.'

'I never studied them, but I performed several Dark curses during the war. But never again—I've seen too clearly what effect they have, both on the victim and the caster.'

Krum nodded. 'They taught the Dark Arts at Durmstrang.'

'Yes, I heard that,' said Harry, recalling how Draco Malfoy had praised Durmstrang for it. 'I take it you didn't like them either?'

'Actually, at first I did like them. They're very powerful, and they depend on emotions like anger. I was very angry at that age.'

Harry wasn't surprised, considering Krum's perpetual scowl. 'Yes, it was horribly satisfying when I successfully performed the Cruciatus Curse, just before the Battle of Hogwarts.'

'That's the word—satisfying. Only it's with negative emotions, so they grow stronger.'

'I never thought about it that way, but you're right. Dark magic reinforces the worst emotions.' Harry had seen it in himself, but more importantly he'd seen it in Voldemort. When Voldemort had tortured people, his desire to keep torturing only grew stronger. 'What made you realise they were a problem?'

'I started duelling, and I was good at it—but with Dark curses. I felt myself becoming more angry. The only thing that helped was flying. When I was on a broomstick, I felt free from it.'

Harry, who was enjoying his raisin pastry, nodded in agreement. 'It's amazing, isn't it? Hardly anything clears my head like flying does.'

'I was lucky,' said Krum. 'I was a good flyer, so I was allowed to concentrate on Quidditch and give up duelling. I still had to study Dark curses, but not like before. And when we learned about the Triwizard Tournament they let me stop completely, since Dark magic wasn't permitted. I was much more cheerful after that.'

_Sweet Merlin, I've only seen the cheerful version of Krum,_ thought Harry. 'You said you liked Hermione in part because you knew she avoided Dark magic, but there were lots of witches chasing you at Hogwarts, and I doubt they were practicing the Dark Arts.'

'No, probably not. But they were only interested in me because of Quidditch, or because of the Triwizard Tournament. Surely you can understand what that's like.'

'Yes, and I agree it can feel a bit dehumanising. But it also has its advantages. Less effort, you know.'

'Now I know why you didn't need my hotel room,' said Krum, momentarily relaxing his usual scowl. 'And yes, I have enjoyed the benefits as well. But some witches will avoid you for the same reason, and I think they might be the ones who are most worth the effort.'

'Perhaps you're right,' said Harry sceptically. He'd already met several brilliant witches the easy way, and he suspected Krum was being over-pessimistic.

Their conversation drifted back to Quidditch, including a heated debate on the merits and shortcomings of the Firebolt Ultra, and before leaving Harry prodded Krum again on changing the scoring rules.

'Of course you have my support,' said Krum. 'And same with all the other Seekers I've talked to. But mark my words, it won't work.'

'I look forward to proving you wrong. I'm very glad I ran into you, and thanks again for offering to share your hotel room. Please owl me next time you're in Britain.'

'Enjoy Paris, and perhaps we will play against each other one day.'

They embraced—Harry had extended his hand but the Bulgarian had pulled him into a hug—and then Harry returned to Sophie's flat.

'What's the matter with breakfast in this country?' he asked her. 'All they served at the café was a croissant—Viktor and I had to go to a bakery to keep from fainting.'

'You poor thing,' laughed Sophie, 'trying to find an enormous English breakfast in France.' She looked at his robes and added, 'You look very dashing but you'll need to change into Muggle clothes now.'

Harry sighed and began to unbutton the outer robe. 'May I wear something of yours as well? Another scarf?'

'You'd look good in a dress,' she suggested. 'Though your shoes are all wrong.'

'And I have knobbly knees. No, we'll have to come up with something else.'

She pulled a striped knit shirt from a shelf and made him try it on. 'I love it! You must wear it.'

'You're joking! It's way too small.'

'Perhaps. But today we will get you one of your own. It is a classic Breton shirt, worn by French sailors.'

He peeled it off and changed back into one of his own shirts, which Sophie accessorised with another scarf, and they were soon walking towards the Île de la Cité. 'You must see la Sainte Chapelle,' she insisted. 'It has the most beautiful stained glass.'

They met Laetitia and Eric in the queue, and before long they were inside. Harry could scarcely breathe at the sight of the upper chapel, and he felt as though his heart had expanded beyond his own physical boundaries. He automatically reached for Sophie's hand and stood there in blissful silence.

'Er, Harry,' whispered Eric after a few minutes. 'Your hand is glowing.' Harry raised his free hand and saw that silvery light was emanating from it—he immediately stuffed it into his front pocket.

The two witches turned to look, and Harry saw that his other hand was also glowing. Sophie let go of it and covered it with her jumper. 'It pleases you, la Sainte Chapelle?'

He sighed in ecstasy and said, 'God, yes. I don't think I've been anywhere so perfect.'

'It was constructed in only seven years—without magic. That's why it's so uniform.'

Harry was still in raptures, and Laetitia tugged his arm. 'Harry, your face is starting to glow ... we need to get you out of here.'

'Er, yes, of course,' he said absently, and Laetitia dragged him into the stone staircase that led to the exit. His glow brightened the dark passage, and Sophie hastily Confunded the other visitor they passed. Fortunately Harry began to dim when they reached the lower chapel, and by the time they were outside he looked normal again.

Laetitia led him to a bench and sat next to him. 'Are you all right?' she asked.

He closed his eyes and experienced another wave of the bliss he'd felt inside the upper chapel. 'That was tremendous,' he murmured.

'He's glowing again,' whispered Eric, and they led Harry into the sunlight.

'Oh, Sophie,' he sighed, embracing her. 'That was perfection. All of this is perfection.' He began to kiss her tenderly.

'Do you need to go back to the flat?' giggled Laetitia. 'I never realised stained glass could be such a turn-on.'

Returning to himself, Harry shook his head slowly. 'No, it's not sex. It's just overwhelming love. I could kiss any one of you, but Sophie was the obvious choice.'

'I don't think of myself as the jealous type,' said Eric, 'but I can't say I'd be pleased to see you start snogging Laetitia. And I'm not drunk enough to fancy you myself.'

Harry laughed. 'I can't say I've explored that side of things—and yes, I know I attended a boarding school.'

'Where shall we go next?' asked Sophie. 'I had planned on the Musée d'Orsay, but if Harry is too sensitive to the artwork we might need to go somewhere else.'

He shook his head and reassured her. 'Believe me, if Hermione heard anyone worrying I was too sensitive to artwork she'd fall over laughing. I'm sure I'll be fine.'

Sophie guided them to a _point Magi_, and they emerged near the museum. It was early enough that the queue wasn't horrendous, and before long they were inside. Harry was pleasantly reminded of King's Cross Station, and he followed Sophie as she led them through the various galleries.

'I haven't been to a museum in years,' he confessed. 'Not since before I learnt I was a wizard.'

'How is that possible?' she asked.

'I was at Hogwarts most of the time, and during the summers I was trapped at my aunt and uncle's house. I suppose I could have gone this past year, but it never crossed my mind.'

'Which museums did you visit?' asked Laetitia.

'During primary school I went on a class trip to the British Museum, and once to the National Gallery. I remember liking some of the paintings, but I mostly tried to avoid my cousin and his mates.'

Harry was no longer accustomed to seeing stationary paintings, and he thought he'd find them boring, but they were interesting in a way that wizarding paintings weren't. 'They don't need to move,' he murmured, in front of a painting of labourers preparing a wood floor. He marvelled at how the artist had captured their motion with paint rather than magic.

Sophie was able to tell him about many of the paintings, including which ones had caused a scandal. 'Did you learn this in school?' he asked, impressed by her vast knowledge.

'I grew up near this museum, Harry. I have been here many times. I'm certain you could tell me about the places where you have lived.'

'But you wouldn't be interested. I grew up in Little Whinging, and there was nothing worth visiting there. Hogwarts is all right, but I'd mostly point out places I'd nearly been killed, or cursed someone.'

'Then begin learning about new places and things.'

'I think I will,' he said sincerely.

When she showed Harry the paintings by Van Gogh and told him how much the artist had suffered before taking his own life, he was overcome with emotion. The combination of the beautiful artwork and his own feelings of compassion moved him to tears. He realised that Van Gogh had achieved immortality in a way Voldemort could never have done.

_This is greatness,_ he thought. He knew that people would eventually forget his own accomplishments, but that these paintings were still as inspiring as ever. He had a momentary urge to learn how to paint, but he knew he hadn't any talent or real inclination. _But I can appreciate other people's paintings,_ he thought gratefully.

Sophie led him to the portrait of Robert de Montesquiou, the French dandy she'd told him about the night before. 'I'm glad he's not vomiting in the picture,' said Harry. 'Actually, that's a nice outfit he's wearing. It looks almost like wizarding robes—I wonder if my tailor could reproduce it.'

At Laetitia's prompting, Eric took photographs of the painting, which he promised to send to Harry. 'Don't forget the gloves,' she said, referring to the elegant silk gloves the subject was wearing.

'No, that's where I draw the line. Lucius Malfoy wore gloves like that, probably to avoid touching half-bloods like myself, and worse.'

Harry ate enough at the museum café to keep from passing out, and later they had a proper lunch together on the Îlot Gicale, including the ice cream they'd seen people queuing for on the Île Saint-Louis. Afterwards the two couples parted with a plan to meet for dinner and dancing that evening. 'It is time to buy you clothes and dress you like a Frenchman,' insisted Sophie. 'Or a Frenchwoman if you prefer.'

'No, I cause enough scandals with my clothing already.'

'So I hear! Your British press is horrible.'

'It really is. It's a pleasure not having to read the _Daily Prophet_ for a couple of days. I should leave town more often.'

Sophie took him to a series of shops, where he purchased several silk _foulards_, including magical ones for Hermione and Andromeda. She also picked out a striped Breton jersey for him, and a fitted floral button-down shirt she insisted he wear that evening. 'If I can't get you into a dress, this will have to do.'

As they walked along an unfamiliar street on the way back to her flat, Harry was surprised to see a British flag mounted a few doors ahead. 'What's going on? I thought we were in France.'

'It is a British pub,' she laughed. 'For expat wizards.'

'Good lord no,' he said, backing away. 'Are you saying it's full of British people?'

'Not only British people. French people enjoy British pubs as well, for a change of atmosphere.'

'Oh, do they serve a proper breakfast there?'

'Probably, but I have never been. We must go in, and you can tell me if it's authentic.'

'You realise what you're asking, right? For all I know it's full of exiled Death Eaters who want to kill me.'

'Interesting. Perhaps I should go in first to see.'

'How would you even tell?' he asked.

'I don't know. But I have good instincts.'

He hung back, a few doors away, and Sophie went ahead to look inside. First she just poked her head in, and then she entered all the way. He got nervous when she didn't come out immediately and he was preparing to approach with his wand, but she popped out and waved him over.

'_Allez, viens,_ you must see,' she called.

Her tone quelled his fears but raised a new concern. He was tempted to raise his 'Leave me alone' shields but he suspected Sophie wanted to see him attract attention. She'd been amused the other times he'd been recognised on the Îlot Gicale, and once even at the Musée d'Orsay, and it seemed churlish to disappoint her.

Harry walked into a bar that was simultaneously the most and least authentic British pub he'd ever seen. The flag alone should have warned him, since he'd never seen one outside a pub at home. But there were several more inside, along with banners for every Quidditch team in the league. Numerous photographs covered the back wall, but before he could examine them someone exclaimed, 'Bless me, it's Harry Potter!' and mayhem was unleashed.

He moved instinctively towards Sophie and resisted the urge to use her as a human shield. Laughing, she grabbed his arm and pointed to the wall of photographs. On top was a photograph of Queen Elizabeth, whom he had never seen displayed in a wizarding pub, along with other photos of the royal family, and right below them was a large photograph of himself.

There was a clamour of voices and the flash of a camera, but eventually the noise died down enough that he was able to answer individual questions. 'I'm just in Paris for the weekend ... Yes, it's brilliant ... I came here with friends ... No, I've never been here before ... The Cannons played on Thursday night ... Yes, they're a wonderful organisation ... No, Hermione's not here with me ... I'd prefer not to answer that, but I'm very sorry I lost my temper.'

The last question was about why he'd punched Gilstrap the weekend before. Clearly the group was mad for Quidditch—in addition to all the banners on display, several of the patrons were wearing team jerseys, possibly related to the match playing on the radio.

'Is that Puddlemere?' he asked, recognising some of the names the announcer mentioned.

'Yes, they're up 150 to 130—they've been playing the Harpies for more than three hours,' said a patron.

_Poor Phil,_ thought Harry. _I'll have to wear his jersey next week as a show of support._

Harry and Sophie were herded to a large table and given pint glasses. She looked delighted, so he decided to surrender to the situation. 'Do you live in Paris or are you also just visiting?' he asked the people around him.

'We're mostly expats,' said a tall wizard old enough to be Harry's father. 'My wife and I moved here in the eighties, between wars, but a lot of people came here during one of the wars and then stayed.'

Harry felt the same resentment he'd felt towards Clive, for leaving instead of fighting, but he knew it was unjust. The Ministry had repeatedly announced during the war that Harry had fled and that the resistance was crushed, so it was only sensible for them to move somewhere safe. Helena's family had nearly left, after all.

'What was it like, being here during the war?' he asked, genuinely curious.

'Some of us tried to help, best as we could,' said the wizard. 'There was a steady stream of refugees—mostly Muggle-born—and we had an organisation to help get them resettled. We sent a lot to America, actually, since not everyone wanted to learn a new language. Luckily I'd learnt some French at school, so I had a head start when I moved here.'

'You didn't go to Hogwarts, I take it,' said Harry. 'I'm realising how inadequate my education was.'

'No, I attended Dunbridge. Except for Muggle-born refugees, you won't meet many expats who attended Hogwarts.'

'Why is that?'

'They usually do just fine at home. The reason my wife and I left was that there were better opportunities abroad for people without Hogwarts connections. Good luck getting a job at the Ministry when they assume your N.E.W.T. results were forged, since they can't believe you were properly educated somewhere else.'

'I'm hoping that'll change, now that the word about the other schools is finally getting out.'

'Maybe, maybe not,' said the wizard. 'There hasn't been a peep about it yet in the _Prophet_.'

'No, there wouldn't be. Their wards are still up—hopefully they'll be removed next week.'

'You know you're in today's _Prophet_,' interjected a witch, holding out the newspaper.

_Bloody hell,_ thought Harry. _What did I do now?_

Fortunately it was just an item in the gossip column, reporting that he'd gone to Paris for the weekend and speculating about who he was meeting there. Laetitia was the leading suspect, since they'd been seen together at the end of Harry's match, and it was theorised they'd travelled separately to avoid suspicion.

_Why would Laetitia and I try to avoid suspicion after we'd been photographed together on purpose?_ he wondered, but there was no point trying to understand.

Harry returned to what the wizard had said earlier, about whether things would change now that news of the other schools was coming to light. 'I'd like more than anything to help level the playing field in Britain, for people from all schools, but how would you suggest going about it?'

'That's a damn good question, Potter,' said another wizard. 'Are you planning to start attending the Wizengamot regularly?'

'Not if I can help it. I have business there on Wednesday, but otherwise I'd rather keep my distance, in part because the sessions are normally when I'm at practice.' _Though at least I have those snazzy robes now,_ he added inwardly. 'What would I even be able to do at the Wizengamot?'

'Stir up trouble, same as you do everywhere else. Nice work taking down the lords, by the way. We raised a glass in your honour after reading your "bollocks" letter.'

'I'm certain I can stir up trouble without attending the Wizengamot. Are you able to listen to Weasley's Wizard Wireless here?'

'Yes, and it's fantastic,' said the first wizard. 'Tell them there's a market in Paris for those condoms. I have a shop here on l'Îlot Gicale and I'm certain they'd be a hit.'

Sophie had started rubbing her foot against Harry's leg under the table, and he too was ready to leave. But he was stuck signing autographs for a while, and the proprietor induced him to sign the large photograph on the wall. A closer look at the wall revealed signed photos from numerous famous Britons, including Celestina Warbeck, Ludo Bagman, The Weird Sisters, Gilderoy Lockhart, and to Harry's surprise, a much younger-looking Albus Dumbledore.

The photograph was black and white, and Harry could see that Dumbledore's hair and beard were still dark. _This must have been taken around the time he defeated Grindelwald_, he thought. And it might have been Harry's imagination, but Dumbledore seemed to be regarding him with great interest—he tented his fingers and appeared to study him carefully.

'You were right about Riddle,' he whispered to the photograph. 'He was worse than you could have imagined, but we got him in the end. It's yet to be determined whether he irretrievably fucked up my life or not—or whether you did, for that matter. I'll keep you posted.' Dumbledore's eyes softened, and he very slightly tipped his head at Harry before resuming his previous pose.

Harry and Sophie finally extricated themselves from the pub, but not before several wizards handed him business cards and mentioned they were looking for investors in their pastry export business. 'I hope you enjoyed that,' he told Sophie once they were outside.

'It was very funny,' she said, 'but then it took too long. Is that what happens when you go out in England?'

'I sometimes use a Notice-Me-Not Charm, but usually I just put up a non-magical wall, which works pretty well.'

'A non-magical wall? Show me.'

Harry tried to compress his energy and draw himself inward, but it wasn't as easy or natural as it had once been. 'Hang on, I'm having trouble now.'

She looked at him appraisingly. 'You are less _magnétique_, and a little more sad perhaps. But I prefer the other version—bring him back.'

'Inside your flat,' he whispered. 'Then he's all yours.'

He allowed his energy to expand fully once they were in her bedroom, and he was surprised by how powerful the experience was. He employed the same technique he'd used to kiss Myrtle, only Sophie was warm and lovely and very much alive.

'This is your power,' she murmured afterwards, as they lay together. 'This is how you survive two Killing Curses.'

'No,' he exhaled. 'Both times were because of my mother's sacrifice.'

'Then that is her gift to you, and your gift to everyone else.'

'I haven't shagged that many witches,' he laughed. 'It's only five now, although four have been in the last six weeks, since I joined the Cannons.'

She raised an eyebrow at him. 'You really are _accro_. But I didn't mean "shagging,"' she said with a smirk. 'I meant how you defeated Voldemort.'

'Yes, that was a sacrifice too—my own. But I'd rather not sacrifice my life every time someone needs help. I've grown rather fond of living,' he said, stroking her gently.

'You don't need to give your life ... you give your energy, your _puissance_.'

'_Toujours puissant,'_ he quoted, and she looked at him curiously. 'That's the Black family motto, my godfather's family. I'm Head of House now, and I'm considering changing my name to Harry Potter-Black.'

'That sounds even more English than Harry Potter,' she giggled. 'And yes ... _toujours puissant_.'

He relished hearing her pronounce the words. 'Say it again.'

'_Toujours puissant. _It suits you. You share your power and it grows.'

Harry stretched his arms languorously. _I don't care what the Blacks think,_ he thought. _I'm changing my bloody name._

Sophie looked at the clock on the nightstand and said, 'If you are a dandy you must shower now. And then we will dress you in your flower shirt and _foulard_ and go to dinner.'

He let her wash first—the stall was too small to share—and when he emerged she was applying makeup. 'Muggle makeup,' he said approvingly, remembering what Helena had worn.

'Yes, we are going to a nightclub and I am too _vaniteuse_ to be invisible, especially next to Laetitia.'

'You won't be invisible, I promise.'

By the time he'd dressed, she was putting on the finishing touches. Her makeup wasn't as dramatic as Helena's had been—no lip gloss or false eyelashes—but Harry was astonished by the difference it had made. Until then she'd only been a pretty young woman, but she transformed into someone he could easily picture on the cover of a magazine.

Sophie noticed his reaction and laughed. 'Yes, I know—I look very different this way. But let's see what we can do with you.'

'Are you serious?'

'Yes. You have beautiful eyes, and I want to exaggerate them.' Instructing him to stand still, she gently rubbed lotion onto his eyelids and then used a brush to apply different colour powders. She drew along the edges using a soft pencil, which went poorly until he finally used an obscure hex on himself to keep from blinking. The last step was an eyelash curler and then mascara.

'The hard part is done,' she said, not letting him look in the mirror. 'Now only rouge and lipstick.'

'Please, not lipstick,' he urged. 'I hate seeing it on the rims of glasses.'

She nodded. 'Then we can use a charm, but I will apply it. And I'll only remove it when we come home.'

'I can't possibly walk through l'Îlot Gicale wearing makeup, particularly now that everyone knows I'm here.'

'Fine, you can wear your Invisibility Cloak until we arrive at Bastille, and we can Apparate home.'

Sophie applied rouge to his cheeks and performed a charm on his lips, and then she stood back and nodded. 'It is done. You can see now.'

Harry looked in the mirror, expecting to start laughing, but she'd done a surprisingly good job. He didn't look like a girl, which was fortunate because he didn't think he'd be a very attractive one, with his thin face and angular features. But he had to admit his eyes looked spectacular, and the lip colour suited him as well.

'This is a one-time occurrence,' he said. 'I could never go out like this in England.'

'Then enjoy it,' she replied, tying a scarf around his neck. 'You are a _très joli garçon_. Or _jeune fille_, if you prefer.'

'_Je suis un dandy,'_ he declared, and he kissed her once more before pulling on his Invisibility Cloak.

She led him to the _point Magi_, and when they arrived at Bastille he removed his Cloak. 'I don't know if I was this nervous when we tried to rob Gringotts,' he confessed. 'But fortunately everyone will be looking at you and Laetitia tonight.'

'We could walk through the Marais later, if you want attention from men. And there will be gay men at the nightclub as well.'

'I suppose I can Disapparate in a pinch. Just promise to Obliviate people after I leave.'

When Laetitia and Eric saw him, they both stared in shock. 'Don't even think about taking my photograph,' warned Harry. 'This is probably the biggest mistake of my life, and that's saying something, but Sophie talked me into it.'

'You look smashing,' said Laetitia. 'And I suspect Eric won't need a drink to want to snog you.'

'I will,' joked Harry, and they started walking towards the restaurant Sophie had selected. Dinner was superb, and again they drank more wine than he was accustomed to, but Harry's pleasure was extreme. He felt almost as he had in the Sainte Chapelle and was concerned he'd start glowing again, but he found he could dial back the feeling without completely extinguishing it.

Their meal took hours, which Harry had discovered was normal in France, and eventually they headed to a nightclub on the Rue de Lappe. There was a queue, but the doorman ushered them to the front as soon as he saw Laetitia and Sophie.

It wasn't as dark inside as the nightclub in London had been, and Harry found he enjoyed being looked at. Both women and men were checking him out, and he deliberately increased his energy flow to amplify the effect. When Sophie was in the loo, a man approached Harry and started speaking to him in French.

'_Désolé, je ne parle pas français. Parlez-vous anglais?' _he replied automatically, and the man switched to heavily accented English. 'Yes, I speak English. You are American?'

'No, British.'

'Why are you here and not in the Marais? You will meet more men there.'

'I'm here with friends. And you?'

'It is the same thing for me.' The Frenchman looked at Harry hungrily. 'You have very beautiful eyes. Do you want something to drink?'

'I've already had too much,' he said, indicating the empty glass that had held his cocktail. 'But I'm here with a woman.'

'_Dommage,'_ said the man, looking at Harry's close-fitting shirt. 'You are very British rocker. David Bowie, or Marc Bolan. _Bisexuels, tu sais_.'

'I've never tried,' he admitted, and Sophie returned.

'This is your girlfriend?' asked the Frenchman. _'Pas mal, pour une femme.'_

'_C'est ma faute_,' she said playfully, clearly referring to Harry. '_C'est moi qui l'ai maquillé—il est joli ainsi, n'est-ce pas?_'

'_Ouais, très joli_.' He handed Harry a card and said, 'If you want to explore your _côté rockeur britannique_, call me.'

'Cheers,' said Harry, who had enjoyed the attention but was also glad to see him go. The man wasn't unattractive—in fact, he was quite good looking—but a single glance at Sophie was enough to remind Harry he preferred women.

'Where are Laetitia and Eric?' she asked, taking his hand.

'Over there, I think,' he said, indicating a different section of the dance floor. 'Shall we join them?'

Harry and Sophie found the other couple, who were dancing very demonstratively. '_Vive la France_,' he thought, and he began dancing with Sophie in a similar manner. They had charmed their ears to protect their hearing and make each other's voices more audible, and Laetitia had done the same for Eric.

'Harry encountered his first _dragueur_,' announced Sophie proudly.

'Welcome to France,' laughed Laetitia. 'Though you should walk through the Marais for the full experience.'

Harry gathered from the context that a _dragueur_ was someone on the pull. 'Is it worse for women?' he asked, and Sophie and Laetitia nodded emphatically.

'I can't walk a single block without hearing from _les dragueurs_, and that's without makeup,' explained Sophie. 'And before you tell me it's because I'm a model, I assure you my friends all say the same.'

'That sounds unpleasant,' said Harry. 'I assume they're not usually men you'd be interested in.'

'Almost never. At least your friend over there was handsome, and he didn't follow you.'

'Ugh, men are the worst,' groaned Harry. 'I think I want to restate my wish for there to be women only.'

'Oi, we aren't all bad,' protested Eric, who'd also had his share of alcohol. 'Laetitia likes me, anyway.'

'I certainly do,' she said affectionately. 'Go on, prove to Harry why I like you.'

'What are you suggesting? I'm not certain our hotel room will accommodate four.'

She burst out laughing. 'Classic male response, jumping to the most pornographic scenario! No, I'm only suggesting you kiss him, if he's willing.'

Everyone looked expectantly at Harry. 'On the first date?' he asked, fluttering his eyelashes. 'I'm not that kind of girl.'

'You aren't a girl at all,' said Sophie. 'I checked.'

'Good point,' said Harry, wondering whether he actually wanted to kiss Eric. _It would be different, _he thought. _And he's good looking, for a bloke. _'All right,' he said saucily. 'I won't even make you buy me a drink first, since I'm already pissed.'

'So am I,' said Eric, looking intently at him. Harry returned his gaze and allowed the other man to take the lead. Eric leaned forwards and pressed his lips to his, and Harry opened his mouth to admit Eric's tongue. _His mouth is firmer than a woman's, and I can feel his stubble, which is weird,_ thought Harry as they kissed. _But he's good at it—no wonder Laetitia likes him._

They drew apart after ten or fifteen seconds, during which the two women hooted appreciatively. 'That was seriously hot,' said Laetitia, and she kissed her fiancé passionately.

'What did you think?' asked Sophie.

'It was good,' replied Harry. But I like women better.'

'I'm glad,' she said, wrapping her arms around him. _'Mon cher Anglais.'_

'_Ma chère Français_,' he murmured after kissing her, and she laughingly corrected him.

'_Française. Je suis française._ Feminine.'

'Yes, feminine—brilliant. I'm sure I'll get the hang of it eventually. Unless you're deliberately teaching me wrong.'

'_Ma chère Anglais? Mon cher Anglaise?'_ She frowned and shook her head. 'No, I can't say it—it doesn't sound right.'

'It sounds perfect to me,' he said breathily, and he felt the blissful energy return. 'Oh bugger, I'm glowing again. Can we Apparate to your flat? I don't want to make it stop ... it feels so good.'

'Yes, from the _toilettes_.' Sophie led him from the dance floor, but before they reached the bathroom she pulled him into a curtained alcove and brought him home. There was no need to turn on the lights, and soft shadows played along the walls as they embraced.


	48. Chapter 48

In her last year at Hogwarts, Hermione had often gone a full week without seeing Ron, and she'd never particularly minded. But after less than two days without Ryan she missed him terribly. Their relationship was intensely physical and it was hard not to be in his presence, even if that just meant holding his hand under the dinner table.

He was visiting cousins in York that weekend, and he and Hermione had determined there was no easy way for her to come see him—he was sharing a bedroom, and his days were fully booked. So they'd sadly agreed not to see each other for three days, and they were only able to speak briefly by telephone.

Part of her worried that she was becoming dependent on him, but deep down she knew that wasn't the issue. It was more that Ryan drew something out of her that had long been buried, and when they were apart she felt herself revert to a prior way of being.

She had come to realise how one-sided she'd been. The old Hermione had been overly bookish and analytical, and definitely too much in her head. But now she felt a vitality she'd lacked—it was what had prompted her to go flying after Harry's first Cannons match, and it propelled her in numerous other ways.

To her astonishment she'd become a regular at the nearby leisure centre. At first she only used the treadmill and the weight machines Ryan had shown her. But then her mother dragged her to a cycle fitness class—the type in which everyone sits on a stationary bike and follows the instructor's commands to pedal faster or adjust the tension to simulate bicycling up a hill. Hermione was certain she'd hate it, but after one class she was hooked. The loud music—some of which she now recognised—pulled her out of her thoughts, and she enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment when the class was over.

She'd attended three such classes the previous week, and she looked forward to shocking Ginny with the news. They were to meet for dinner, sometime after that afternoon's Holyhead Harpies match. Ginny was still in the reserves but she was expected to attend the entire match, no matter how long it lasted.

It was six o'clock, and Hermione was waiting for Ginny to call. The match had run nearly four hours, but it had ended an hour earlier and Hermione was feeling annoyed. It wasn't like Ginny to forget an engagement—she'd once told Hermione that she'd so often felt like an outsider in her early years at Hogwarts that she particularly cherished her friends.

Finally her head appeared in the fireplace. 'Hermione, I'm so sorry! May I step through?'

'Yes, of course. Is everything all right?'

Ginny emerged from the fireplace and Vanished the ashes from her hair and clothing. 'Yes, everything's fine. I just lost track of time. The Harpies won a huge match against Puddlemere, and we were out celebrating. I came straight from the pub in Holyhead.'

'Did you play?' asked Hermione, trying not to feel hurt that Ginny had forgotten about her.

'No, I doubt I'll see any action this season. But we practice together all week, and when the Starters win it feels like a group accomplishment. And this was a big win—Puddlemere is in first place, and Routledge is considered the best Seeker in the league, or at least he was until Harry turned up.'

Hermione's feelings of resentment softened when Ginny mentioned Harry. 'Congratulations, and I'm glad you and your teammates celebrated. I've been to the Cracked Spyglass with Ryan, and I know it's easy to lose track of time.'

Ginny said, 'I know it's been weeks, but I still can't believe you're dating Ryan Bellamy. Are you two still getting on?'

'We are, except he's visiting family this weekend, and they're Muggles so I can't just turn up out of nowhere,' she said, with obvious frustration.

Ginny laughed out loud. 'And you're crawling the walls, poor thing! I must say, you were never like this when you and Ron were apart.'

'I think it's clear now that Ron and I weren't well suited to one another. I should really owl him my thanks for figuring it out.'

'And here we all thought you were the clever one,' smirked Ginny. 'Do you still want to go out to dinner?'

'Definitely. Muggle or magical?'

'Magical. I suspect people are still talking about the match, and I want to shamelessly eavesdrop.'

They decided to try a wizarding restaurant in York that Ryan had mentioned. Hermione knew she wouldn't see him there, but she liked the idea of at least being in the same city as him. It was agreeably crowded, and from their table they were able to hear plenty of chatter about the Harpies match.

'I never thought Hobbs would beat Routledge,' said a short, rotund wizard nearby, 'and it wasn't dumb luck either. It sounds like she outflew him, pure and simple. And she's clearly taken a play from Potter's book—she even tried that foul he invented, but Wood was ready for her.'

'That'll be something, when Hobbs and Potter face off next month in Holyhead. I tried to get tickets but it's been sold out for weeks,' said his companion.

'At Harpies Stadium? Great Merlin, those fans will eat Potter alive.'

The wizard laughed and said, 'Yes, the Holy Harpyheads ... they're as loyal as the Cannons fans, only ten times as vicious. Witches, you know.'

Hermione scowled at the sexist comment, but Ginny just laughed. 'He's right, actually. The Harpyheads are brilliant as far as the team is concerned, but they're known for terrorising our opponents. And yes, there's a decidedly female flavour to their methods.' She saw Hermione's expression and added, 'Don't look at me like that—you know what I'm talking about. Remember what you did to Umbridge?'

Ginny was referring to a particularly evil bit of revenge Hermione had exacted on Dolores Umbridge three years earlier, by provoking her to insult the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest. 'Oh dear, not my finest moment,' said Hermione. 'Will Harry be all right?'

'Harry's survived far worse than the Harpyheads—I'm sure he'll be fine. And even if he loses, one or more witches will be very happy to console him.'

'You're not joking,' said Hermione. 'I still can't believe he's turned into such a ...' She trailed off.

'Manwhore?' suggested Ginny.

'I was going to say "womaniser,"' said Hermione. 'But is that what people are calling him?'

'I've heard it from some of my teammates, and the Harpyheads have started referring to him that way as well. I don't encourage it, but I have to admit it's entertaining.'

'The implication he's having sex for money?' exclaimed Hermione, shocked.

'No, not at all. It's just that he hops from bed to bed rather quickly. But I can't complain—he got over me faster than I expected. And at least it's added some variety to the constant stream of questions I get about him.'

'Is that still happening?' asked Hermione.

'More than ever. Now that everyone's heard I ended it, people are dying to know why.'

'What do you tell them?'

'Not the unvarnished truth, certainly. But a softer version of it—that we were very young and we'd grown apart. And I tell everyone what a good heart he has, and that we're still close friends.'

'That last bit's not quite true,' observed Hermione.

'No, but it will be, in time. You and Ron are fine now, right?'

'Yes, but we're not close. Maybe someday, but not yet.' She looked at Ginny and asked, 'What about you? Are you seeing anyone?'

Ginny blushed and said, 'Yes, but it's very new. And definitely not public yet.' She used her wand to raise a privacy ward. 'Do you remember Wendy?'

'Your teammate, from the party?'

Ginny nodded. 'We've become close since I joined the Harpies—she's also a reserve Chaser, so we're together all day. We'd been flirting for a while, but then last night after practice we cooked dinner together at her flat ...'

Hermione's eyes widened and she asked, 'Did you know you fancied women before this, or is she the first?'

'I've had crushes,' she admitted. 'And there were some broom cupboard adventures at Hogwarts. Not while Harry and I were together, but during the year you were in hiding. The atmosphere at Hogwarts was rather intense, seeing as we didn't know whether we might die the next day.'

'Do you consider yourself a lesbian?' asked Hermione. 'Forgive me, I haven't had many conversations along these lines. None, in fact.'

'I'd say I'm solidly bisexual. Which is pretty great, as far as I'm concerned—more options this way.'

'Will you be seeing Wendy again? Outside of practice, I mean.' Hermione remembered the Cannons' rule against fraternisation and added, 'Are you even allowed to date?'

'If you mean because we're teammates, the answer is yes. The Harpies don't have rules against in-team romance—apparently lesbians are better at getting along with their exes than male/female couples are.' She smiled and said, 'And yes, we're seeing each other tomorrow. We've plans to spend the day together.'

Hermione's face fell. 'If it weren't for me you'd be together right now! Next time feel free to cancel ... I'd understand.'

'No, it's fine. There's a lot to be said for anticipation, and we had a lovely time in a toilet cubicle at the pub this afternoon. It was very romantic, I can assure you.'

'No wonder you were late!'

'Guilty as charged,' admitted Ginny.

Over dinner they discussed a wide range of topics, from Ginny's experiences as a reserve Chaser to Hermione's concerns about working for the Ministry. 'I desperately want to improve relations among and within magical races, but I'm beginning to doubt whether that's possible working inside the system,' she said. 'Harry was right when he said I should have realised the ceremony we'd planned for the goblins was doomed to failure. But I couldn't see it until afterwards.'

'Why do you think that is?' asked Ginny. 'It's not like you to miss something that obvious.'

'Except for when Ron figured out we weren't suited to one another before I did. I'm starting to suspect I'm a good deal more oblivious than I previously realised.'

'I suppose it must hurt, being intellectually bested by both Ron and Harry,' joked Ginny.

'It does,' said Hermione, smiling. 'But neither situation involved intellect—they were both about instinct, or common sense. And in the case of the Ministry, I can see numerous times I ignored my common sense.'

'It's only fair that you make the occasional slip. Gives the rest of us a fighting chance.'

'The problem is I have no idea what to do next. I'd like to talk to Octavia about it, since I know she feels the same way I do, but I could use other guidance as well.' She sighed and added, 'This is where being Muggle-born is a serious handicap. I suppose most people would ask their parents for advice.'

'If I'd asked my father for advice I'd probably be spending my days making tea for my superiors in the Muggle Affairs department. Poor Arthur ... the only reason he's high up now is because blood traitors are finally on top. And you wouldn't believe what Percy advised last weekend at Sunday dinner.'

'Oh?'

Ginny did her best Percy imitation. '"Ginny, I know you're enjoying playing for the Harpies right now, although you're not actually playing yet, and Merlin only knows whether you'll get made starter. But you mustn't forget about your long-term career, and it's important to form alliances now, particularly in the current Light climate. And be sure to distance yourself from Harry ... he should never have antagonised the lords like that, and I'm certain he's making other enemies as well."'

Hermione was laughing and said, 'Percy's probably right, from where he's standing. But good heavens, he really has a narrow perspective.'

'And then there's Molly, who's still furious I let Harry get away. You should have seen her reaction when the _Prophet_ printed those inflated figures for his assets. I'd never thought of her as mercenary, but she kept hinting I should give him another chance, and you could practically see her making plans to demolish the Burrow and replace it with something a bit more swish.'

'No!'

'Oh yes. She read the part where Helena has reddish hair and insisted that it meant he's still pining for me. I told her that if he was pining for a ginger it was probably his own mother, and that maybe she should make a play for him instead.'

Hermione laughed even harder. 'Oh my god ... did she curse you?'

'No, she just blushed and muttered something about how she'd never leave my father.'

'Are you going to tell her about Wendy anytime soon?'

'Good question. I'd like to bring her to Sunday dinner sometime, just to prove to her I'm not making everything up. In fact, I might drag her along as a "friend" just to see how long it takes Mum to figure things out. She still keeps asking Charlie whether he's met any nice witches in Romania.'

'Is he gay, then?'

'As far as I can tell he's not interested in anyone that way, and never has been. I suppose it all evens out, with me being bisexual.'

'That sounds lonely,' said Hermione.

'Actually, I don't think he's lonely. He has good mates and plenty of hobbies, and he loves working with dragons. I think that's just how he is. And he'll eventually have any number of nieces and nephews.' She paused and said, 'But back to your career ... you might talk to Bill. He certainly has a different perspective.'

'That's a good point. I'll mention it next time I see him.'

They finished their meals and lingered over coffee. 'Do you have any interesting plans tomorrow?' asked Ginny. 'I know they'll be tragically Ryan-free, and it seems Harry's in Paris, astonishingly enough, but surely you have other resources.'

'I do, yes. You won't believe it, but tomorrow morning I'm going to a fitness class at the nearby leisure centre.'

'I'm not certain I understood any of those words the way you assembled them. What's a fitness class? Certainly you don't read books and write essays about fitness. Or do you? And what's a leisure centre?'

Hermione explained, and Ginny was both amused and fascinated. 'Are you saying you sit in a room together on bicycles that don't go anywhere and someone shouts at you the entire time? For leisure?'

'No, for exercise. I'm certain you've noticed how idle most wizards are.'

'I have, and I'm terrified of my mother's example. I've seen photographs from when she was my age, and she's no bigger than I am. I don't know if it was popping out seven kids that wrecked her figure or too many labour-saving charms, but I refuse to let that happen to me.'

'It's not likely while you're on the Harpies, if your routine is similar to Ryan's.'

'No, certainly not. And you're clever to establish good habits now—I'll have to go to one of those bicycle classes with you sometime.' Ginny smirked and added, 'Do you think it'll matter that I've never ridden a bicycle before?'

'You'll be fine; the stationary bikes can't fall down.'

'Surely that's not all you're doing tomorrow,' persisted Ginny.

'No, but I'm nervous about the next bit ... I'm seeing my grandparents.'

Ginny was silent a moment before asking, 'When did you see them last?'

'Not since before Voldemort came back,' she admitted. 'Nearly six years ago.'

'And what do they know about your life?'

'Not much, and I think they assume the worst.' Hermione explained how her grandparents probably suspected she'd dropped out of school and might even be a drug addict.

Ginny was shocked. 'You were Head Girl and awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, and they think you're the Muggle equivalent of a thrall?'

'I'm afraid so. But the good news is we've a plan to fix it.' She described the cover story she and her parents had devised with Ryan's help, that they'd been estranged for several years but she'd landed on her feet and was attending one of the lesser colleges in Cambridge.

'I can't say I like that story very much,' scowled Ginny. 'You're a bloody hero and a role model, and you deserve to hear your grandparents praise you to the skies.'

Hermione shrugged. 'It doesn't matter what I deserve. This is how it is, and it's certainly better than no relationship at all. So that's my afternoon, but the good news is I'll see Ryan tomorrow night. His parents are taking the train home, but as soon as they're out of sight of his relations, Ryan can just Apparate.'

'That's good,' said Ginny, and with a sly grin she added, 'But don't wear yourself out first on that bicycle to nowhere.'

The next morning Hermione worked hard in class, and she was pleasantly knackered when she returned home, but she was more than fit to visit her grandparents that afternoon. She kept changing into different outfits beforehand and repeatedly asked her mother if she looked all right.

'Hermione, you look lovely,' Emily reassured her. 'Nan's overjoyed you're coming to visit, and nothing you've shown me is likely to draw criticism from her.'

'You admit it!' said Hermione. 'That she's hypercritical.'

'Towards me, yes. But it's different with grandchildren, or so I'm told. She doesn't identify with you the same way she did with me as her only daughter.'

'Do you identify with me that way?' asked Hermione.

'When you were younger, probably, although not as much since we learnt you were magical. But there's no question I wanted to avoid the mistakes I felt Nan had made with me, and that I used you as a proxy.'

'What mistakes?'

'She was very controlling. She insisted I be home at a certain hour, with no exceptions. I wasn't allowed nearly as much independence as my mates.'

Hermione couldn't help drawing parallels to her own childhood. 'And so you gave me a long lead. You allowed me to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas holidays, and so forth.'

'I didn't want you to feel trapped at home just to make other people happy.'

'You and Dad, you mean?'

Emily nodded. 'I certainly knew how that felt. I didn't want to put you through it.'

'And what did Nan have to say, when I didn't turn up for Christmas year after year?'

'She's no fool—she could see what I was doing. She'd say,_ "You're letting her walk all over you, just so you don't make the same mistakes I did. But you'll make your own mistakes, just like every other parent."'_

'Mum, I'm so sorry ... she'll think she was right, and that it's your fault we were estranged.'

'I'll survive,' said Emily. 'Certainly you've paid a high price as well, in different ways.' Hermione knew her mother was referring to how she'd been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, and they both looked at the floor. 'But all the outfits you've shown me are lovely, and I know she'll approve of your hair now.'

'I'll wear the skirt and blue jumper,' declared Hermione, before turning away to change so her mother wouldn't have to see her scars.

They drove together for an hour to where Emily's parents lived, and Hermione took a deep breath before getting out of the car. She knew that Nan would be harder on Emily, and she anticipated feeling bad about that as well. _It's not your fault,_ she tried telling herself. _It's Voldemort's fault, and the price I pay for being magical._

Her grandparents no longer lived in the house where Emily had grown up, where Hermione had last seen them, but were instead living in a semi-detached bungalow near the town centre. They approached the front door and Daniel pressed the doorbell.

Hermione heard sharp footsteps, and she was momentarily reminded of Harry's Aunt Petunia. But the woman who opened the door was much softer-looking, with straight grey hair trimmed stylishly to her jaw.

'There she is,' exclaimed Nan. 'Hermione, come in. I didn't think you'd make it.' She turned around and called, 'Richard, they're here. All of them.'

They stepped inside and Nan hugged Hermione before backing away from her. 'Let me look at you. Oh, darling, you're so pretty! Richard, look at her!'

Hermione's grandfather had arrived, looking more stooped than Hermione remembered him. 'Hermione, darling, give us a hug,' he exclaimed, opening his arms.

'Grandpa, I'm so glad to see you,' said Hermione, feeling tears at her eyes. 'I've missed you so much.'

'We missed you too, sweetheart, but now you're here,' he said. 'We missed you too.'

Nan and Grandpa greeted Emily and Daniel, and they proceeded to the lounge.

'I love what you've done with your hair,' said Nan. 'It used to be so unruly—Emily never knew what to do with it. But clearly you've worked it out.'

'I can hardly blame Mum,' said Hermione. 'Her hair is just like yours. Mine came from Dad, and he wears his short.'

'It certainly looks nice now, and your teeth as well,' continued Nan. 'You used to have terrible buck teeth—I couldn't understand why your parents didn't fix them as soon as they grew in.'

'We're dentists, Mum, not orthodontists,' said Emily. 'And they don't normally recommend braces until a child is older.'

'I'm glad you managed to get them on her before she ran off,' said Nan. 'How old were you when you moved out?'

'I started boarding school just before my twelfth birthday, but the last summer I lived at home was when I was sixteen.'

Nan shook her head in disapproval. 'Sixteen. So young. And now you're almost twenty and at university?'

'Yes, I'm about to start my second year.'

'I could hardly believe it when Emily told me—we'd written you off. Which one are you attending? I forgot to ask.'

'I'm at Tufton College, at the University of Cambridge.'

'Tufton? I've never heard of that one.' She turned to Emily and said, 'When she was little she wanted to go to Kings College, or maybe Trinity—she had a notebook about them and everything. But I suppose she had to fend for herself.'

'Yes, Mum. I know it isn't what she planned, but we're very proud of how well she managed on her own.'

'And how are you doing, Hermione?' asked Grandpa. 'Are you happy there? Do you enjoy your studies?'

'Yes, I love Cambridge. And I have wonderful friends there.'

'Who did you live with all those years?' asked Nan. 'Your mum wouldn't say.'

'I'd rather not talk about that,' said Hermione. She and her parents had agreed on deliberate vagueness, to avoid having to tell too many lies. 'Suffice it to say I've been home this summer and it's gone really well.'

'All summer?' exclaimed Nan. 'And we're only seeing you now? Not that I'm complaining, of course. It's wonderful to see you, and doing so well.'

'We wanted things to settle a bit before telling the family,' said Emily. 'But we agreed a few weeks ago that it was time.'

Nan and Grandpa looked expectantly at Hermione, as if she were likely to contradict her mother. 'That's right. But things are good now, and I can hardly remember why I wanted to leave. I think I just needed to grow up first.'

'She's very independent,' said Daniel. 'And she's every bit as brilliant as the little girl you remember.'

Hermione blushed. 'I know Tufton isn't the most prestigious college, but I no longer believe that learning is restricted to the classroom.'

'That's right, dear,' said her grandfather. 'It's been decades since I was in school, but I'm always learning something new.'

The conversation continued along a similar vein for the next hour and a half. Hermione's grandparents prodded her about her life and praised her accomplishments, and Nan occasionally jabbed at Emily for one reason or another. She also referred to Hermione's cousins, who were attending more impressive universities than she was.

'Jenny's at Bristol, you know. But you've turned out so pretty. Do you have a boyfriend?'

'Yes, his name's Ryan.'

'He's a lovely young man,' said Emily. 'They met in Cambridge earlier this summer.'

'I thought you were at your parents' house this summer,' said Nan.

Emily shot Hermione a quick glance and twitched her fingers as if she were holding a wand. But Hermione shook her head slightly and said, 'We met in Cambridge when I was there for a weekend, but he's been working in London all summer, so we've been able to spend time together. And he'll be back in Cambridge next month, which means we'll be in the same place.'

'Is he also a student?' asked her grandfather.

'No, he graduated two years ago and works for a think tank in Cambridge. They're the ones who sent him to London on assignment.'

'And which college did he attend?'

'He didn't attend the University of Cambridge—he attended Durham University.'

'Oh! That's good,' said Nan. 'Will we meet him sometime?'

'I'd be delighted to introduce you,' said Hermione sincerely. 'I'm certain you'll like him.'

Their visit was wrapping up, and soon everyone rose to say goodbye. 'You've certainly exceeded our expectations, Hermione,' said Nan. 'But I should have known you'd manage, considering how clever you always were. I only wish you'd known you could have come here, particularly when your parents scarpered to Australia. I can't say I'll ever understand what that was all about.'

'Thank you, Nan. But I think I needed a clean break for several years. It was hard, but it's turned out better than I could have hoped.'

They hugged one another, and Hermione and her parents were soon in the car on the way home.

'Mum, are you all right?' she asked. 'I felt terrible for you—the things she said.'

'I got through it,' said Emily. 'I'll be fine.'

'You did such a good job, Hermione,' said Daniel. 'And nice save on how you met Ryan. I think your mum wanted you to use a Memory Charm on her.'

'Sad to say, I've learnt to think on my feet,' said Hermione. 'I'm so sorry you and Mum were my usual audience.'

Emily sighed heavily. 'What's done is done, and you've more than made up for it. But Daniel, I think I'll need some whisky when we get home. Possibly all the Scottish islands.'

'I could use some myself,' said Hermione.

She gave Emily a long hug when they arrived home. 'Thanks so much, Mum. I know how hard that was for you.'

'No, sweetheart, you probably don't. But I made different mistakes with you, and you know how hard those were.'

'You didn't make mistakes. I made mistakes, and we had difficult circumstances.'

'We did. But I have you back.' She squeezed her daughter again and started to cry. 'Oh, Hermione, my baby. I can't believe we have you back. I missed you so much.'

Hermione wasn't able to fully relax until she was with Ryan again. 'It was awful,' she said. 'And good too. My grandfather is an absolute darling, he was just happy to see me and didn't have a single harsh word. And they want to meet you.'

'I'd be glad to,' he said. 'And I'm certain they'll like me—I have a very good cover story.'

'How was your visit with your cousins?'

'It was good, but I missed you. Next time you'll have to accompany me.'

'To prove I exist?'

'Yes, and so they can see for themselves how amazing you are.'

'You mean that I'm at some obscure college and will end up in some nondescript career, just to blend in?'

'Hermione! Are you sure you're all right?'

'No, I'm not all right. I was supposed to be a high achiever and attend Kings College and have an amazing career writing books or crafting legislation or discovering cures, but instead I'm a brainless functionary at the Ministry of Magic who can't even bribe goblins without starting a war.'

'Slow down a moment ... did you start a war on Friday?'

'No, Harry prevented it. He realised what an incendiary disaster our ceremony was and took matters into his own hands. I must say, he's more astute than I usually give him credit for.' She explained to Ryan what had happened, and her fears that she mightn't be suited to a career at the Ministry.

'But what else is there?' she asked. 'I remember when I met your mother and I said the Ministry could use people like her, and she scoffed and said it was no place for anyone with a backbone. She was right, but I don't know what else I should be doing. Your mum is terrific, but I can't say I want to be a solitary toiler for the rest of my life.'

'I definitely don't recommend following my mother's career path. I think she's a solitary toiler because she can't hold her tongue when she ought to.'

'Are you saying I need to stay where I am and just bite my tongue?'

'No, of course not. But there's a broad spectrum between being a brainless functionary—which I'm certain you're not—and being a lone eccentric like Lucinda.'

'But she's brilliant,' said Hermione.

'And so are you. And unlike my mother, you know how to get along with other people. Look at how much you've accomplished in a team already. And I don't mean the Ministry—I mean with Harry and Ron.'

'We made a lot of mistakes too. I've never told you about the battle inside the Department of Mysteries. Which, sad to say, is probably the only Ministry department I might actually be suited to, except that I never want to set foot in there again.'

His arm was already around her, but he began stroking her hair. 'You don't need to make a decision tonight. We should just enjoy being together, and you can talk to people this week, and over the weeks to come.'

'You're right. I just keep thinking about all my potential, and how I'm wasting it. Just like my grandmother said.'

'No offence, but your grandmother only knows what you've told her, and hardly any of that was true. If she knew what you'd actually accomplished, and what you've yet to achieve, she'd be in awe. I know I am.'

'And what about my magic? Even if I find some way to craft better laws, I won't be using my magic for anything more than charming my hair.'

'Or uncharming it,' he suggested, with a gleam in his eye. 'I haven't seen the seventies version for at least a week.'

She smiled and raised her wand. _'Finite incantatem.'_

'There it is,' said Ryan approvingly. 'Oh Hermione, you're so beautiful.'

She groaned and said, 'My grandmother kept praising me for being pretty, as if that were some great accomplishment. _"Jenny reads maths at Bristol, but at least you have nice teeth now."_ And then she asked whether I had a boyfriend. Merlin help us when she sees how good-looking you are!'

'Ahem, that'll be three sickles,' he said, referring to her use of wizarding slang. She stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed. 'I must say, I'm enjoying seeing you in a temper, but I don't get the impression you're having much fun. Do I need to carry you into the bedroom and play Suede at top volume?'

'That's a good idea. Come on, what are you waiting for?'

He laughed and pulled her into his arms. 'Grab the CD,' he said, kneeling in front of the stereo cabinet.

'Is music your cure for everything?' she asked.

'Yes. It's been scientifically proven,' he said, carrying her through the doorway into his bedroom.

'Did your mother discover that?'

'Please don't bring up my mother right now. I should probably charge you another three sickles for that.'

There was no further mention of Ryan's mother or Hermione's grandmother. Afterwards, as she lay in Ryan's bed listening to music, Hermione realised she'd fallen into her old habit of over-thinking, and that perhaps solutions weren't always discovered through careful planning.

_I didn't meet Ryan through planning,_ she thought. _But I planned which university I was to attend, and Ron's and my life together, and a million other things that never came to pass._

She resolved not to plan her career, at least not for the present. She curled into Ryan and thought, _Not planning has been brilliant. I should do more of it._


	49. Chapter 49

When Harry returned to London on the nine o'clock portkey, the first thing he heard was 'Welcome to London. Local time is eight o'clock.'

_Back to reality_, he thought, as he adjusted his pocket watch. _No more illogical islands. No more travel by _Magi._ No more masculine and feminine, just boring old English._

But he wasn't depressed. He'd had another brilliant day in Paris—that morning they bought ingredients from a local market and he cooked an enormous English breakfast, which Sophie hardly made a dent in.

'How can you eat so much in the morning?' she asked. 'Don't you need to sleep afterwards?'

'No, this is exactly right. It's the French who've got breakfast wrong. I'll admit you got all the other meals right, but the English have this one.'

He wore his striped Breton shirt, but the weather was too warm for him to wear the long scarf she'd insisted he buy as well. 'You will wear them together in England and remember me.'

'_Oui, ma chère Française_. _Ma jolie demoiselle._'

'You are learning well! This is the real way to learn a language.'

'Is that how you learnt English, from an Englishman?'

'No, from an American. And also in school.'

'I didn't learn anything in school,' he said. 'I mean, I learnt enough Charms to get by, and Transfiguration, and I'm your man if you ever want to know about British goblin rebellions, but otherwise I'm shockingly ignorant.'

'_Et alors?_ You can keep learning.'

'What, and sit my N.E.W.T.s? Not bloody likely.'

'I don't know what that is. Is that an exam?'

'Yes, and I never took them because I was off fighting Voldemort and I couldn't be arsed to take them afterwards.'

'You don't need to take exams to learn,' she said. 'You just pick something and study.'

'What would I study?'

'That is for you to decide. What do you want to know?'

'Everything,' he sighed. 'I want to know about art and which paintings caused a scandal, and how many years it took to build St Paul's Cathedral even though it looks like Gringotts and probably won't make me glow. I want to know literary references, because I sound like an idiot when I talk to Muggles. And I want to know wizarding culture, because I've never heard of things like marriage bonds or the Sacred Twenty-Eight or all the other rubbish that everyone else seems to know.'

'So find a tutor. I am sure someone will want to teach Harry Potter how not to be an idiot.' She pronounced the last word in French, which made him smile.

'Perhaps I will.'

They went sightseeing that morning with Laetitia and Eric, and everyone had a good laugh remembering how Eric and Harry had kissed in the nightclub. 'Potter, you're a good kisser,' said Eric. 'I'm relieved Laetitia sees you as a baby brother—I needn't worry you'll lure her with your irresistible glow.'

They visited an enormous park on the outskirts of the city that was fashioned from an old quarry and then ate lunch along the Canal Saint-Martin. Eric and Laetitia had to catch their train, but Harry and Sophie enjoyed a leisurely afternoon that culminated with dinner and a stroll in Montmartre.

She accompanied him to the portkey station, and they attracted attention by kissing goodbye in public. Harry might have heard the snap of a camera, but he didn't care. He hoped the photo would turn up in the _Prophet_ so he'd have a copy of it. _I need a camera_, he thought idly.

After arriving in London, he Apparated directly to Grimmauld Place, where Kreacher tearfully welcomed him. 'Master has returned! Kreacher's punishment is finished. Would Master like to see the wallpaper Kreacher repaired?'

'I'd love to,' said Harry indulgently, walking towards the entrance hall. Padfoot was wearing a jaunty striped shirt and a _foulard_ around his neck, and he wagged his tail in pleasure at Harry's return.

Kreacher was looking expectantly at him, so Harry examined the wallpaper. _I'm not certain he did anything,_ he thought. _It's still peeling. _'It looks great! I'm curious, could you show me exactly what you did?'

The ancient house-elf beamed and said, 'Kreacher fixed the wallpaper so it won't peel off any more. It will stay exactly like this until Master decides he wants something different. Then Master just needs to say, 'Attach wallpaper,' and it will stick to the wall just like when Mistress was a bride.' He looked up at Harry and nodded encouragingly.

'Attach wallpaper,' ordered Harry, and within seconds all the curled edges were properly adhered, and the faded spots darkened as well. His eyebrows shot up in surprise—this was impressive magic. He followed a hunch and said, 'Detach wallpaper,' and it returned to its previous state.

'Kreacher, that's brilliant! Well done!'

'There is more,' said Kreacher, puffing out his chest. 'If Master says, 'Change wallpaper,' different styles will appear. Kreacher hopes Master likes the styles Kreacher selected.'

Harry was nervous—the house-elf had questionable taste, particularly in his appreciation for the severed, mounted heads of his ancestors. 'Change wallpaper,' he said uncertainly.

The dark, formal wallpaper was replaced by a blue and gold print, patterned with Snitches flapping their wings in place. 'This is lovely,' he said weakly. _I would look like a right tosser inviting people into my Snitch-themed entrance hall,_ he thought_._

Kreacher kept nodding, and Harry repeated, 'Change wallpaper.' This time the pattern was replaced with a much larger depiction of a green dragon, coiling around the room against a smoky grey background. The paper was still peeling, and Harry said, 'Attach wallpaper,' which caused it to adhere perfectly.

'This is magnificent! Kreacher, you've done a fantastic job.'

'There are more,' said the house-elf proudly, and Harry cycled through them. In total there were six new variants, including a pale botanical print, a rose-coloured background patterned with shimmering seven-pointed stars, and a truly gorgeous pattern of metallic peacock feathers against midnight blue.

'Kreacher, you've absolutely outdone yourself,' said Harry. 'These are outstanding—I'm hard-pressed to choose a favourite.' But an unpleasant thought crossed his mind. 'Where did you get the wallpaper?'

'Kreacher went to the home furnishings shop on Diagon Alley,' he said cheerfully. 'Kreacher told the clerk it was for Master.'

_At least he didn't steal it,_ thought Harry. 'Did you pay for it? If so, how much did it cost?' he asked, not certain he wanted to know the answer.

'They said Master could have it for free in exchange for appearing in their advertisements. Kreacher is very thrifty.'

'You agreed to an endorsement on my behalf?'

'Yes, Master. Just like with the flowers.'

_I'll deal with this in the morning,_ thought Harry wearily. 'Thank you, Kreacher. The walls look lovely.'

Kreacher delivered Harry's suitcase to the bedroom, and Harry went to the library. He remembered seeing a book on Thursday that he hoped might explain his strange new habit of spontaneously glowing. It took him a while to find it, but he finally spotted the slim volume: _Defence Against the Light Arts._

The book was published in the early twentieth century, which made it relatively new by the standards of the Black family library. But the layer of dust on top suggested it hadn't been opened in nearly as long, and Harry made a mental note to ask Kreacher to clean the shelves more thoroughly.

He started reading the introduction:

_In our modern era, there is no need for further texts on the Dark Arts, which are well understood in all their richness and depth. Proponents of Dark magic rightly praise it as a noble and powerful practice that all wizards should master. To potter along the edges of Dark magic without delving into its mysteries is to waste our glorious heritage as magical beings. And yet this is the path taken by many self-righteous wizards, who decry Dark magic but still nibble at its fruits. They sanctimoniously avoid the Dark Arts but nonetheless practice deadly curses, albeit less powerful ones. And where is the virtue in attempting to eliminate an enemy with a messy Blasting Curse, rather than cleanly dispatching them with a Killing Curse?_

_Practitioners of the Dark Arts are well-equipped to defeat such feeble wizards, but there exists a more serious threat: the Light wizard. Like their Dark counterparts, Light wizards draw upon primal human emotions, but instead of transmuting anger, hatred, and envy, they imbibe the infinitely more elusive emotions of love, compassion, and selflessness. The difficulty of this task means true Light wizards are rare, but they are of unequalled danger to even the most powerful wielder of Dark magic. _

_It has been theorised that even the Killing Curse could be thrown back upon its caster, given a confluence of remarkable circumstances. If the intended victim were truly innocent, and another person were to knowingly and unreservedly sacrifice their own life to protect that innocent, the Dark wizard who foolishly attempted to kill the protected being might instead receive the full strength of his own curse. Furthermore, the surviving innocent would forever be protected by that sacrifice and would very likely be predisposed to similar acts, thus perpetuating the Light threat even after his innocence was lost. _

Harry had to stop reading—he was stunned by what he'd learnt in only three paragraphs. _Thank goodness Voldemort never saw this book!_ he thought. It answered longstanding questions, such as why more people hadn't survived the Killing Curse as he had done. James Potter, for example, gave his life to protect his wife and son, but strictly speaking it wasn't a sacrifice, since Voldemort never gave him the choice. Lily, however, turned down Voldemort's offer to save her, which met the requirement of _'knowingly and unreservedly' _sacrificing her life. This, combined with Harry's own innocence as a baby, turned Voldemort's Killing Curse upon its caster, just as the author described.

_And I was predisposed to similar acts?_ thought Harry. He felt a little disappointed that his own sacrifice was merely an extension of his mother's. But he knew that wasn't entirely true—his sacrifice could never have worked if he hadn't acted from free will. And yet he could see that his predisposition towards Light magic was dependent on a vast network of circumstances, just like Voldemort's predisposition towards the Dark Arts.

He continued to read:

_The Light Arts are therefore far more dangerous than most Dark wizards realise. Because many of those who spurn the Dark Arts inaccurately describe themselves as Light, Dark practitioners tend to dismiss the threat of the true Light wizard. When Light magic is wielded at full strength, not even the Darkest curses can touch it. Furthermore, unlike Dark magic, the strength of Light magic is not ultimately correlated with the caster's magical strength. This dissimilarity between Light and Dark magic is not clearly understood. Both practices draw upon the strength of the underlying emotion, but a Light wizard of middling strength will have the advantage over even the most prodigiously endowed Dark wizard. Proponents of Light magic attribute this to the alleged superiority of positive emotions over negative ones, but no proof exists to validate this claim._

Harry paused his reading again. _This explains why my mediocre magical strength wasn't an obstacle. _He wondered nonetheless what would happen if someone like Hermione practiced the Light Arts, or whether Dumbledore had fully explored them.

The next paragraph said:

_How then does the Dark Arts practitioner defend himself against a Light wizard? The aim of this book is to promulgate a strategy which relies on three-pronged approach. First, undermine the Light wizard's positive emotions. Second, isolate and estrange him from those he would seek to protect. Finally, identify and exploit the Light wizard's emotional vulnerabilities, particularly through the use of Mind Arts. This assault on multiple fronts will weaken the Light opponent and divide him from his otherwise superior arsenal. Provoke your opponent's anger, and he'll lose access to his more powerful weapon of love._

Harry had to agree with the author's assessment. Whether deliberately or by accident, Voldemort had executed this strategy perfectly during Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts, when he'd been a bundle of anger towards his friends and wizarding society in general. This explained how Dolores Umbridge had been nearly as dangerous as Voldemort himself.

The author continued:

_If the Light Arts are more effective than the Dark Arts, and less dependent on innate magical strength, the reader might ask why they are not taught and practised more widely? Some Light practices are, in fact, quite common. The Patronus Charm is the hallmark of the so-called Light wizard, even though he may be ignorant of the true breadth of the Light Arts. In cases of a corporeal Patronus Charm, it is agreed that the strength of the simulacrum depends more on the strength of the underlying emotion than upon the magical strength of the caster. A wizard of average strength might produce a stunningly powerful Patronus, while a more powerful wizard might not even achieve the corporeal version of the charm._

_Returning however to the question of why the Light Arts are not more widely taught, we encounter the three aforementioned prongs. The Light Arts are exceedingly difficult to cultivate in a mind distracted by anger or by someone who is already isolated and feeling demoralised. Magical education is generally transmitted during adolescence, when the apprentice's emotions are least stable. Furthermore, learning any subtle skill necessarily engenders frustration, which means the struggling student will be increasingly less likely to succeed. This is why the Dark Arts are much more easily taught, since negative emotions are readily accessed during adolescence, and later as well._

Harry couldn't help noticing the author's use of the word 'prongs,' and also the verb 'potter,' which was used in the first paragraph. He also wondered whether the book's author had lived long enough to see his theory proven about how one might survive a Killing Curse, and he looked for his name on the book's title page: Jacobus Filch_._

_Filch?_ thought Harry. Could he be related to Argus Filch, the incurably grumpy Hogwarts caretaker? Harry suspected a Dark Arts proponent like Jacobus Filch would have been less than thrilled to have a Squib in the family, but at least he hadn't weeded him out by using the potion for determining an infant's magical strength.

He thumbed through the book and saw that it mainly outlined techniques for rattling one's opponent. _I wonder if Andrew Gilstrap has read this_, he thought, but he didn't think it was likely. Harry wasn't interested in learning how to play with people's emotions and well-being, so he skipped those instructions, but he was curious about the section called _'Hallmarks of the Light wizard.'_

_Our task in identifying the Light wizard would be easier if he could be persuaded to wear white robes and have a phoenix familiar, but often the Light wizard is not identifiable even to himself. Because Light magic is seldom taught, it more typically manifests spontaneously, long past the age where a young witch or wizard would normally be prone to such outbursts. Accidental Light magic may take the form of unexplained impregnable Shield Charms, as well as other wordless or wandless protective measures that effectively whisk the threatened party from danger. Wands may behave strangely in the presence of Light magic, even when wielded by their own powerful master._

_The classic expression of accidental Light magic is uncontrollable glowing on the part of the practitioner, starting in their hands but sometimes spreading over the entire body. This presents both an opportunity and a hazard for their Dark opponent. The Light wizard in the throes of the experience may be distracted by ecstatic sensations, allowing the Dark wizard to escape or attack. But attacking the glowing wizard is a risky proposition, as the Light magic may provoke unexpected wand behaviour or rebounding curses. _

_Some have advised taking advantage of a glowing Light wizard's distracted state by attacking one or more of his companions. If the companion is your primary target, then by all means seize this opportunity. The risk of immediate protective magic is low when the wizard is so thoroughly enthralled. However, we advise you to Disapparate immediately afterwards, as the ensuing emotional reaction may prove devastating: strong grief in the breast of the wizard previously overcome with love can unleash a storm of annihilating power. There are few accounts of such incidents, as the initial perpetrators are invariably killed or incapacitated. But eyewitnesses uniformly describe one or more dazzling bolts of light emanating from the heart of the Light witch or wizard. The light strikes only the participating Dark practitioners and spares all onlookers, and the Light witch or wizard may be unaware or even entirely insensible._

_In one such incident, the glowing Light witch began to float unaided before the deadly beams burst forth. If you observe something similar, it may be your only opportunity for escape, which we urge in lieu of attempts to shield against the annihilating beams. In the one case involving survivors, the Dark practitioners not killed by the deadly beams were afflicted with incapacitating feelings of remorse which almost entirely extinguished their magical power. Both individuals retained the ability to use a wand and perform simple charms, but they never regained their prior level of mastery. They were said to lead lives of quiet contentment afterwards, but they were no longer useful in battle or any other challenging circumstances._

_It should be mentioned that the maturing Light wizard may experience highly libidinous states and behave accordingly. This presents an excellent opportunity to trap and disable him, as he will likely be at a remove from his wand. (We note that the same phenomenon applies equally to maturing Light witches, but we observe the usage of masculine pronouns for ease of communication.) Those considering attacking a Light wizard in an intimate setting should be warned that the glowing state is occasionally transmissible and may result in a reduced future ability to practice the Dark Arts. When apprehending a Light wizard, it is recommended to employ more than one Dark practitioner: One in the participating role, and the others Disillusioned or otherwise concealed. _

_The most fearsome Light wizard, however, is the one who no longer manifests accidental Light magic. He retains the ability to glow, which is by all accounts extremely pleasurable, and he will continue to enjoy the carnal aspects should he so choose, but he will no longer be subject to involuntary manifestations of the phenomenon. More dangerously, he will learn to harness the glowing state and its attendant powers, enabling him to conceal the outer manifestation and retain higher mental functions whilst experiencing all the benefits of the state. Such a wizard will be capable of extraordinary protective magic, including snapping the wands of all attackers and other disabling methods. If you witness such an occurrence in battle, it is highly recommended to escape and devise new plans._

Harry's emotions bordered on triumph. _So I'm not just a sex-crazed accro_, he thought with satisfaction. _I'm manifesting accidental Light magic! _He had to admit that Jacobus Filch was spot on about how pleasurable it was—just reading about the state was making Harry's hands glow, and he felt a contentment that both encompassed and surpassed ordinary arousal.

Unfortunately the book didn't provide instructions on how to advance from accidental Light magic to the controlled version, and Harry doubted he'd find a guidebook at Flourish and Blotts. He chuckled at the idea of a self-help manual on the topic by Doctor Niffler—_You're Not a Pervert, You're a Developing Light Wizard!_ or maybe _Fantastic Glowgasms and How to Hide Them._

No, he needed to find a teacher. But how? He couldn't just ring Minerva and say, 'Excuse me, I have a perpetual hard-on and I've recently started glowing. Do you know anyone who can teach me the Light Arts, which apparently nobody teaches?' It occurred to him that Owen might be a resource, but he'd never specifically mentioned the Light Arts. Alternatively he might ask Dumbledore's portrait, but he had a feeling the former headmaster had relied more on his prodigious magical strength than on arcane Light practices.

_Alistair, _he thought suddenly. _Alistair would know. _Harry could go to Penumbra on Monday night and ask the Light vampire for advice. And there were additional benefits to visiting the decadent bar—normally Harry would feel sheepish about pulling on a weeknight, but the discovery that he was experiencing accidental Light magic removed his hesitation. _It's a medical condition,_ he told himself. _It would be wrong not to treat it._

He recalled, however, what the book said about traps. _Lydia Travers_, he thought warily. Surely the Blacks weren't the only family to own the book, and the introduction alone was enough to identify Harry as a potential Light wizard. His now-famous loose morals were another clear indicator, although they could equally be attributed to his age and situation. Either way, the Travers family may well have devised plans to lure him into bed with Lydia and then attack.

Harry knew that if he were clever he'd forget about her, but the temptation was too strong. _I could bring her to Grimmauld Place, _he thought. _I could demand she take Veritaserum first. _He still had the bottle of Firewhisky that Rita Skeeter had given him, but he could never administer a truth potion against someone's will. _If Lydia is as motivated as she appeared to be,_ he thought, _she'll gladly submit to a brief interrogation._

Throwing caution to the wind, he wrote her a short message proposing they meet in public on Thursday evening. He suggested a restaurant he knew was near an apothecary, allowing him to procure Veritaserum if she consented. If she proved innocent—or at least innocent of harmful intent towards him—then they could proceed with their evening. _And even if it turns out to be a trap, _he thought,_ I can knock her out with my glowing death ray._

'Kreacher!' he called aloud.

_Crack! _'Yes, Master.'

'Would you please deliver this letter to Miss Lydia Travers?' asked Harry, handing him the envelope he'd just sealed. 'But only if she's alone. And then wait for her reply, if she's willing, and bring it back to me.'

'Yes, Master,' replied Kreacher. _Crack!_

Harry went to his bedroom to unpack his suitcase and prepare for bed. He'd just finished brushing his teeth when Kreacher returned with his usual loud _crack_.

'Kreacher has a letter for Master from Miss Lydia Travers,' said the elf, handing Harry an envelope.

'Thank you, Kreacher. Good night.' _Crack!_

Harry climbed into bed—_Oh, this is heaven!_ _Much better than Sophie's mattress! _Once settled, he opened the envelope, which included not only a letter but also a newly-opened gardenia blossom.

_Dear Harry,_

_I would be delighted to join you for dinner on Thursday, and I agree wholeheartedly with your proposal to meet in public. As a token of my anticipation please accept this gardenia, which I was wearing in my hair. _

_Yours,_

_Lydia_

Harry still remembered his Auror training well enough to check the flower for curses, and when it proved safe he inhaled deeply from it. _Sweet Merlin, _he thought blissfully, knowing he had begun to glow again. _Thursday can't come soon enough._

The next morning he brought a large box of French pastries to the Cannons practice facility. Sophie had taught him a Stasis Charm specifically for baked goods, so he'd bought a wide variety of items from her favourite boulangerie to bring home to his teammates and the Cannons staff.

Lara selected an almond croissant and immediately declared it the best thing she'd ever eaten. 'Harry, you are hereby forgiven for all past and future wrongs. You can turn into the most arrogant prat in Britain, but I'll defend you to the skies.'

'That was my goal,' he said. 'But I'll wait until tomorrow before turning into a complete monster.'

'Thanks for the warning. Is there anything I can do for you before then?'

'Yes, I'd like to meet with Darius when he's available.'

Lara's expression turned serious. 'Is everything all right? You're not moving to Paris, are you?'

'Merlin no! First, I can't speak the language. And second, how would I ever move my bed? I'm pretty sure it's impervious to shrinking charms.'

'All right, I think he's available now.' She touched a rune on a panel atop her desk and said, 'Darius, Harry would like to talk to you. May I send him in?'

'Potter? Yes, by all means,' replied Darius's voice.

Harry opened the door to Darius's office, where he found the team manager at his desk, rising to his feet. 'Good morning, Harry,' he said uncertainly. 'Is there something I can help you with? Please, have a seat.'

They both sat down, and Harry said, 'I've heard a rumour about Owen, and I'm wondering if you've heard it as well.'

'Go on.'

'I heard that other teams are trying to recruit him to train their Seekers.'

Darius took a deep breath. 'Yes, I've heard that as well. I assume you have an opinion on the matter?'

'Yes. I'd like for the Cannons to keep him if at all possible.'

'I'm glad you brought it up,' said Darius. 'And I'm also relieved you didn't come in to tender your resignation. I heard you were running around with some French girl, and there are already rumours about French teams trying to scoop you up.'

'No, I haven't any intention of leaving England,' said Harry, astonished by the speed at which gossip crossed the Channel. 'So, about Owen?'

'Yes, I spoke with Tuttle for a while on Friday, and we wanted your opinion before approaching him. I assume you'd like for him to stay?'

'Definitely. I also don't want to fly against anyone he's trained.'

'Right. And do you have a preference as to whether he remains as a reserve or a trainer?'

'Whatever he prefers is fine with me, although I'd miss playing against him during practice matches.'

'Yes, of course. I'll talk to Victor and we'll draw up an offer.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said Harry. 'Make it a good one.'

'Understood. Is there anything else?'

'Yes, I brought heaps of pastries from France. They're on Lara's desk—you should try one.'

They left the office together and Harry went outside to the benches, where Tuttle was poised to deliver her Monday morning lecture. 'You've had a long weekend,' she began, 'and you probably forgot what positions you even play. And I'm certain some of you overindulged as well.'

'_Potter!'_ coughed Darren.

'That was a good win against the Catapults, but I saw some sloppy manoeuvres. And I didn't like how close the competition was for the Snitch. Potter, the only reason you caught it was luck, and we need more than luck to keep winning. We're playing the Wasps on Saturday, at home again, and among other things I want you to beat those sons of bitches as a personal favour to yours truly. I made my name as a Wasp, but we're making history as Cannons, and that's where my loyalty lies.' She glared at them and barked, 'Ten laps, now!'

The players began running, and Harry didn't dart ahead as usual but instead ran alongside Janet. 'How was your weekend getaway with Ron?' he asked.

'That bloody ginger,' she scowled. 'He finally figured out I've been provoking him on purpose, and now he's doing the same. Did you tip him off?'

'No, not at all. I have much better things to do than stir up discord,' he replied. 'What did he do exactly?'

'We were at a Muggle nightclub, and I decided to make him jealous by letting some bloke buy me a drink. So what does he do? He goes and buys a drink for some Muggle bird. And I'd swear he used a Compulsion Charm on her, because within ten minutes they were against the wall snogging.'

'Are you serious? Ron kissed another girl when he was out with you?'

'Well, to be fair, I started it by snogging my Muggle. But that red-headed bastard deserved it! He was getting complacent, and I had to put him in his place.'

'And what place is that?'

'At my feet, of course.'

'Good luck with that. Ron's not a worshiper.'

'Apparently not,' grumbled Janet.

'So what happened after you caught him?'

'I threw my drink at him and marched off.'

Harry smiled. 'And what did Ron do?'

'He followed me and grabbed someone else's drink and threw it at me.'

'Did he buy them a new drink?' asked Harry, fascinated.

'Yes. And a bag of crisps.'

'Just how big were these drinks? Are we talking pint glasses? Were you soaked?'

'He threw a gin and tonic at me, so I was fine. But my drink was fruity, and a bit sticky. And the little umbrella got stuck in his hair—I didn't tell him until later.'

'And how did this all end?'

'In bed, of course,' said Janet. 'It was fantastic.'

'Honestly, I'm not seeing a problem here. You seem like a good match.'

'Whose side are you on?' she replied, indignant.

'Er, mine? What exactly do you want me to say?'

'That you're on my side! And then go tell Ron he needs to grovel and bring me flowers.'

'So you do like flowers! Ron and I were wondering about that ages ago.'

'Of course I like flowers. I gave you a nasturtium, didn't I?'

'You're right. I stand corrected,' he said. 'I can probably talk him into giving you flowers, but any grovelling will have to be of his own accord.'

'Fair enough. So how was Paris?'

Harry smiled. 'Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Have you been there?'

'Yes, but with my grandparents. Probably not the same as your experience.'

'Are you rubbing in the fact that I'm an orphan? I thought better of you, Janet.'

'You thought wrong, Snitchbottom,' she said, and he ran ahead to finish his laps.

Over lunch they all shared tales of their weekend adventures. Harry provided the broad outlines of his, but he didn't tell them about wearing makeup or kissing Eric, or glowing, for that matter. They'd probably find out about the last one soon enough—he'd felt it happen during the flying drills, but the sunshine had concealed it. He was bound to start glowing on a cloudy day, though, and then everyone would know.

He asked Owen about the Light Arts after lunch. 'Interesting,' replied Owen. 'Other than the Patronus Charm, or maybe Healing charms, I'm not certain I could identify any specifically Light magic.'

'I don't know if Healing charms even count, unless they require a strong positive emotion.'

'You're right. But why do you ask? Is this just out of curiosity, or do you want to study them?'

'The latter. I found a book in the Black library about the Light Arts, and it explains some new experiences I've had.'

'There was a book in your library about the Light Arts?' exclaimed Owen.

'Yes—about what a menace they are, and how to defend against them.'

'That makes more sense. What are you experiencing, if you don't mind my asking?'

Harry described the glowing and what he'd learnt in the book, including the bit about increased libido, which caused Owen to laugh out loud. 'Oh please may I tell Joanne about this?'

'Wait until I talk to Alistair tonight. It's possible my enemies have already figured it out, but I'd don't want to tip my hand too early.'

'Of course not,' said Owen. 'But it sounds like they'd only fear you more if they knew you were a true Light wizard.'

'Perhaps, but I'd rather they didn't target me with Mind Arts and everything else the book proposes.'

'Good point. Do you suppose you should learn Occlumency properly? You have a strong foundation now—I suspect you'd pick the rest up quickly.'

'Actually, I got pretty good at it towards the end of the war. The emotion that finally worked was grief, when Dobby died. Although Dumbledore would have said it was love.'

'Do you want me to test you?' asked Owen. 'I'm a fair Legilimens, believe it or not.'

'Why am I even surprised? Yes, go ahead.' He expanded into awareness and allowed feelings of love to arise.

Owen pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry. '_Legilimens!'_

Harry felt a presence at the edge of his mind, but it was no more disturbing than the gentle brush of a cat's tail. It grew stronger and more insistent over time, but Harry just felt an increase of the pleasant energy flowing up from his torso into his head. Before long he ceased to be aware of Owen's attack and was instead lost to the pleasant sensations.

Eventually he opened his eyes and saw that Owen was holding up a hand to shade him from the sun. 'You're glowing, Snitchbottom. Please don't tell me you also have an erection.'

'Yes, but I charmed my trousers,' joked Harry. 'Just kidding. But I feel great.'

Tuttle suddenly appeared. 'Potter, Barrowmaker—what the hell are you doing?'

'Er, practising Occlumency?' said Harry.

'I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. Launcher, now.'

Harry accompanied Owen to the shed to fetch the Launcher. 'What was that like?' he asked Owen.

'I threw everything I had at you. I tried looking through your memories, and it was like trying to stare at the sun. And from the outside it looked like you were barely making an effort.'

'I wasn't,' admitted Harry. 'It was all automatic.'

'That's what I thought. Obviously I'm not a Voldemort-tier Legilimens, but if you were able to withstand him, I suspect you can withstand anyone. You might ask Alistair to test you tonight, if you trust him.'

'Good idea. And thanks, that was fun.'

'I could see that! Maybe you can teach me the Light Arts one of these days.'

'I can see it now: the Cannons' two glowing Seekers!' said Harry. 'If we weren't already selling out games, we would now.'

'Or we could drive the Knight Bus together,' said Owen. 'We wouldn't need headlamps.'

During Seeker practice Harry experimented with his glow to see whether it had an effect on his Spotting ability. Unfortunately it did—he was too blissed out to care whether the Snitch appeared in his field of awareness. _Another reason to get past the accidental Light magic phase,_ he thought.

He was mostly able to suppress his glow, so it didn't pose a problem during the practice match. But of course Owen taunted him mercilessly.

'So, Potter, about that libido of yours ... were you disappointed to learn it's just accidental magic and not your raging masculinity?'

'Why can't it be both?' retorted Harry. 'Or are you hoping the Light Arts will cure your marital woes?'

'I beg your pardon, I'm the one who fathered a family.'

'Yes, but they're twins. That's just one time—for all I know you've had sex fewer times than Walburga Black. Whereas I've shagged someone new nearly every week since I joined the Cannons.'

'True, but you're probably just paying them. Everyone knows you're desperate to stay famous.'

'Fame has its perks, actually. I got a last-minute flying carpet tour that way. And free wallpaper.'

'Did you really just say free wallpaper? Or was that the Light magic talking?'

'No, I really said that. Kreacher negotiated a new endorsement on my behalf. I now flog home decor as well as flowers.'

'Brilliant!' replied Owen. 'Have you decided what's next? Tea cosies perhaps?'

'Don't they fall under the home decor umbrella?'

'No, they're kitchen accessories.'

'Good point. I could flog those too.'

'You do know how to cook,' said Owen. 'What about gourmet foods?'

'There's a thought! I've been flooded with offers to invest in pastry import schemes. That's certainly a good use of the Potter family name.'

'Can't you do all your crassly commercial activities under the Black name?'

'Interesting … it's almost worth letting George and Lee put my name on the condoms, just to drag the Blacks down with me. Muggle-shagging, you know.'

'Your godfather would be proud.'

Owen ended up catching the Snitch, through no particular fault of Harry's. 'It was a pleasure as always, Barrowmaker. I'm going to miss flying against you.'

'I'm sorry, what?' asked Owen.

'Bugger, I didn't mean to say that. I heard about the other teams trying to recruit you.'

'Yeah. I haven't made a decision yet.'

'I take it you've had some good offers?'

'Very good offers. But I don't want to leave the Cannons if I can help it.'

'I talked to Darius this morning and told him to fight for you. Negotiate hard.'

'Cheers,' said Owen. 'I'd certainly love to stay.'

'Would you rather stay as a reserve or a trainer?'

'Trainer. As much as I enjoyed beating Gilstrap to the Snitch, I'd just as soon never have a Bludger come near me again.'

They flew to the benches for Tuttle's notes, and afterwards Harry showered and went straight to Diagon Alley. He needed to talk to the owner of the home furnishings store Kreacher had trapped him into endorsing.

Nobody was in the showroom when he entered, so he took some time to look around. _It's a nice shop,_ he thought. _I wouldn't be embarrassed to be associated with them. And this is almost as ludicrous as endorsing a florist._

He found the wallpaper display and discovered Kreacher had chosen the best ones, except for the Snitch pattern. The price for a single roll looked reasonable, so he'd just have to find out how many rolls Kreacher had used of each pattern and perhaps pay and be done with it.

A wizard finally emerged from the back. 'Mr Potter! I apologise for keeping you waiting.'

'That's fine, I enjoyed looking around. It's a lovely shop you have.'

'Thank you—we're proud of it. My name is Wendell, and I'm the owner. I assume you're here to finalise the details of your endorsement contract?'

'Er, about that ... my house-elf isn't actually authorised to enter contracts on my behalf. I hadn't intended to endorse any other businesses.'

'Oh, I see,' said Wendell. 'Then perhaps we should discuss your purchase.' He led Harry to the counter and opened a large volume that looked like a sales register. 'Let's have a look. It appears your house-elf purchased one roll each of six different patterns.'

'Really? Only one roll each? I'm sure I can pay for that. What's the total?'

Wendell turned the register around and showed Harry the number.

'Blimey!' exclaimed Harry. 'I'm actually not bad at doing maths in my head, but that's not what I came up with. Could you walk me through it?'

'Yes, of course. You must have calculated using the posted price, but there's a surcharge for house-elves.'

'A surcharge? Why?'

'Unlike wizards, house-elves are able to permanently duplicate a roll of wallpaper, hence the need to buy only one roll. And as you're aware, house-elves usually belong to ...' He hesitated.

'Rich people?' suggested Harry.

'I was going to say "old families,"' replied Wendell.

Harry frowned. The total was considerably more than he'd hoped to spend. He was all for squandering money, as Sirius had suggested, but wallpaper wasn't his preferred indulgence.

'Just what were you envisioning for the endorsement contract?' asked Harry.

Wendell relaxed. 'We'd like to include your name in our advertisements, and depending on where you use the wallpaper we'd like to display photographs of your house in the shop.'

'Where in the shop?' asked Harry, knowing what the answer would be.

'In the window.'

'With my name?'

'Ideally.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'I see. For how long a period?'

'One year, initially. We could extend the contract if you like, and you'd be entitled to more merchandise.'

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 'I don't know if you realise this, but all the wallpaper is in a single room. Kreacher used house-elf magic to allow me to rotate between patterns. So you wouldn't have much to display in the front window.'

'Ah, but that's where you have an advantage. Your elf could use any of those patterns throughout your entire house. That's why there's a surcharge.'

'Interesting. So he could put the dragon paper in the dining room, and the star pattern in the library, and so forth?'

'Exactly. And we'd be glad to sell you coordinating items at a discount. But your house-elf should be able to re-colour your existing furniture and upholstery to match.'

Harry had never considered himself a shrewd negotiator, but he had an idea. 'If you're going to display photographs of my house, I'm certain you'll want it to look good, and not just be thrown together by a nineteen-year-old and a house-elf.'

'You've a reputation for having excellent taste, Mr Potter.'

'I've learnt to trust my tailor,' said Harry. 'I couldn't say whether I'm capable of putting things together myself. You saw how I used to dress before last month.'

Wendell paled. 'What are you proposing?'

'The one-year endorsement contract should include expert advice on how to adapt my existing furniture and upholstery, as well as a steep discount for additional purchases. The_ Prophet_ greatly exaggerated my assets, and I'd much rather give money to charity. I'm perfectly happy with the house in its current threadbare state, after all.'

A long silence. 'Would a forty-percent discount be acceptable?'

'Yes. And the name displayed in the window would be Harry Potter.'

'As opposed to?'

'Any variant that includes the name Black.'

Wendell looked at him appraisingly. 'Is a change forthcoming?'

'I'm not prepared to say. But I think you'll agree my birth name is sufficiently well-known.'

'It is.' Wendell pulled a fresh parchment from the drawer and began writing down the terms they'd discussed. 'Shall I owl you the contract directly or would you prefer to work through Gringotts?'

'Gringotts, please.'

Harry rose and shook hands with Wendell. 'You're an interesting young man, Mr Potter,' said the shopkeeper.

'I've had to be,' replied Harry.

He went home, and Kreacher was overjoyed to serve Harry a traditional English dinner. _It's not French cuisine,_ he thought, _but there's something to be said for comfort food._

It was time to go to Penumbra and talk to Alistair. Harry changed into his green-trimmed robes and slid Lydia's white gardenia into his lapel. _Is it tacky to wear a flower from one witch when I'm planning to shag another one?_ he wondered.

But he shrugged. _Immature Light magic. I can't help it._

He went first to Flourish and Blotts, which was still open, but a glance at the bookshelves revealed nothing useful about the Light Arts. _Thanks for nothing, Doctor Niffler!_ He caught the attention of the other customers, including an attractive couple roughly his age. But he left the book shop without purchasing anything and walked down the passage to Penumbra.

Harry had no idea what to expect there. His previous visit had been on a Saturday, which seemed the appropriate night for otherwise upstanding witches and wizards to indulge in a bit of decadence. But to his surprise, the bar was nearly as crowded on a Monday.

'Good evening,' said the hostess. 'Would you like a table?'

'Actually, I'd like to talk with Alistair if he's available.'

She looked at him coolly. 'If you'll have a seat, I'll tell him you're here, and he'll decide whether he's available.'

'That's fine,' said Harry, enjoying the contrast from the usual flattery.

She led him to a table and he began perusing the cocktail menu. _I really mustn't drink alcohol on a weeknight,_ he thought, _particularly after all the wine I had in Paris. _But he wasn't certain whether any of the drinks could be made without alcohol.

Several minutes later Alistair appeared. Harry rose to greet him, and then they sat opposite each other. 'I see you're alone,' said Alistair.

'So are you,' replied Harry. 'May I ask you to dial back the charisma while we're talking? I'd like to keep a level head.'

'Of course. And how are you? I understand you went to Paris this weekend.'

'Yes, I'd never been there before. It was brilliant.' Harry realised he was slipping into small talk and brought himself back to the reason he'd come. 'But I'm here to talk about something specific. What do you know about the Light Arts?'

Alistair's mouth curved into a smile. 'I know all sorts of things about the Light Arts. Perhaps we should start with what you know about them.'

'I know I'm experiencing accidental Light magic.'

'I wondered whether that might happen,' said Alistair. 'You seemed ripe for it.' He paused and added, 'I assume you're not just talking about the symptom that might otherwise be explained by your age and circumstances?'

Harry chuckled. 'I certainly have that one covered, but yes. As of Saturday I've been glowing. Often.'

Alistair frowned. 'Can you control it at all? It's a vulnerable state, not to mention the Secrecy concerns.'

'I can suppress it, at least in part. Though obviously I'd rather not.'

'Indeed. What else do you know about Light magic? Broadly speaking.'

'I found a book in the Black family library called _Defence Against the Light Arts_, by Jacobus Filch. Honestly, it made me sound like a menace who needs to be decapitated and buried at a crossroads.'

Alistair laughed and said, 'I think you've got us confused. But yes, I'm certain that was an interesting source. I knew the author.'

'Really? What was he like? How long ago did he die?'

'He died about forty years ago, I think. As for what he was like, he had a shrewd mind, and he didn't underestimate Light magic as most Dark wizards do. But I consider him a tragic figure.'

'Why?'

'He probably understood Light magic better than any Dark practitioner, but he couldn't experience it.'

'Did he want to?'

'No. He'd been ruined by Dark magic. He'd experienced and even mastered its greatest pleasures, and he assumed they were as good as the Light equivalents.' Alistair looked Harry in the eye, and Harry felt his Occlumency shields rise automatically. 'Have you ever practised Dark magic? Successfully?'

'Yes, twice. The first time was by accident, when I cursed a classmate out of anger, without knowing what I was doing,' replied Harry, referring to the time he'd nearly killed Draco Malfoy with the _Sectumsempra_ charm. 'The second time I tortured a Death Eater, right before the Battle of Hogwarts.'

'How did it feel, the second time?'

'Satisfying. Exhilarating. But not for long ... there were too many other things happening all at once.'

'Try to isolate the memory of how it felt to torture someone you thought deserved it. Can you see how a Dark wizard might consider that pleasurable?'

'I don't need to bother with my own memories,' said Harry. 'I know how much Voldemort enjoyed it. I felt it through him.'

'Yes, of course. I'd forgot. And how did they compare? Voldemort's pleasure in torturing, and your pleasure when you glow?'

Harry took a deep breath and felt a wave of bliss rise through him. 'No comparison. None at all … oh god, no.'

'Exactly. You see then why I consider Jacobus Filch a tragic figure.'

'That hardly seems fair,' said Harry. 'Most wizards never experience Light magic, according to the book anyway, and they're not tragic.'

'Aren't they? Don't you wish everyone could experience it?'

'Yes, of course. But they have other pleasures. Love, and family, and all the rest. I assume Jacobus Filch had those as well.'

'He was a father, and a grandfather. Though he had disappointments.'

'You mean Filch? Er, Argus Filch?'

'His grandson, yes. Like everyone, Jacobus had pleasures that didn't last and disappointments that didn't last.'

'Are you saying Light magic is different from other pleasures?'

'Yes and no,' said Alistair. 'It also comes and goes. But you'll find it doesn't depend nearly as much on outside circumstances as other pleasures do. If I might ask, what caused you to experience it?'

'It first happened at the Sainte Chapelle, in Paris. It was just so beautiful.' Harry paused to remember it. 'Then it was at dinner with friends, and later at a nightclub. And when I was turned on. And then while flying. Oh, and when my teammate Owen tried Legilimency on me.'

'I'm sorry? Your teammate tried invading your mind?'

'I gave him permission,' said Harry. 'We wanted to test whether I'm vulnerable, in case someone tries messing with me that way. In fact, could you give it a go? I withstood Owen just fine.'

Alistair raised his eyebrows. 'Are you sure? I'm quite powerful.'

'Take it slowly. I was able to withstand Voldemort in the end, but I have no idea how you compare.'

'Neither do I,' said Alistair. 'This should be interesting.'

Harry felt powerful energy rise from his abdomen into his head, but along the edges of his mind he felt almost nothing. When Owen had tested him, Harry had felt a gentle pressure, but this was no more than a faint breeze. Over time it grew stronger, however, until it was like fingers pushing the sides of his head. He felt conflicting sensations—a firm resistance to the invading energy, but also a deep desire to allow it in. _Voldemort was never like this,_ thought Harry. _This feels like a seduction._

He felt a surge of defiance. _Two can play at this game, old man! I'm no slouch in the seduction department._ He pushed forward with the same energy he'd begun using to charm women, only with the goal of keeping Alistair out. It initially required effort, but then something clicked and Harry knew he could sustain it indefinitely. He'd been maintaining eye contact with Alistair the entire time, and he felt his own eyes gleam with impertinence.

'Is that all you've got?' he finally asked, and the vampire laughed.

'That was most of it. I didn't bother with the frontal assault, since I assume you had plenty of that from Voldemort.'

'Try me,' said Harry. He felt a sharp jab behind his scar, but it felt clumsy compared to Alistair's previous attempt. A surge of love rose within him, and Alistair's attack was irrelevant.

'Waste of time,' said Alistair. 'No, the only method that could work on you is loving coercion, and I don't think a Dark wizard would be capable of it.'

'Did you see anything?' asked Harry. 'Any memories?'

'Indistinct moments of passion, but nothing else. More of a sensation than a memory. Quite nice, actually.'

'I'm glad you liked it. So does this mean I'm Legilimency-proof?'

'From anyone who'd want to harm you, yes. Voldemort trained you well.'

'I should owl him my thanks,' said Harry. 'So this brings me to my next question: How secret do I need to keep this? My Light magic, that is?'

'Not very,' said Alistair. 'Consider it like this. Your enemies fall into two camps: those who underestimate you and those who don't. In the first category, I'm certain there are people who think you defeated Voldemort either by fluke or by prophecy, or because Dumbledore was pulling the strings.'

'I'm in that category,' said Harry. 'I worked hard, but it was mostly luck and my mother's sacrifice. And my friends, of course.'

Alistair waved his hand dismissively. 'No matter. The point is that if someone from that camp tries to attack you, they probably won't succeed, unless you're truly sloppy. But your Light magic will probably protect you anyway.'

'And the other camp?'

'They fear you. They mightn't understand why, but they feared Voldemort enough to know he wasn't defeated by accident. And some of them might already know you're a true Light wizard, albeit immature. I'm certain every Dark family owns a copy of that book. In fact it's probably still in print, although you'd only find it in places like Knockturn Alley.'

'Really?' exclaimed Harry. 'Do you think Voldemort read it?'

'If he read it before he tried killing you as a baby, he obviously didn't take it seriously. But he was exceptionally arrogant back then. And he'd have been mad not to take it seriously afterwards.'

'Actually, he was mad,' noted Harry.

'True, but he was canny, and he learnt from his mistakes. But returning to your question, you probably shouldn't broadcast that you're experiencing accidental Light magic. And I'm using the word "broadcast" literally.'

Harry laughed. 'Fair enough.'

'But if it comes out some other way, you needn't worry. The real question is what you plan to do with it.'

'That's the other thing I wanted to ask you,' replied Harry. 'Can you recommend a teacher? Accidental Light magic is brilliant, but I'd much rather have the mature version.'

Alistair folded his hands together and looked thoughtful. 'The last Light master I knew died decades ago. I'd have to make enquiries. Discreet ones, of course.'

'I'd appreciate that. Do you think there's any point in asking Dumbledore's portrait?'

'I doubt it. He may have been the leader of the Light, but he wasn't an actual Light wizard. He certainly didn't employ the Light Arts in his duel against Grindelwald, and I never heard about him studying them later.'

'Are you sure? He knew that the power I had that Voldemort didn't was love. Oh bugger, I just revealed the main part of the prophecy—can you keep that to yourself?'

Alistair smiled. 'Of course. And it was obvious to any sufficiently observant onlooker. You sacrificed your life, after all. But to your original point, I'm certain Dumbledore was well informed about the Light Arts. He just didn't practice them, other than a few peripheral spells.'

'Right. So I shouldn't bother asking his portrait?'

'Give me a week,' said Alistair. 'If I can't find you a teacher, by all means ask him.'

'Cheers.' Harry looked down at the drinks menu, which he'd forgotten about during their conversation. 'Oh dear, I've been freeloading this entire time. I haven't even ordered a drink. Can you recommend something without alcohol?'

'Are you planning to stay longer? I had the impression our conversation was drawing to a close.'

Harry didn't miss Alistair's amused expression. 'What do you think? I'm experiencing accidental Light magic—which is bloody brilliant, in case I haven't mentioned that yet.'

Alistair surveyed the room. 'Many people noted your arrival. And several followed you here. That young couple, for example.' He indicated the pair Harry had seen in Flourish and Blotts, who were standing in the arena.

'I'm afraid I prefer witches,' replied Harry. 'A bloke would probably feel left out—or I would.'

'He won't lack for choices here,' said Alistair.

Harry looked critically at the witch, knowing she couldn't see him behind the table's privacy charms. _Yes, definitely,_ he thought. 'So what drink do you recommend?'

'Don't order one for my sake,' replied Alistair. 'But if you're thirsty, ask for a virgin Patronus. If nothing else, it'll give you an excuse to walk to the bar.'

'Perfect,' said Harry, rising from his seat. 'It's always a pleasure. Even at my party, when I told you off.'

Alistair stood as well. 'You're consistently entertaining. I'll listen to your broadcast tomorrow night.'

After finishing with Alistair, Harry walked purposefully to the bar. Several witches tried catching his eye, but they didn't approach him while he waited for his drink. The young couple, however, joined him there.

'I have to thank you for bringing robes back into fashion,' said the wizard. 'Fitted robes, that is. The loose ones are pointless as far as I'm concerned. No better than a cloak, really.'

'Yes, I never cared for them until I got my Cannons robes,' replied Harry. 'Though I didn't expect to start a fashion.'

'And yet you did,' said the wizard. 'Flowers too—look around.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Wizarding Britain needs more celebrities. It's probably because we don't have television or films.'

The bartender served his drink, which was in a round goblet and glowed brightly, and Harry left several coins on the counter.

'What is that?' asked the witch. 'I've only tried this one,' she said, indicating the half-full glass she was holding.

'It's a virgin Patronus. Alistair recommended it.' He took a sip and said, 'And with good reason. I'm glad to know that drinking blood hasn't ruined his palate.'

The wizard looked at him sceptically. 'A virgin Patronus?'

'Yes, I drank too much over the weekend, and I've a low tolerance. So it's a virgin night for me.'

'We can't help you there,' laughed the wizard. 'Why did you come to a bar, if you didn't want alcohol?'

_Why do you think?_ thought Harry. 'I couldn't let this gardenia go to waste,' he said dryly.

'Just ignore him,' said the witch. 'Jack hasn't any manners.'

'And what's your name?' asked Harry.

'Vera. Vera Chappell.'

'And does that make you Jack Chappell?'

'Merlin no!' exclaimed Jack. 'I'm what my grandmother calls a confirmed bachelor.'

'I suppose I'm not currently the marrying type either,' said Harry, 'but not in the way you're talking about.'

'Interesting,' said Jack. 'Up until a couple of months ago, you seemed so earnest. Young Auror, on track to marry his sweetheart before he was twenty, like a good wizard. You dressed abominably, of course. But now you're an absolute rogue—I simply had to see you up close.'

'Is that why you followed me in here?'

'You noticed?' asked Vera.

'No, but Alistair did. I saw you in the book shop, though.'

'And what did you think?'

'I took you for a couple. An attractive couple.'

'So, are you interested in wizards as well?' asked Jack.

'They're a distant second, I'm afraid.'

Vera smirked at Jack. 'I told you so—you owe me a Galleon.' She turned to Harry and said, 'He was convinced you fancy men every bit as much as you fancy women.'

'That's setting a high bar,' said Harry. 'I'm awfully fond of women.'

'Yes, two at a time even,' said Jack. 'I've had nightmares to that effect, but you seemed to enjoy it.'

'I did. So, did you follow me to settle a wager?' He looked meaningfully at Vera.

'No,' she said, returning his gaze. 'We were hoping to see your enormous bed. But you just dashed Jack's hopes.'

'Are you a package deal?' asked Harry.

'Not unless you can promise equal time,' replied Jack. 'And it sounds like you can't. I should never have trusted Rita Skeeter.'

'Oh right, last year she described Ron's and my torrid nights in Gryffindor Tower, and then in the tent. Pure fiction.'

'Hopefully the other rumour is true,' said Vera.

'And which one is that?' asked Harry. 'I can't keep track.'

She leaned close to him and whispered, 'That you're famous for the wrong reason.'

_Interesting_, thought Harry. 'And where did you hear that?'

'A friend of a friend. Word travels fast.'

_It couldn't have been Helena,_ he thought. _And obviously not Penelope. Either Elizabeth or Vanessa—probably Vanessa. Though it could equally have been Ginny. _

'I feel honour-bound to satisfy your curiosity,' he said. 'But will Jack be all right?'

'I'm in Penumbra,' said Jack. 'I'll be fine—every gay man here is going to ask me about you as soon as you're gone.'

'I just need to finish my drink,' said Harry. 'We should get an early start—I have practice in the morning.'

Vera took a long sip through her straw, until her drink was nearly empty, and Harry watched as she pursed her lips around it. 'What are you waiting for?' she asked.

Harry drained his glass and smiled. 'Nothing at all,' he said, taking her hand.


	50. Chapter 50

Harry didn't get nearly enough sleep that night, as Vera was both enthusiastic and tireless. He knew he should have stopped things at a reasonable hour, but neither of them wanted to, so they didn't.

Eventually they slept, but around four o'clock Vera woke him from a particularly active nightmare. He didn't describe it to her, as he'd done with Sophie, but she stroked him soothingly. Initially her touch was maternal, but then it wasn't, and before long they resumed their earlier activity. They finally slept another two hours before the alarm clock sounded.

'I'm too knackered to cook you breakfast,' groaned Harry, 'so you'll just have to take my word for it that I know how.'

'Does this mean we get breakfast in bed?' she asked, rubbing against him.

'Yes, but breakfast only. I have a full day of practice today, starting with ten laps around a Quidditch pitch and calisthenics, and I've no idea how I'll get through it.'

'Fine,' she said, ceasing her advances. 'You've more than earned a leisurely breakfast.'

He requested breakfast wordlessly from Kreacher and the trays appeared soon after, with the customary vase of flowers and the _Daily Prophet_. Harry wasn't on the front page, but there was a photo of him in the gossip column.

'Aren't you a busy boy!' exclaimed Vera.

The photograph showed him and Sophie kissing goodbye in the portkey terminal. He was wearing his striped Breton shirt, and they were considerably more demonstrative than he remembered being in public. _That's France for you,_ he thought.

'Someone enjoyed himself in Paris! Are you returning soon? Will she object to you spending the night with me?'

'No. I have no present plans to return, and it was just a weekend fling.'

'How do she and I compare?' asked Vera saucily. 'I've heard things about French girls.'

'I'm not going to kiss and tell, so you won't have any answers from me. But you're undoubtedly the most demanding woman I've ever encountered. In a good way.'

She seemed content with his assessment, and they continued eating in silence. Harry felt bad about exhausting himself so thoroughly on a weeknight, but he was mostly pleased. _It's a necessary part of my journey as a Light wizard, _he told himself with mock solemnity._ Just imagine all the protective magic I'll be able to perform._

Nevertheless, he didn't think he wanted to see her again. They hadn't actually had much to talk about, and he realised he valued conversation in addition to physical intimacy—Helena had spoilt him in that regard. Fortunately, Vera also seemed satisfied with a one-night stand, and Harry got the impression she wanted a notch on her bedpost more than anything.

She even asked for a souvenir. 'Might I have that gardenia you were wearing last night? As a keepsake?'

'Er, it was actually a gift from another witch.'

'The one in Paris?'

'No, someone new.' She looked at him in amazement, and he said, 'Not like that. She sent it to me with a letter. I'm seeing her later this week.'

'You devil!' she said admiringly. 'I'm sorry I don't have a keepsake for you. I take it you don't collect trophies from your conquests? Knickers, for example?'

'I'm afraid not,' he said, recalling Voldemort's fondness for trophies, which he eventually turned into Horcruxes. 'And besides, I think I was the conquest, not you.'

'You're right! Then I must have something from you. What can you give me? Something identifying.'

'Not much, actually. Mostly just boutonnières and books about Dark magic, and I'm not likely to sign one of those for you.'

'Then sign a photograph for me—you must have heaps of them, right?'

Reminded of Lockhart, Harry vehemently denied her accusation. 'I have not!' he said, before suddenly turning red. 'Oh bugger, I do! I have a stack of team photographs downstairs.'

'That's perfect!' she said, and after getting dressed they went downstairs and he signed a photograph for her.

'Include the date,' she insisted. 'I want my great-grandchildren to discover it after I'm gone.'

'Shall I write something scandalous, for posterity?'

'Definitely.'

She left at half-past eight, and he lay down on the sofa to rest a bit longer before practice. Unfortunately he dozed off and woke ten minutes after practice had begun. In a panic, he Apparated to the training facility and dashed into the building to get his trainers.

'There you are,' exclaimed Lara. 'Where shall I send your remains, once Tuttle's through with you?'

'To Hermione,' he replied without thinking. 'She can bury them in Godric's Hollow, with my parents.'

He sprinted to the field and immediately joined the others running laps. His heart was already beating quickly from panic, and the cool morning air meant he no longer felt sleepy.

'And where were you?' smirked Darren. 'Did you have a late night?'

'I overslept,' he said, not answering the question. 'How dead am I?'

'Exceedingly. Doornail-like. Voldemort-like.'

'First time or second time? I can come back if it's like the first time.'

'Sorry, Snitchbottom, you're completely fucked,' replied Darren. 'Actually, that's a lie—I'm not at all sorry. Last time someone was late it was me, and everyone had a laugh when Tuttle tore me to bits. I reckon I'll enjoy being a spectator.'

'At least someone will enjoy it,' muttered Harry, running ahead. He was genuinely upset about arriving late—he took his responsibility to the team seriously, and it was unprofessional to turn up like this.

Eventually Owen ran alongside him. 'Are you all right? You've never been late before.'

'Bloody Light magic,' he grumbled.

Owen chuckled. 'I take it you didn't get enough sleep last night?'

'Not even close. I swear, you'd think she'd taken some kind of stimulant.'

'And did she hold you at wandpoint the entire time?'

'Well, no. But I can't help it! Light magic!'

'I think you're overly fond of your new excuse,' said Owen.

Harry smirked. 'It's an awfully good one, you have to admit.'

'It is. I'm certain your future biographer will enjoy writing about this phase of your life.'

'It sure beats dragging that Horcrux around. But Merlin, Tuttle's going to tear me to pieces.'

'Expand into awareness,' said Owen. 'You'll get through it. It's even sunny out, so you can get away with glowing, if that'll help.'

'Which part of "I can't control it yet" don't you understand?'

'Fine. Were you able to talk to Alistair?'

'Yes. He's going to try to find me a teacher.'

'Did you let him try Legilimency on you?'

'I did, and he declared me safe. But he said I shouldn't talk about it publicly yet. It won't be a disaster if it gets out, but that doesn't mean I should shout it from the rooftops.'

'So I shouldn't tell Joanne?'

'No, you can tell her. But don't blame me if she starts demanding you learn Light magic as well.'

'At least now we'll be able to afford babysitters more often. Four-year-old twins can be an impediment to marital relations.'

'Did you meet with Darius yet?' asked Harry.

'No, but he invited me to lunch today.'

'Somewhere nice?'

'Very,' said Owen, and Harry grinned. 'I really have to thank you for talking me up to reporters so often. This would never have happened otherwise—I'd probably have been cut soon. I had some ideas about my next career, but I'm stupidly fond of Quidditch and would rather keep at it in some way.'

'You realise this is just my scheme to take you out of the running for the job driving the Knight Bus. That job is mine.'

'Understood. I'll try to return the favour by talking up your driving skills at every opportunity.'

'Er, I don't actually know how to drive,' admitted Harry.

Owen shook his head scornfully. 'Harry, I can't help you if you won't help yourself.'

'I know, I know.'

Harry wasn't certain whether to keep running after his teammates finished their laps, but Tuttle removed all doubt. 'Potter, get your sorry arse over here!' she called from the benches.

He sprinted over and did his best to expand into awareness before her lecture began. 'I didn't think your head could get any bigger, but five wins in a row have proven me wrong. I'm willing to overlook your antics as long as you work hard, but showing up late for practice completely knackered is unacceptable. Maybe you didn't have time to look in the mirror this morning, but you've circles under your eyes and the cocky expression of someone who was up shagging all night, and probably drinking as well.'

'I didn't have any alcohol,' protested Harry, and his teammates laughed at the implied admission.

'So you made a rational decision to shirk your responsibilities? Getting your wand polished five times in a row was more important than doing what the fans are paying you for?'

_It's a medical condition,_ he thought defiantly, but he knew he was kidding himself. He could have stopped at any time—he just hadn't wanted to.

'I realise you're Harry fucking Potter,' she continued, 'and the fans would probably pay to see you sit on the ground picking your nose, but I thought you had a better work ethic than that.'

'I do,' he blurted. 'And I'm sorry. I knew how late it was and I didn't care. You're right, it was completely unacceptable.'

'I suspect one person didn't mind,' muttered Suresh. 'And she'd almost certainly praise your work ethic.'

Some of the other players sniggered but Harry didn't. He felt genuinely bad about treating the fans and his teammates so shabbily.

Tuttle wasn't amused either. 'Some of you might think Potter's antics are funny, but I sure as hell don't!'

'There's an extenuating circumstance,' blurted Owen, and everyone looked at him in surprise.

'No, I could have stopped any time,' said Harry. 'There's no need to talk about that.'

There was a long silence before Janet said, 'You can't not tell us. That's just cruel.'

Tuttle barked, 'Potter, Barrowmaker—we'll talk in private. The rest of you, calisthenics.'

The two Seekers followed Tuttle away from the benches. Harry was still uncomfortable blaming his bad behaviour on Light magic, but Tuttle deserved an explanation, which Owen provided.

Tuttle laughed out loud. 'I thought I'd heard every excuse from Bagman, but this takes the biscuit. And the best part is that, unlike all his whoppers, this one's actually true.'

'Mind you, Harry's also nineteen,' said Owen. 'That's probably a factor as well.'

'I know, that's how old Bagman was when we were first paired.'

'It's not an excuse,' said Harry. 'I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have let down the team like that. It won't happen again.'

'It had better not,' she warned. 'Don't make me extract a blood oath from you.'

'Could you keep this private for now? There's probably no danger if people find out, but the longer we can delay it, the better.'

'Understood. But personally I can't wait to see what the _Prophet_ does with this one,' she chuckled. 'Is that why you were practising Occlumency yesterday?'

'Yes,' replied Owen. 'Fortunately he's mastered it, so there's no risk there.'

'I'm glad. I want you to live a good long time, Potter.'

'Thanks,' he said sincerely. 'I should go start calisthenics.'

'You should,' she said. 'But don't hurt yourself, and I'm being serious. Take it easy today, but then go to bed early and work twice as hard tomorrow.'

'I will. But remember I have the Wizengamot tomorrow morning, so I'll be late.'

'Right—there's another reason to get some rest. And make sure your robes cover that love bite on the back of your neck, or glamour it.'

'Bugger! I mean, thanks.'

Harry got through the rest of the morning, but of course his teammates were merciless during lunch, and they had no end of fun speculating about his mysterious condition.

'It's a curse, isn't it?' said Gary. 'Some late-breaking Voldemort thing, and the only treatment is a steady stream of partners, right?'

'No, I think it's the opposite,' said Ryan. 'Harry's blood contains an important cure that can only be administered directly via bodily fluids. And it treats a rare disease only affecting attractive young women.'

'That's why he went to France,' added Janet. 'So they could research it, and to treat that poor suffering model.'

'Blimey, it affects models in particular, doesn't it?' said Darren. 'How do I get this cure? I'm sure they need other delivery agents, if it's keeping Harry so busy.'

'I'm not convinced by the cure theory,' said Suresh. 'I think it's a breeding programme. Harry, this is the real reason you left the Ministry, isn't it? They knew you'd get more partners as a Cannon, and so they deliberately unleashed you into the wild to impregnate witches, and Muggles as well. And I'm certain the Department of Mysteries is involved.'

'I'm not going to dignify any of these theories with a response,' replied Harry.

'It has to be something good,' argued Renée, 'otherwise Tuttle wouldn't have eased up on you. I'm thinking it has something to do with the war. Or being an orphan.'

'Good point,' said Gary. 'I've heard of psychologists—Mind Healers—who encourage their patients to work through their emotional issues physically. Perhaps Harry found one who takes this approach to its logical extreme.'

'You mean his Mind Healer is prescribing all-night shagathons?' asked Suresh. 'Harry, what's their name? I think I need a Mind Healer too.'

'I'm not seeing a Mind Healer!' protested Harry.

'Are you serious?' asked Janet. 'Why on earth not?'

'Because I have no desire to whinge to some stranger about my problems, and then have them charge me ten Galleons and say it's because Voldemort killed my parents.'

'Don't be silly—Mind Healers charge more than that,' said Ryan. 'Good ones, anyway.'

'But Snitchbottom has a point,' said Janet. 'Why should he pay for therapy when busybodies like Doctor Niffler analyse him for free?

'Yes, and she's been so incisive,' grumbled Harry. 'The _Prophet_ was kind enough to send me the full transcript from her interview, and she said I'm stuck in the oral phase of development, since my mum died before I was weaned.'

'The oral phase?!' blurted Renée, and his teammates started laughing. 'I can't believe they didn't print that part. Honestly, it should have been the headline—something salacious about Harry Potter's oral fixation.'

Darren added, 'If you want to ensure your ongoing popularity, you should demand they print it. What's the opposite of a retraction?'

'Maybe you can send in a statement,' suggested Suresh. _'"I, Harry James Potter, am tragically stuck in the oral phase of development, as diagnosed by a respected Mind Healer who has never met me. But attention witches: my loss is your gain!"'_

Gary's eyes shot open. 'Wait a moment ... the oral phase? Potter, remember the first time you caught the Snitch at Hogwarts?' Harry turned bright red, and Gary explained, 'He caught it in his mouth.'

Group hysterics followed, and Ryan finally managed to ask, 'Which phase comes after the oral one?'

Janet, who was weeping from laughter, replied, 'Anal.'

Suresh and Gary simultaneously cried, 'Snitchbottom!' and even Harry had to laugh.

'Someone needs to tell Doctor Niffler about the Snitchbottom incident,' said Janet. 'It's a clear indicator of developmental progress.'

'I can think of a good way for Harry to convince her he's attained the anal phase,' offered Suresh.

'I'm certain you can,' said Harry. 'But I just don't see that happening.'

'No, you're hopelessly straight. But I should thank you for being an excellent conversation starter whenever I'm in public. I can't go anywhere without some bloke asking me whether you swing both ways.'

'Do you think people asked Voldemort's mates about that?' mused Ryan.

'Voldemort didn't have mates,' said Harry. 'Not since he was at Hogwarts, and they ended up becoming his followers.'

'So there's still time for you to convert us into your Dark army?' asked Janet. 'Sorry, your Dark sex army.'

'Definitely not Dark,' mumbled Harry, smiling.

'Your Light sex army?' said Darren. 'Now there's a way to unite wizards under the Light banner! It's a shame Albus Dumbledore never thought of that.'

'I think you're onto something,' said Gary. 'Admittedly I'm Muggle-born, so I don't understand the wizarding world as well as someone born to it, but the Dark Arts definitely give off the stronger sex vibes.'

'He's right,' said Darren. 'Even after Azkaban, Bellatrix Lestrange was seriously hot, and I can only imagine how many people she drew to the Dark banner before then.'

Renée nodded in agreement. 'And we've seen the effect of pure-blood decorating.'

'Harry, you really have a unique opportunity here,' observed Gary. 'If you can convince the younger generation that Light magic is sexier than Dark magic, you'll have won the battle before it's begun.'

Janet rolled her eyes at Gary. 'Where have you been for the last month? That's exactly what Harry's been doing. He even turned Death Eater robes into the official Light wizard seduction costume.' She turned to Harry and said, 'Are you planning to rehabilitate the Cruciatus Curse as well?'

'Absolutely not,' said Harry, with a sternness that surprised him. 'Never, ever perform that curse. I'm lucky I survived it.'

'Survived being tortured?' asked Renée.

'Survived casting it. Performing Dark magic can ruin a person.'

'Auror Potter, reporting for duty!' chirruped Janet. 'Seriously, Snitchbottom, we know.'

Harry sighed. 'Sorry to get on a high horse ... I've just been particularly convinced of it lately.' He looked at his chastened teammates and added, 'Carry on taking the piss.'

'I'm sorry,' said Janet sincerely. 'It's easy to forget what you've been through. Ron too.'

'That's probably a good thing,' said Harry. 'I'd rather people think of me as a sex-mad Seeker than a war-damaged orphan.'

'Now there's a quote I'd love to see in the _Prophet_,' said Gary. 'It's a shame Ryan warded the pub against Animagi, otherwise Rita Skeeter could have shared it.'

'Yes, I'll have to add it to my next statement to the _Prophet_,' replied Harry. 'Or perhaps I could announce it at the Wizengamot tomorrow.'

'Oh right, that's tomorrow,' said Suresh. 'Are you ready?'

'I think so. I have a first-rate set of robes, at the very least. Whoever is betting that I'll be on the cover of tomorrow's _Prophet_ is sure to win. As for my complaint against Rita Skeeter, I'm hopeful the other Wizengamot members will vote to allow a full hearing. Fortunately the entire court votes on my request and not just the lords.'

'You're not going to sit with them, are you?' asked Darren.

'No, I don't need to invoke lordly privilege for this request.'

'"Lordly privilege,"' smirked Janet. 'Please tell me you use that term in the bedroom.'

'No, lordships are bollocks,' retorted Harry, and everyone laughed again.

After lunch, he was keen to talk to Owen and find out how his meeting with Darius had gone, but he hadn't yet returned. _I hope that's a good sign,_ thought Harry anxiously. He realised how much he'd come to rely on Owen, and not just as a Quidditch trainer. _Is this what having an elder brother is like?_ he wondered.

Tuttle set him to practising with the Launcher, but Harry grew increasingly distracted the longer Owen was away. He even started to worry something had happened to him. _Did they Apparate to the restaurant? What if Owen got Splinched? Do people die from Splinching?_ Harry's thoughts turned to Owen's two daughters. _At least they still have a mother,_ he thought mournfully.

He almost wept from relief when Owen turned up wearing practice robes and carrying his broomstick. Harry flew to the ground, ignoring the Launcher, and had to restrain himself from throwing his arms around him. 'You're back!' he cried joyfully. 'Are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' said Owen. 'But are you all right? You seem a bit overwrought.'

'No, I'm fine too. It's probably just the fatigue. But tell me, how did things go?'

'It's not official yet—I said I'd have to discuss it with Joanne—but you're looking at the Cannons' new Seeker coach.'

'Coach?' exclaimed Harry. 'How is that different from a trainer?'

Owen smiled. 'The pay is higher. And I'll wear Cannons robes during matches, like Tuttle.'

'Will you keep your player number?' asked Harry, overjoyed.

'No, that goes back into the pool of available numbers. We have to find my replacement, you know.'

'Blimey! I won't play practice matches against you anymore. Would it be wrong for me to request you choose the new reserve based on personality? I don't want to spend hours every day with some stupid gobshite.'

'We can take that into account. Darius already has a list of prospects—apparently they were about to start recruiting when you turned up. He's hoping to start trials next week.'

'How do trials even work?' asked Harry. 'Obviously I didn't go through that process.'

'They'll hold them at the stadium, in order not to disrupt practice. Normally they invite about a dozen prospects and test their flying skills and spotting ability. They'll do that over two days, to test for consistency. Then on the second afternoon, they'll narrow it down to two or three candidates and make a final decision.' He smiled and added, 'I should say "we." We'll make a final decision.'

'Will I participate at all?' asked Harry hopefully.

'Yes, during the second afternoon. We'll have you fly against the top candidates and also interact with them a bit, to see if the alchemy is there.'

Harry recalled his own hiring process and felt a little sheepish. 'I'm realising you never had the chance to evaluate me before I joined the team. Sorry about that.'

'Firstly, I don't think they trusted my judgment, since I recommended Spencer last time around. He performed brilliantly at his trials, believe it or not. And secondly, Darius didn't even give Tuttle a vote when you turned up. It was only out of sheer desperation over the Spencer crisis than she didn't hex Darius for bypassing her like that.'

'I had no idea there was so much drama behind my arrival,' admitted Harry. 'Though I suppose it was an extraordinary sequence of events.'

'It really was. Are you certain there wasn't another prophecy guiding matters?'

'I couldn't say. We destroyed most of the prophecies during the battle at the Department of Mysteries. But I'm glad you're not leaving—I can't even tell you.'

'I'm pleased as well. And thanks again—Darius said your recommendation played a big role in their decision.'

Harry didn't fly particularly well that afternoon, due to fatigue and his overstimulated nervous system. Fortunately Owen caught the Snitch in short order, so Harry had time to sleep before having dinner with Hermione, prior to the broadcast.

He awoke to a tapping on his shoulder, and Hermione was standing next to his bed. 'Harry, it's half five. Do you need to sleep some more?'

'What?' he mumbled groggily.

'Kreacher told me you were sleeping, and he didn't dare wake you. But I have no such compunction, particularly since Ryan told me why you were so tired.'

'Oh right,' said Harry, returning to reality. 'It's still Tuesday. We're having dinner together.' He sat up and realised he was only wearing boxers. 'I should probably get dressed.'

'Robes, I assume?' she asked. 'Shall I choose your boutonnière?' She looked at the selection on top of the dresser.

'Actually, I thought I'd wear Phil Routledge's jersey tonight, as a show of support.'

'You're going to wear a Quidditch jersey in public? That's not very dandyish.'

'Dandies liked to create a stir,' he said. 'Sophie told me about them. Admittedly they probably weren't very keen on sports, except perhaps to ogle the players, but I'm not a typical dandy in that respect.'

'Sophie? Is that the French witch you were photographed with?'

'Yes. She's brilliant.'

'And yet you threw her over the first night after returning to England? You really are shameless!'

'It was just a fling,' he said defensively. 'And I had other reasons.'

'Yes, Ryan told me you have an extenuating circumstance. He was hoping I'd know what it was, but all I could come up with is that you're a nineteen-year-old professional athlete with no self-control.'

Harry had emerged from bed and was pulling on blue jeans. 'I only just learnt about my extenuating circumstance,' he replied tartly. 'But now I'm not sure I want to tell you.'

'I won't press you for details—I wouldn't dream of invading your privacy,' she said. 'Although I realise how ironic that is, considering I just barged into your bedroom and am watching you get dressed.'

'You're as bad as Rita Skeeter. Are you considering a career change?'

'Do you mean after last week's goblin fiasco? No, I've decided just to wait and see. Some of the best things in my life have been complete accidents, so I'm trying to stop over-planning for once and see what happens.'

'Were you hit by a Bludger? That doesn't sound like you.'

'No, it doesn't. And I'll probably crack after a couple of days and start making lists again, but for now it's my strategy.'

'It probably helps that you're calling it a strategy. That's better than saying you're doing fuck-all about it.'

'Harry, there's no need to be insulting!' she exclaimed. 'Oh, right, you're still in your obnoxious Seeker phase. Carry on.'

'Cheers,' he said, straightening his Puddlemere jersey. 'Do I look like a complete wanker in this thing?'

She looked at him appraisingly. 'You look younger. Less dignified.'

He studied his reflection in the mirror. 'Laddish. I look like a great bloody lad. This is probably how Dudley would dress if he were a wizard.'

'You're right! Do you think your ego can handle it?'

'Honestly, I don't know. I guess my ego is more fragile than I realised. But I suppose that's why I should wear it, to build character.'

'Yes, you've had so few character-building opportunities in life.'

They went downstairs, and Harry asked Kreacher to serve dinner in the dining room, which surprised Hermione. 'Did you choose a formal setting to match your outfit? Shall I go home and change as well?'

'No, I want your opinion on which wallpaper to use in there.' He led her to the entrance hall and explained what Kreacher had done, and how he now had six patterns to use throughout the house. 'I hadn't even planned to redecorate, but here I am.'

'Not the Snitches, surely,' she said as they looked at the patterns Kreacher had installed.

'Merlin, no!' replied Harry. 'But I can use that in the guest room I'm going to empty for Teddy to fly in.'

She lit up and said, 'I love that you're taking more of an interest in him.'

'I'm trying. Babies are dreadfully boring, but Teddy's all right. And when he's a little bigger I can take him on an actual broomstick. I wonder if they make child seats like on bicycles.'

'Accidental magic would probably protect him,' she said. 'He might even sprout wings!'

'You're probably right. I'd just hate to break him somehow. But which wallpaper do you think I should use in here? I like all of the non-Snitch options.'

Hermione tilted her head in consideration. 'Which other rooms do you want to change?'

'Any of them, I suppose. But I don't want to ruin what I like about the house.'

'You mean that it's a shadowy den of seduction?' she smirked.

He glared at her and said, 'No, I like how much character it has. You saw the Dursleys' house—it had no personality at all. And yes, I know this house has a terrible history, but the Dark magic is gone. Now it just feels like home.'

They both looked at Padfoot, who was curled up and taking a nap, his eyes covered with a satin sleep mask. 'Yes, I can see that,' said Hermione. 'It seems hard to believe, considering what the house was like when we first arrived. It really was horrid back then.'

'True. But I actually have fond memories of it, which I know sounds completely daft.'

'It's not daft,' she said gently. 'I have fond memories too. Of Fred, and Tonks, and Sirius of course.'

'And Moony,' said Harry. 'And hearing Mad-Eye stomping around.' He sighed and added, 'Even Snape.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

'I never had a home before where anyone cared about me,' he said. 'At least not that I can remember. And even though Grimmauld Place back then was awful, at least I was cared for. I was wanted.'

'You were,' she agreed. 'Sirius lit up whenever he saw you. I used to watch him—most of the time he looked like a waxwork, but then you'd enter the room and he came to life.'

'I looked like my father,' he protested, but Hermione shook her head.

'If that were all he saw in you, he'd have lost the light in his eyes the next moment and turned into wax again. No, he loved you.'

Harry sighed. 'I know he did. It just feels like I dreamt it all, like he never existed except in my imagination.'

'You wouldn't own a house if he'd been a figment of your imagination.' She smirked and added, 'Maybe you should keep the ring visible, to remind you of him.'

'Not bloody likely! He'd probably curse it off my finger from the great beyond, for having such bad taste.'

'The ring would make an interesting contrast with your current outfit. A political statement even, although I have no idea what it would mean. But we've got off topic again ... which wallpaper to use where.' She narrowed her eyes and said, 'Do you want to keep the existing wallpaper anywhere, now that Kreacher can fix it?'

'That's a good idea. We could keep the reception room as it is. Maybe even keep some of the peeling edges, for ambiance.'

'All right. And what about this room? I'm torn between the dragon and the peacock feathers.'

'The dragon is nice,' admitted Harry. 'And he'd make good company for Padfoot.'

'Yes, but I'd love to see the dragon coiling around the dining room. And the peacock feathers will go well with all the wood panelling down here. I think they're a bit too sybaritic for the dining room.'

'What does sybaritic mean? I think Walburga used it once, but I forgot to look it up.'

'It means extravagantly sensual. Like the inside of an expensive brothel.'

'I didn't realise you'd visited any brothels,' he said. She stuck out her tongue at him, and he added, 'Would it be too much for the master bedroom?'

'Yes, but not as bad as the dragon.'

Harry chuckled and said, 'I should have Kreacher install the dragon as one of the options up there, just for laughs.'

'Oh right, you can install more than one in a room. In that case, I say peacock feathers and dragon in the entrance hall, and the dragon and botanical print in the dining room. And you really need to install the star pattern in the drawing room, to go with all the celestial names on the tapestry.'

'That sounds good. And then the botanical print, the peacock feathers, and the dragon in my bedroom. I'll probably mostly use the botanical print up there, since it's the least gloomy. What about the library?'

'The walls are covered almost entirely by bookcases, so you could either have Kreacher repair the existing wallpaper or install the blue damask print.'

'Yes, and the blue damask can go in some of the guest rooms as well.'

Hermione sniggered. 'I can't believe this conversation. We used to have to decide between chasing Horcruxes or Hallows, and now we're trying to figure out which wallpaper to hang in your sybaritic pleasure palace.'

'You seem to be fixated on my private life. Is there something you want to say?'

Hermione sighed, and her expression turned serious. 'I just don't want you to get in too deep. In the six weeks since you joined the Cannons, you've developed quite a reputation.'

'I've always had a reputation for one thing or another. At least this one is fun.'

'Perhaps, but you might want to be more discreet. I heard a pretty awful word used to describe you.' Her eyes flitted downwards, as if she were reluctant to continue.

'What was it?' he asked. She was silent and he persisted. 'Just tell me—I can handle it.'

'Manwhore.'

Harry took a breath. 'I assume they don't mean it in the prostitution sense.'

'No. Just in terms of frequency.'

'It's no one's bloody business,' he grumbled.

'That's why you should keep it private.'

'I can't keep it private! I can't go anywhere without being photographed! I was approached in the Musée d'Orsay, which isn't even a wizarding setting, or in Britain for that matter. If I hold hands with a girl in public, everyone's going to assume I'm shagging her anyway, so what's the point of trying to hide it.'

'People don't assume that about us,' she argued feebly.

'Yes they do! We've told everyone the truth but that's still what they assume. On the bright side, if I'm open about everyone else I've shagged, at least maybe they'll finally believe me about you!'

'Harry, you don't need to shout at me.'

'Why shouldn't I, when you're being such a hypocrite?'

'Why am I a hypocrite?' she snapped.

'I've seen you and Ryan together! You're having sex just as often as I am, only nobody criticises you because you're in a relationship. But guess what, I tried having a relationship—twice—and I was rejected. First by Ginny, and then by Helena.'

Hermione didn't respond, and Harry continued. 'Tell me, what's the appropriate interval between failed relationships? Is three weeks long enough, or will people still call me a manwhore?'

'Harry, I'm sorry. I should never have brought it up.' She was quiet before suddenly digging through her handbag. 'I have something for you, actually—it arrived for you at my parents' office, oddly enough.' She pulled out an envelope and handed it to him.

Puzzled, he opened the envelope, which was addressed only to 'Harry.' But he smiled when he saw the Muggle photographs Penelope had promised to send him. There was a note as well.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm so pleased you actually show up on film, not least because it means you weren't lying to me. I know I'll cherish these keepsakes of a truly unforgettable weekend, and I hope you'll remember me fondly as well._

_Yours always,_

_Penelope_

Harry noticed Hermione was deliberately looking away to give him privacy. 'Do you want to see them?' he asked. 'They're photographs from Penelope, the Muggle I met the weekend before last.'

'Yes, if that's all right.' He showed her the photographs: one was taken in the restaurant by their waiter, and another was taken by a porter in the foyer at Claridge's. And there were two more, taken under a streetlamp by a friendly tourist. One showed Harry with his arm around Penelope, and the other showed them kissing.

'Look at you, in a jacket and tie!' exclaimed Hermione. 'You look like a perfect Muggle gentleman. And she looks lovely as well.'

'She was. Er, is. She's not dead or anything. We had a really nice time together.'

Hermione sighed and said, 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply you're just having meaningless sex with a series of strangers. Obviously there's an emotional connection as well.'

'Not always,' he admitted. 'Not last night. But usually.' He was quiet before adding, 'I have a present for you, actually. From Paris.'

'That wasn't necessary,' said Hermione, but he waved his hand dismissively and pulled out his wand.

'Hang on, let's see how my Summoning Charm is these days. _Accio Hermione's present.'_

Moments later, a slim box flew from the stairwell into Harry's hand, and he proudly handed it to her. 'Oh Harry,' she said, opening the box and folding back the tissue paper. 'This is beautiful!' She pulled out the silk scarf and held it up.

'It's magical,' he said. 'Look at the pattern ... it changes over time.'

'You're right! I love it—thank you. Did you choose it yourself?'

'I narrowed it down to two and let Sophie decide.'

'And she's the one from today's _Prophet_?'

'Yes ... she was brilliant too. She showed me all around Paris, including a flying carpet tour.'

Hermione looked at him fondly. 'You're really very romantic. I hope people can see that, along with everything else.'

Kreacher arrived to tell them dinner was ready, and they entered the dining room and started to eat. There was no further discussion of Harry's loose morals, and he was reluctant to tell her about Light magic. But he told her he wanted to find a general tutor.

'I'm tired of not knowing things I ought to have learnt, either at Hogwarts or in secondary school or sixth form or whatever I'd have attended in the Muggle world. At least I have a good vocabulary, probably thanks to you, but I feel ignorant a lot of the time. I'm hoping a tutor can help.'

'Harry, that's wonderful! Do you have any idea how you'll find one? I can't say I know anything about engaging tutors in the wizarding world.'

'I thought I might start by asking the FLOOF people, since it's a big part of their mission to help werewolves find jobs.'

'Good idea. And it would be a nice way to practise what you preach, as opposed to just telling other people to employ werewolves.'

He nodded. 'I'll have Mrs Thwip owl them about it tomorrow, although she'll probably lecture me because I've fallen behind on my correspondence. That was the problem with disappearing to Paris over the weekend. But how was your weekend?'

'I missed Ryan, of course, but it was productive. And last night I went to Hogwarts.'

'You went to Hogwarts? How did it go? What's the situation with the wards?'

She smiled. 'They're gone. Myrtle did it—the water too. She was even able to travel through the pipe leading to the tree Phineas Nigellus planted, and Hagrid cut it down. With a single axe blow, apparently.'

'They're really gone? Are you sure?'

'Yes, we even scolded Phineas Nigellus's portrait for a long time until he blew us a raspberry and disappeared.'

'Fantastic. And how is Myrtle doing? Will there be an article about her in the _Prophet_, or are their wards still up?'

'The _Prophet_ wards will come down later this week,' said Hermione. 'But I don't know if Myrtle will see the article ... she's been nowhere to be found these last few days.'

Harry nodded. 'I suspected as much. And I certainly hoped it would. We talked about that on our date.'

'Really? And did she seem amenable to moving on?'

'In the end, yes.'

'Minerva said she was delighted with last week's article, and she made certain all the other ghosts saw it. But otherwise she worked incessantly on the wards and apparently went through every pipe twice, just to make sure.'

Their conversation continued over dinner, and Hermione asked if he had special plans for the radio broadcast that night.

'No, other than not to antagonise Malfoy this time. Andromeda lectured me about that. Whether I like it or not, he's a relation now, and he'll also be powerful someday.'

'Yes, and I suppose he's well positioned to play both sides. He can claim he was coerced by his father to take the Mark, but privately he can tell people he did it on purpose.'

'You're right, and I wish I'd realised that sooner. Andromeda is going to try to contain the damage by inviting Narcissa here and showing her the tapestry. Apparently it's a big deal that my name showed up as Black and not Potter—she says it means even Draco can't challenge my legitimacy. She's coming over on Sunday, and Andromeda says the next step is for me to propose meeting with Draco.'

'At Malfoy Manor? Do you think you can handle that?'

'I can't say I'm looking forward to it. I started hyperventilating when I went to Claridge's with Penelope, because the decor is so similar. I suppose I can prepare myself by going there for afternoon tea.'

'Thanks for the warning,' said Hermione. 'I don't anticipate going to Claridge's, but it's good to know I should avoid it for now.'

'Merlin only knows what I'll say to Draco ... I almost wish I could invite a semi-neutral party like Theo Nott.'

'Maybe you can, eventually,' said Hermione.

'You mean go back?'

'If you want to cultivate him as an ally, then yes.'

'Cultivate Draco Malfoy as an ally? Blimey, that sounded even weirder than talking about wallpaper.'

'You're the diplomat,' said Hermione. 'Look at how much the goblins like you now.'

'I suppose you're right. Which is good, since I want to hire one of their electric-power devices again. Isla Preston urged me to host another party, this time for all the Quidditch teams.'

'Will you want music again?'

'Yes, she insisted, but I might just buy my own stereo system. You and Ryan shouldn't have to drive four hours round trip every time I want to play music for guests.'

'He'd probably do it happily, but that's thoughtful of you. I'm sure he'd be glad to help you choose what to get.'

'That's good, since I don't know the first thing about stereos. Though I suppose Dudley could point me in the right direction.'

'I'm certain he could.' She looked at her wristwatch and said, 'When do you need to leave for the broadcast? It's twenty to seven.'

'I should wash up and go.' They walked together to the reception hall fireplace and he said, 'I'm sorry I shouted at you earlier. I know you're only looking out for me.'

'I shouldn't have been sanctimonious like that. People are going to think what they want to, and you should live your life however you choose.'

_For a change,_ thought Harry bitterly, remembering how Dumbledore had manipulated him. Hermione left through the fireplace, and minutes later he did the same.

The crowd at the Leaky Cauldron did a double-take when they saw Harry wearing a Puddlemere jersey. 'You haven't switched teams, have you?' asked a wizard.

Harry smiled and turned around, revealing Phil's surname and number. 'Just showing my support,' he said. 'Routledge is a friend of mine.'

'He took a beating on Saturday, that's for certain. Allie Hobbs is one to watch.'

'Yes, I'll probably be wearing her jersey next,' said Harry.

'Don't stop wearing robes though,' said an older witch. 'I see too many young people running around in trainers and jerseys, looking like hooligans. Thanks to you my grandson has started dressing respectably, except he deliberately messes up his hair,' she added, glaring at him.

'I can't help my hair. And I promise I'll keep wearing robes—tonight is a special exception.'

When he arrived at the shop there was a larger crowd in the street than the previous week, and it looked as if Lee had rigged some kind of magical loudspeaker.

'There he is!' shouted a witch, and the crowd started cheering. People approached him for autographs, but Harry had to wave them away.

'Sorry, I'm running late. But I'll try to sign them afterwards, and if not you can write to me in care of the team.'

'Which team?' asked a wizard. 'Chudley or Puddlemere?'

'Chudley,' said Harry, turning around. 'This is just a nod to Phil Routledge.'

George arrived at the door and whisked him inside. 'Glad you made it, Harry.' He looked at his jersey and said, 'Don't tell me you've switched teams.'

'No, I'm just wearing Phil Routledge's jersey for a lark.'

'Brilliant, you've started another trend. Come on, to the booth with you.'

George ushered Harry through the crowd and into the radio booth where Lee was waiting. After asking the same question as George, Lee said, 'Is there anything new that's off limits this week?'

'I don't know. What do you have in mind?'

'Let's see... there's the girl you were with in Paris.'

'That's fine.'

'Are you still seeing her, long distance?'

'No, it was just for the weekend.'

'Excellent, our female listeners will be delighted. How about your date with Moaning Myrtle.'

'Also fine, but please refer to her as Myrtle.'

'All right. What about Draco Malfoy?'

'Off limits. I should never have sent that Patronus.'

'Are you serious?' said George. 'That was hilarious! And everyone wants to see Prongs again.'

'I'm happy to generate Prongs and send him on another mission—in fact I have a destination in mind—but I won't send him to Malfoy Manor again.'

'Fine,' said Lee. 'We have a new idea for the Walburga segment, but I'd rather surprise you with it. Is that all right?'

'Yes, that's fine. Worst case scenario we can use the delay.'

'Can we do the same with the listener post segment? We've received quite a few questions for you, but again, I'd rather keep the surprise.'

'All right, but I mightn't answer all of them.'

'That's fine—a refusal is equally entertaining. Do you need to make another announcement about your relations? Asking people not to attack them?'

'The attacks stopped last Wednesday. But I'd like to thank everyone for respecting my wishes. We can get that out of the way at the start if you like.'

'Yes, all right,' said Lee. 'Do you want to talk about your Wizengamot appearance tomorrow?'

'No, I don't want to jeopardise the outcome. Anything else?'

George and Lee exchanged glances. 'What about your reputation?' asked George. 'Regarding witches.'

'You've never held back before. Why are you asking now?'

'My dad insisted I ask,' admitted George. 'I think Mum pushed him into it.'

'Why is it any of their business?' asked Harry, annoyed.

'They still see you as family. And I think they feel responsible somehow, because of Ginny.'

'Since when has Ginny done anything on account of your parents?' scowled Harry. 'That was between her and me, and my personal life doesn't have anything to do with your parents. And in answer to your question, go ahead and take the piss. People are going to jump to conclusions about me anyway, so you might as well have fun with it.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said Lee, looking relieved. 'As if Molly and Arthur Weasley were in a position to lecture someone about bedroom shenanigans.'

'They're in all sorts of positions, based on the evidence,' said Harry, earning a grimace from George.

'Are you ready for your Veritaserum?' asked George, brandishing a water glass.

'Yes, why not,' said Harry, taking a sip. 'Just don't ask me why we robbed Gringotts.'

'Understood. One quick question—why did you rob Gringotts?'

'We were looking for the Philosopher's Stone. For old times' sake.'

'Excellent. I can see why you wanted to keep that a secret.'

'Thirty seconds,' said Lee. They chatted a little longer until Lee held up his fingers and counted down.

'Good evening, and welcome to another instalment of Weasley's Wizard Wireless. First I'd like to acknowledge the absolutely tremendous crowd here at the shop. Our listeners can't see them, but they've squeezed themselves into every square inch of floor space, and I actually see a few people hanging in mid-air atop brooms. There's also an overflow crowd in Diagon Alley, and they're having a proper party out there.' Harry could see the crowd cheering wildly.

'I'm certain they're all here to gaze upon the majestic painted form of our patroness, Lady Walburga Black, and not at all because of our other guest, who's just some tosser wearing a Puddlemere jersey. I know I have his name written down here somewhere.' Lee noisily shuffled some papers before saying, 'Here it is. Please welcome Harry Popper. I'm sorry– Potter.'

Lee motioned for them to stay quiet until some of the cheering had died down, and George spoke. 'Harry, you're looking a bit different this week. In fact, I'm having trouble believing it's actually you, and I imagine our audience is equally concerned. Would you be so kind as to verify your identity with your Patronus?'

'I'd be glad to,' said Harry, standing up. _'Expecto Patronum!'_

The crowd parted as Prongs sprang from his wand, and the glowing stag turned expectantly towards Harry.

'Prongs, I want you to deliver this message to a pair of very special four-year-olds named Kate and Liza Barrowmaker.' In a silly voice he said, 'Good evening, ladies! It's wonderful to see you again. I hope you'll go to sleep promptly tonight and give your mum and dad privacy until morning. That means no running into their bedroom after bedtime, unless there's a real problem—and you're definitely old enough to know the difference between a real problem and a pretend one. Good night, and sweet dreams!'

Prongs leapt forth and vanished, and the crowd cheered. Lee said, 'I'm happy to report to our radio audience that Harry has successfully proven his identity. Which brings us to the question on the minds of our in-store audience: why the hell are you wearing a Puddlemere jersey? Have you switched teams?'

'I have not. I'm still a Cannon and have no intention of changing that. But if you look at the back of the jersey I'm wearing you'll see I'm paying homage.' He stood and turned around.

'Aha,' said Lee. 'The back of Harry's jersey reveals a number 8 and the name Routledge, referring to Puddlemere Seeker Phil Routledge. So this is a tribute?'

'It is. Phil's a friend of mine, and I wanted to tell the world what a high opinion I have of him. Just because we're rivals on the pitch, that doesn't mean we can't support each other off of it.'

'What a tremendous show of sportsmanship,' said Lee. 'Now Harry, before we continue, I know there's some serious business you'd like to get out of the way.'

'Yes. I'd like to thank everyone for stopping the attacks on my relations. The wards and protections are still in place, and always will be, but I'm hugely relieved the attacks have stopped. And I'm grateful to Lee and George for giving me a platform.'

'We're glad to provide it,' said Lee. 'And I should point out that end of the attacks on Harry's relations meant he was able to leave town for a few days. Would you like to tell us more about that, Harry?'

'Yes. I left town for a few days.'

'That wasn't more,' said George pointedly.

'You're right,' said Harry. 'I went to Paris. It was the first time I'd ever left Britain.'

'And did you enjoy her? I mean it?' asked Lee.

'Yes to both.'

'How did you meet her? I assume she's French?'

'Yes, her name's Sophie and she's friends with Laetitia, the model I was photographed with two weeks ago.'

'And Sophie's a model as well?'

'Yes. And a lovely person.'

'And now the question at least half our audience is dying to know the answer to: Are you and she now an item? Should we expect to see you two running around London together?'

'No, it was just for the weekend. She told me about an old American film, in which the couple has a splendid love affair in Paris but is forced apart by circumstances. The line is, _"We'll always have Paris."_ That's what she said to me, just before that photograph was taken at the portkey terminal.'

'I don't know about our listeners at home,' said Lee, 'but I see some of our in-store audience members dabbing their eyes right now. I daresay you're more romantic than most people realise ... which brings us to our next segment! George, please tell Harry what we'd like for him to do.'

'Thank you, Lee. This is a new twist on an old favourite, which we're calling "Marry me, Walburga!" It's quite simple, really—Harry, we want you to propose marriage to Walburga Black.'

'And before you protest,' said Lee, 'we looked up the relevant laws and confirmed there's no prohibition against marrying your adopted grandmother. In fact, the Blacks had a particular fondness for what might delicately be called "intrafamilial matrimony."'

'In other words, inbreeding,' said George.

'And we couldn't find any laws prohibiting marriage between a wizard and a portrait,' added Lee. 'So Harry, would do us the great honour of proposing to Lady Walburga Black?'

'As much as I'd like to make her my own, I'm afraid I can't,' said Harry.

George looked heartbroken. 'But why? Don't tell me you're already married!'

'No, I'm not. But I'm under strict orders not to propose to anyone until I turn twenty-one.'

'Strict orders?' said Lee. 'From whom?'

'I shan't say.'

'It was Sirius, wasn't it?' said George. 'That sounds like something he'd do.'

'It was not. I'm certain Sirius would have been overjoyed if I'd married his late mother's portrait.'

Lee looked at Harry appraisingly. 'Would you be willing to tell us why you're under these orders?'

Harry took a long breath before answering. 'It was recommended that I grow up a bit before entering a lifelong commitment. And I'm inclined to agree. The fact is, I fall in love too easily, and I probably shouldn't make any hasty decisions. If it's the right match, it'll keep for another couple of years.'

'George, is it my imagination, or did some of the witches in the audience just faint from romantic overload?' asked Lee.

'It's not your imagination. Harry Potter just declared himself unavailable for matrimony but easily conquered by Cupid's arrow, which nearly made me swoon.' He paused and added, 'You know, we'd hoped to have Harry talk with Walburga, but I feel like we ought to skip to another segment. Lee, do you agree?'

'I do. So allow me to introduce a new feature on Weasley's Wizard Wireless: listener post. You won't be surprised to learn we've received quite a few letters in response to our radio programme, nearly all of which are directed towards our illustrious guest. This conversation has touched on two major themes in our listener post, so we'll dive right in.' Lee rifled through a stack of papers and pulled out a letter. '"_Dear Harry,_"' he read. '"_My girlfriends and I are dying to know whether you consider yourself likely to marry, or if you plan to remain a bachelor. Yours sincerely, Jeanine M_." Harry, I think you already answered that, but would you care to repeat it for anyone who may have nodded off?'

'Jeanine, I'm glad you asked,' said Harry. 'There seems to be a misconception that I'm only interested in cheap encounters, but that's not true. I would very much like to marry and raise a family one day. But not yet.'

'Fantastic,' said Lee. 'And this brings us to a related question, which we heard from multiple letter-writers: Do you have a type?'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'Women. Not that there's anything wrong with men, or the men who love them, but I don't happen to swing that way.'

'Now there's a revelation!' declared George. 'You've undoubtedly disappointed a segment of our audience, but it's best to clear the air. Could you tell us a little more about your type? I know you've been accused of favouring redheads.'

'I think that was a coincidence more than anything. My first girlfriend, back at Hogwarts, had black hair and looked nothing like my mother. And Sophie has brown hair, as did the Muggle from the weekend before last. It's possible a pattern will emerge over time, but I haven't found it yet.'

'Would you say you're currently in the data-gathering phase?' asked Lee.

'Do you mean, am I currently meeting as many women as possible in the hopes of identifying a trend?'

'I might have used a verb other than "meeting," but yes.'

'My answer is that data-gathering is very low on my list of priorities.'

'That's a shame,' said George. 'I can just imagine the line you'd use on your quarry. "Excuse me, miss, but I'm collecting data for a large-scale research project. Would you mind completing a particularly exhaustive survey in my enormous bed? In recompense I can offer you either a breakfast I cook myself or an elf-made breakfast, also in my enormous bed."'

'Surely that's not all they're getting in recompense,' said Lee, prompting Harry to grin roguishly. 'Our guest isn't answering, but his expression speaks volumes.'

'I'm sorry, I have to laugh because you're proving a point Sophie made last weekend.'

'And what point is that?'

'That Anglo-Saxons—which is a blanket term French people use for the British and North Americans, regardless of ethnicity—are simultaneously uptight and obsessed with sex.'

'Interesting,' replied George. 'And would you care to explain how we've proven her point?'

'I'd be glad to. From what I could tell, sex isn't that big a deal in France. Make no mistake—they're doing it, and they're rather public when it comes to foreplay, but they don't feel the need to talk about it or speculate about what other people are up to.'

'So you're saying that the moral outrage over your new nocturnal habits is uniquely British, or Anglo-Saxon, rather?'

'Yes, and I hate to break it to you, but these aren't new nocturnal habits. I dated Ginny for a solid year after the war ended, and we were every bit as active as I am now, if not more so.'

George scowled at him. 'Potter, it's only out of long years of friendship and my wager on the Cannons' upcoming match that I'm not hexing your bits off right now.'

'I appreciate that. But my point is that nobody criticised me back then for being sex-mad. On the contrary, everyone approved that I was on schedule to get married before my twentieth birthday. But then Ginny decided we weren't suited to one another, and now my choice is either to rush into another serious relationship or investigate "charms for the single wizard," as they're euphemistically called.'

'Or just shag whoever you like and be criticised for it,' said Lee.

'Exactly. And don't tell me I should be more discreet, because that's not an option. I was trying to be discreet the night George and I had dinner at a pub and I joked about quitting the Ministry and joining the Cannons—we'd used privacy charms and everything—but during the ten seconds the charms were down, someone overheard us and told the _Prophet_ about it. So unless I want to only date Muggles, which requires more lying than I'm comfortable with, or drink Polyjuice Potion whenever I leave the house, my private life is going to be on public display.'

'Clearly we've touched a raw nerve,' said George. 'But I feel compelled to point out that most people who talk about your private life don't seem to disapprove of it—I certainly don't, now that my sister is no longer involved. Quite the opposite ... they're pleased you're having a good time, and they even admire it, albeit in a sexist "boys will be boys" way.'

'That's what I've observed as well,' said Lee. 'The only thing I'd add is that there's a certain amount of envy directed your way.'

Harry groaned. 'Don't get me started on envy. Lately I've heard myself described as "the most envied wizard in Britain," or some variant thereof, and I have to roll my eyes. I mean yes, I can understand why someone might want to be a league Seeker or own a townhouse, but in my case that's not all you get. You also get the dead parents and the crap childhood and years of being targeted by Voldemort,' he said hotly. 'You get a godfather who was stuck in Azkaban for more than a decade and wasn't exonerated until after he died. A death I witnessed, by the way. And don't forget the bloody nightmares.'

Lee pressed his finger to the broadcast delay rune. 'You sound agitated. Do you want to broadcast all that?' he asked.

'No, censor it.' Harry took a long sip of water and added, 'Sorry, I didn't get enough sleep last night. Thanks for stopping me.'

Lee performed the wand movements to restart the broadcast. 'I apologise to our audience at home, who just missed an epic rant on the part of our guest. His excuse was that he didn't get enough sleep last night—a mystery we'll leave as an exercise for the listener. But perhaps we should read another letter.' He flipped through the letters and read, '_Dear Harry, I am fifteen years old and have never had a girlfriend. Do you have any advice on getting a girl to like me? Unfortunately I'm not a good flyer or rich or anything like that. Sincerely, M.T._'

Harry thought for a moment before answering. 'First off, I didn't have a girlfriend until I was fifteen, and frankly it was a failed mess of a non-relationship, so it barely even counts. And I apologise if she's listening, but I know she'd agree. That said, I think confidence is more important for attracting witches than any of the things you mentioned. The reason she and I got together was because I'd begun teaching defensive magic—secretly, since our real professor was useless—and it made me a lot more confident. I'm certain there's something you're good at, like Potions, or drawing, and so you should try generating confidence from that.'

He continued, 'But let's face it, we're all shallow, and it's worth trying to look good as well. I knew a fellow who had a crush on a girl for years but he had seriously greasy hair and never bothered finding a decent shampoo. I honestly have no idea why he never made the effort, and it's too late to ask, but either he expected her not to care what he looked like—even though part of why he liked her was that she was pretty—or he had so little self-confidence that he didn't see the point of fixing something that was clearly under his control.

'I should add that nothing is more deadly to self-confidence than pining over someone who doesn't like you back. So if there's a specific girl you like but she's not interested, just accept it and find someone else. I've been rejected too, most notably by George's sister, and yes, I brooded about it for a while. I can guarantee I wouldn't be very confident right now if I were still desperately trying to get Ginny back, but fortunately my teammates helped me move forward.'

'And by "move forward,"' said Lee, 'you mean move back and forth repeatedly.'

'Merlin, I hope so,' said George. 'If all he does is move forward a single time, it's no wonder he can't keep a girl interested.'

Harry glared at them and Lee said, 'Sorry mate, we're Anglo-Saxon! Though I can't say I ever thought the term could apply to me.'

'And our listeners are Anglo-Saxon as well, unless they're also tuning in from across the Channel,' said George.

'They are,' said Harry. 'And I should say hello to the crowd at Merlin's Quaffle in Paris. Sophie dragged me into a British pub on the Îlot Gicale—that's the magical district—and I met a bunch of expats.'

'Not exiled Death Eaters, I hope?' said George. 'I suppose not, if you've returned in one piece.'

'No, they were very friendly. A lot of them moved abroad during one of the wars, but others left in search of better opportunities, due to the rampant favouritism in Britain towards Hogwarts alumni.'

'Yes, about that,' said Lee. 'We'd like to hear more about your date with Myrtle Warren, the Hogwarts ghost. My first question is whether you recommend dating ghosts, particularly to young witches or wizards hoping to develop confidence.'

'I do not. But I do recommend being nice to ghosts, particularly if they're really suffering. A lot of them died under tragic circumstances, and they may be stuck reliving that trauma again and again. I wish I'd been nicer to Myrtle when I was at Hogwarts, but at least I was able to listen to her properly last week.'

'Do you know whether she was successful at removing the interfering wards?' asked Lee.

'She was. Hermione went to Hogwarts last night and says they're completely gone. Myrtle was incredibly thorough, and she deserves to be remembered as a heroine.'

'And the wards are also gone from the Ministry, and presumably from the _Prophet_ as well,' noted George.

'The _Prophet_ will be later this week,' said Harry. 'But I think the removal of the wards is just the start.'

'What are you suggesting?' asked Lee.

'An active effort to give schools other than Hogwarts the credit they deserve. The sad truth is that I got a seriously patchy education at Hogwarts. Admittedly I dropped out a year early, and of course things have improved significantly under Professor McGonagall, but otherwise its only unique merit is that it's the oldest wizarding school in Britain.'

'And that it turned out Voldemort,' said George. 'They can never take that away from us.'

'You're right,' said Harry. 'They should really change the school motto to reflect that.'

'I'm not sure our non-Hogwarts listeners want to hear us prattling on about the school they've been hearing about their entire lives,' observed Lee. 'As the resident Charms expert at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, I'm wondering whether we might ward the shop to make people forget about Hogwarts.'

A large portion of the audience began cheering and nodding enthusiastically. 'That's an interesting proposition,' said George. 'I like it in theory, but it might interfere with our owl order business. We can't very well address parcels to "Beauxbatons, or somewhere in North America."'

'You're right,' said Lee. 'But perhaps we could ward the broadcast booth. Or experiment with a different ward every week, just to see what happens.'

'I like it,' said George. 'Can you ward the booth one week to make us forget who Harry Potter is?'

'That sounds alarming,' said Harry. 'I'm not sure how I'd feel about forgetting my own name. Lockhart threatened to Obliviate me, back in the Chamber of Secrets, and he very nearly succeeded.'

'It needn't be permanent,' said Lee. 'And perhaps it would give you some much-needed perspective. It might also deflate that ego of yours, at least temporarily. After all, it must be fatiguing to look in the mirror every morning and think, "Great Godric, there's the bloke who defeated Voldemort! And didn't he also lead the Chudley Cannons to their longest winning streak since Grindelwald's War? And what's this? Why it's some new and gorgeous witch in my bed. Tra la la!"'

Harry scowled at Lee, which drew roars of laughter from the audience. 'Folks, you can't see the face Harry is making at Lee, but we've clearly struck another nerve. I'm certain Harry won't come back if we keep abusing him like this.'

'No, I'll come back,' he said. 'I always have a great time here, and of course I can't resist Walburga. Might I say hello?'

'Of course,' cried Lee. He tapped the portrait with his wand and said, 'Excuse me, Mrs Black, your old friend Harry has come to see you.'

'_The debauched half-blood returns!'_ she shrieked. _'If you had any decency, you'd renounce your Mudblood bitch of a mother and settle down with a pure-blood and sire a family.'_

'Don't call my mother a bitch, you painted cow,' snapped Harry.

'Relax, I think she was using the "female dog" meaning of the word,' said George. 'You mustn't take it personally.'

'Fine, I'll let it pass,' grumbled Harry. 'But Walburga, are you saying I still have a chance to redeem myself, if I disavow my mother and marry a pure-blood?'

'_As much as it disgusts me to admit it, yes,'_ she said with a glower.

'I can't believe it,' said Harry. 'This is the most civil thing you've ever said to me. But why would a pure-blood witch want to associate herself with the degenerate son of a blood-traitor?'

'_Because you bear the sacred name of my fathers,'_ she spat.

Harry's eyebrows shot up. _What does she know?_ he wondered.

'Does he?' asked George. 'Last I saw, the name on the back of his Quidditch costume was Potter.'

'Actually it's Routledge,' replied Harry. 'But George is right, my name is Potter, not Black.'

'_You can't deny the family magic,' _she said ominously. _'Although it offends me to the core, you are the head of House Black. And it's your highest duty to carry on the family line.'_

'I'm sorry, but you're going to have to wait several years at least. I'm under strict orders to engage exclusively in premarital sex until I'm twenty one.'

George looked at him sceptically. 'I think you've conveniently reworded your two-year ban on proposing marriage.'

'_Who dares issue orders to the head of House Black!' _shrieked Walburga.

'Besides yourself?' asked Lee.

'That's none of your business,' retorted Harry, tapping the portrait with his wand.

There was a brief silence until George said, 'That was a surprising plot twist.'

'Yes, she's never been that nice to me before,' said Harry. 'For a moment it was almost like having a real mum.'

'The shrieking is certainly accurate,' said George. 'But tell me, Harry—are you considering changing your name?'

'I'm not prepared to say,' he replied, knowing he'd already decided.

'Fascinating,' said Lee. 'When the time comes, I hope you'll consider making the announcement on our programme.'

'That all depends on how the booth is warded,' said Harry. 'It won't be much of announcement if I can't remember what I'm changing it from. But on another topic, I notice you haven't mentioned a store discount this week. Did I fail to trigger it? If so, I'm very sorry.'

'I'm afraid you did,' said George. 'It had to do with the flowers you selected, but you aren't wearing any.'

'No, they didn't go with the jersey, and there's no buttonhole.'

'I hope your sole sponsor isn't too disappointed,' said Lee.

'Actually, they're not my sole sponsor anymore. Due to a mishap involving my house-elf, I now endorse Wendell and Sons, a home decor shop on Diagon Alley.'

'A mishap involving your house-elf?' asked George. 'Does this mean your endorsement is some form of restitution?'

'Not quite, but almost. Kreacher went overboard installing wallpaper at my house while I was away, and I agreed to repay the shop with an endorsement. Fortunately, I'm happy with the wallpaper he chose, and it's a very nice shop.'

'Harry, in a short time you've truly redefined wizarding masculinity,' said Lee. 'Will you endorse a perfumer next?'

'No, perfumes are foppish. Flowers should be sufficient.'

'What about aftershave?' asked George. 'You run the risk of getting Howlers for a blanket denunciation like that.'

'Oh right, aftershave. I can't say I bother with it—my razor has built-in Soothing charms. I don't object to other wizards wearing it, but for Merlin's sake take a shower first.'

'Words to live by,' said George. 'I daresay that would have helped your greasy-haired friend, although I'm certain I made the same suggestion numerous times, including once in a fireworks display.'

'Why don't I remember that?' asked Harry.

'Good question. I think we did it to cheer everyone up after some calamity, which means you were probably in the hospital wing. You should really have a commemorative plaque there.'

'They could name that charmed bedpan after you,' suggested Lee. 'You know—the one that automatically Vanishes the contents.'

'I remember it well,' said Harry. 'But I'd just as soon not have it named after me.'

'Fine, but this is a missed opportunity to bring glory to the Potter name. Or the Black name, if you prefer,' said George.

'Enough about my name,' grumbled Harry. 'Maybe you should make me forget it next week.'

'So you'll return next week?' asked Lee. 'In spite of our juvenile and typically Anglo-Saxon obsession with your private life?'

'Yes, and I'll wear flowers as well.'

'Brilliant!' said George. 'In the meantime, our listeners can receive a ten percent discount through Sunday by batting their eyes at the sales clerk and saying "We'll always have Paris."'

Lee said, 'And Harry, thanks as always for joining us, and good luck with that research survey we discussed earlier.'

'Cheers, see you next time.'

Harry let himself out of the booth and walked through the cheering crowd towards the exit. As promised, he spent a while signing autographs, but to his disappointment Lydia Travers wasn't there. _It's just as well she can't see me like this_, he thought, looking down at his Puddlemere jersey. It was clear several of the autograph seekers didn't mind it, but Harry politely ignored their advances and went home for an unaccompanied night's sleep.


	51. Chapter 51

Nobody was there to comfort Harry when he woke from a nightmare early Wednesday morning. Unlike his usual Voldemort-themed nightmares, this one was about the Wizengamot, and it wove together elements from Harry's own experiences there and the memories he'd seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve.

Harry had appeared at the Wizengamot multiple times the previous summer. He'd testified on behalf of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, and also on behalf of Sirius in the posthumous trial that exonerated him. He testified against Dolores Umbridge and the Snatchers who had captured him, but other than a private deposition about Lucius Malfoy there had been no need for him to testify against the inner circle Death Eaters. Strictly speaking, Harry hadn't been required at Umbridge's trial, since there were plenty of other witnesses, but Hermione had urged him to testify against the former Hogwarts High Inquisitor to get what she called 'closure.'

The trial had been particularly unpleasant. Nobody had testified on Umbridge's behalf, and she addressed the court with a long and vitriolic diatribe against Muggleborns, arguing that she'd been trying to protect wizardkind by rooting out the Mudblood menace. She looked ghastly after a month in Azkaban, which hadn't yet been cleared of Dementors, and her speech was repetitive and occasionally incoherent. At the end she addressed Harry directly: 'You unnatural, lying, vicious brat ... your Mudblood mother should have been killed by Fiendfyre for stealing the magic of a true-born wizard. And you, the so-called Saviour of the Wizarding World, are a filthy, lying abomination. Because only an abomination—a freak—could survive the Dark Lord's Killing Curse … not once but twice! Dementors, take his soul! I command you, rid the world of Harry Potter!' She was immediately silenced, and twenty minutes later, when she was sentenced to life in Azkaban, she spat in Harry's direction.

He'd felt no pleasure or even relief when she was sentenced and dragged away. He only felt weary from weeks of funerals and trials, and from exhausting Auror training sessions. Dolores Umbridge had been a waste of a human being and a waste of magic, and it would have been better for everyone if she'd never been born. It disturbed him deeply that she would probably live for decades but never be free from her own hideous thoughts. That evening he'd told Ginny about the trial, lying on the sofa with his head in her lap as she rubbed his aching brow and scalp.

'You can't let her into your head like that,' Ginny told him. 'You only just got Voldemort out, and he never belonged there in the first place.' She lovingly dried his tears, and that night she wrapped her body around his and stroked him gently until he fell asleep.

When he woke from his nightmare that morning, more than a year later, he reached for her groggily. 'Ginny,' he moaned, fruitlessly extending his hand along the smooth surface of his bed. It took him half a minute to remember that Ginny was long gone, and that a series of others had taken her place.

In his dream, he'd alternated between the chair where he'd sat as a defendant during his own trial for underage magic and the booth from which he'd given testimony. He kept seeing the leering, scornful faces of the Wizengamot members, with cruel eyes and too many teeth, and sharp claws emerging from the ends of their voluminous sleeves.

'You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?' announced the voice of a speaker he couldn't see.

He knew that wasn't right, but he couldn't identify the error. Speaking more sternly, the voice repeated, 'You are Harry James Black, of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Little Whinging, Surrey?'

That also seemed wrong, but he nodded in agreement.

'The accused will speak when addressed!' ordered Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic.

'Yes,' replied Harry, 'I'm Sirius Orion Black of number four, Grimmauld Place.' He looked down and saw gaunt, waxy-looking arms, held in place by shackles.

From the witness booth he described how Sirius had tortured him with a blood quill and mistreated his own house-elf. 'And then he lured Snivellus Snape to the Shrieking Shack during the full moon! Sirius Black is an abomination who deserves the Dementor's Kiss!'

Two Dementors approached his chair, and Harry saw his own arms shackled to it. 'This is a mistake! _Expecto Patronum!' _he cried desperately, and a glowing silver ferret leapt from his hawthorn wand. But the ferret ran away and went to protect Sirius, who was wearing a funny hat and sitting next to Lucius Malfoy.

The Dementors removed their hoods, and for a moment they were Ginny and Helena, their red and reddish hair shining. Harry felt a surge of desire but couldn't decide who to kiss, and in his hesitation they turned back into Dementors and leaned towards him with rotting lips.

Awake, he cried for Ginny, and then for Helena and Sophie. '_Ma chère_,' he mumbled hopelessly, knowing there was nobody to soothe him.

And then, unexpectedly, he felt the glow of accidental Light magic. 'Oh god, yes,' he exhaled, overcome by transcendent bliss. He opened his eyes and saw soft light illuminating the canopy above, and he remained in that state for some time before falling back asleep. When he awoke it was morning and time to get up.

After showering, he made a sincere attempt to comb his hair, in spite of Benedict Thimble's instruction not to, but it made no difference. His new robes and shoes, however, looked terribly smart, and Harry eagerly anticipated the uproar he would cause. _Snape was right, _he admitted to himself. _I do like attention. _

After breakfast, he travelled by Floo to the Ministry and strode confidently towards the lifts. He avoided eye contact but could see his robes were attracting stares, both from Ministry employees and people wearing traditional Wizengamot robes. In the lift he heard whispers before an older witch finally said, 'They won't let you in, dressed like that.'

'Yes they will,' replied Harry. 'These are fully compliant with the Wizengamot by-laws. The traditional robes are just that—a tradition. Nothing more.'

A young wizard, who was wearing fitted black robes and flowers, chuckled and said, 'Bloody brilliant. And to think, those poor bastards have been dressed like ottoman footstools for hundreds of years.'

'I hope you're right,' said the witch ominously before exiting at her floor.

When Harry arrived at the entrance to the main Wizengamot chamber, both Victor and Sandra were waiting for him. 'Excellent, you're early,' said the solicitor. 'Did you get enough sleep?'

Harry tried to ignore their knowing expressions. 'Yes, thank you.'

'And do you have the text, or do you need another copy?' asked Sandra.

'I have it right here,' he said, patting his pocket.

Sandra leaned towards him and said, 'I hope the robes weren't a miscalculation, but I'm glad you wore them. Someone needed to put an end to those tea cosies everyone wears.'

'You should demand kickbacks or free merchandise from all the wizarding tailors, in thanks for the new orders they'll get in the next few days,' joked Victor quietly.

'Should we enter?' asked Harry.

'Yes. Sandra and I will sit in the gallery, and the Proctor will lead you to your seat. If they try to make you sit with the lords, tell them you aren't invoking lordly privilege and that a regular seat is fine.'

Just then an elderly wizard wearing traditional Wizengamot robes and a lord's hat approached. He looked critically at Harry, and although he didn't sneer, he raised one fluffy grey eyebrow. His companion opened the door for him, and after the lord passed through, Harry held the door for Victor and Sandra.

When they entered, Victor and Sandra walked directly to the gallery, and Harry was approached by a middle-aged witch wearing special black-trimmed robes. She registered surprise upon seeing Harry's outfit and smiled mischievously.

'I see you consulted the by-laws, Mr Potter,' she said, with a gleam in her eye.

'The Cannons legal department did, yes.'

She leaned towards him and whispered, 'I tried owling you an anonymous tip when I learnt you were coming, but apparently your home address is protected.'

'That was very thoughtful,' he said warmly. 'Next time you can send it to me in care of the team.'

'Noted. Now let's get you seated. Are you invoking lordly privilege this morning?'

'No, it's just a standard complaint.'

'May I assume then that you'd rather not sit amongst your fellow lords? There's a special seat in front with the Black family crest.'

'I realise I'm here as a Black and not a Potter,' said Harry, 'but I'd much rather sit with the commoners, so to speak.'

'Excellent, right this way.' She led him partway around the chamber to a seat in the second row. He scanned the gallery for Victor and Sandra, and when he saw them he smiled and Sandra waved at him. But his smile vanished when he noticed Rita Skeeter, seated next to someone he recognised as a photographer, although he didn't have a camera visible.

_Photographs aren't permitted during sessions,_ Harry recalled. He supposed the photographer might take pictures before or after the session, but something told Harry he was going to try to take a photograph during, even though he'd surely be kicked out.

_Do they know something I don't? _he thought with a hint of paranoia. It was possible the photographer only wanted a picture of Harry making his complaint, in which case he could relax once it was taken. But if he spoke without being photographed, that meant something was afoot.

It was still ten minutes before the session was to begin, and Harry did his best to relax. Some of his neighbours introduced themselves, and he interacted amiably with them, but there were also a lot of whispers and disapproving glances. He saw a handful of young witches and wizards among the Wizengamot members, and he assumed they'd lost one or both parents during the war. His heart automatically went out to them, and he felt the early stirrings of Light magic, but he clamped down hard on it. The last thing he needed was to start glowing in the dark and gloomy chamber.

He peeked at the lords' section and saw they were eyeing him with scorn and what he feared was a note of triumph. _They probably think I'm dressed wrong,_ he told himself, hoping it was true. He also looked at the Chief Warlock, who'd been appointed immediately after the war. Tiberius Sledge was a pure-blood and notably conservative, but he'd opposed Voldemort vocally enough that he was considered a good compromise as Chief Warlock. Harry had found him condescending the few times they'd met, but perhaps that was to be expected from someone at least fifty years his senior.

At nine o'clock, one of the lords struck a small gong, and Chief Warlock Sledge called the chamber into session. Sandra had told Harry that this might be when he'd be reprimanded for inappropriate dress, and she was right.

'Mr Potter,' said Sledge, 'I'm afraid you can't participate in today's session without wearing the proper robes. You may stay in the gallery, if you wish, but you won't be able to make your complaint until you're suitably clothed.'

Harry rose and responded as Sandra had instructed him. 'Chief Warlock, I beg to differ. My adviser consulted the Wizengamot by-laws and verified the requirements for how voting members need to dress. I can assure you that my outfit meets all the requirements.'

'But you're not wearing a hat,' sputtered an elderly wizard, who was wearing the triangular hat worn by non-lords.

'The hat's not required,' said Harry. 'It's only a tradition.'

The Chief Warlock turned to the Proctor who'd greeted Harry that morning. 'Is this true?' he asked sharply.

She was holding a large book, which Harry recognised as the one Sandra had consulted. 'Yes, your honour. Mr Potter is dressed in full compliance with the chamber by-laws. All that's required is the colour of the robes, and the matching trim and necktie. There aren't any rules about cut, style, or wearing a hat.'

There was a quiet explosion of whispers, and at least a dozen witches and wizards immediately removed their hats, including everyone near Harry's age. Harry stifled a smirk as some of them ran their fingers through their hair to remove all traces of hat-head, and he noticed that one of the young wizards deliberately messed up his otherwise docile hair.

'I stand corrected,' said the Chief Warlock stiffly. 'You may be seated, Mr Potter.'

Harry sat down, pleased to have got through that part. But he was concerned that the photographer hadn't taken his picture, even though it had been a good opportunity. _Maybe he's waiting for me to make the complaint,_ he hoped.

The next half hour was filled with a mix of Wizengamot business and ceremonial drivel, including several more bangs on the gong. A witch seated near him was given the opportunity to make a complaint, as Harry planned to do, and he observed the proceedings with interest. She requested a full hearing about a property dispute, and the entire chamber voted to allow it. The hearing was scheduled for the next session, and the witch smiled and returned to her seat.

_That looked easy,_ thought Harry optimistically. It matched what Sandra had described as the 'best case scenario,' and he hoped his complaint would go as smoothly. But there were butterflies in his stomach when the court secretary called his name.

'Harry Potter, please rise and describe your complaint,' said the secretary.

Harry stood and was about to speak when he was interrupted by the lord he'd seen at the doorway that morning. 'Chief Warlock Sledge, I request to be heard.'

'Yes, Lord Wynter,' said Sledge, 'that is your privilege.'

Lord Wynter stood slowly from his ornamented seat and cleared his throat. 'Mr Potter,' he said carefully, as though questioning whether that were Harry's real name, 'am I to understand you're forgoing lordly privilege for this complaint?'

'That's correct,' said Harry in a clear voice. _Now would be a great time to take that photograph,_ he thought nervously.

'That is certainly your right,' acknowledged Lord Wynter. 'However, the magic of the chamber requires that you remove your family ring to do so.'

Harry reflexively touched his left middle finger, even though the ring was hidden and he couldn't feel it there. 'I can't. It's charmed to be unremovable unless I relinquish my claim as Head of House.'

'Oh dear,' said Lord Wynter with mock concern. 'Then I'm afraid you'll need to take your seat with the lords and ladies of the Wizengamot.'

Harry glanced at the Proctor, who nodded soberly. He looked defiantly at Lord Wynter but dutifully walked across the chamber floor towards the seat with the Black family crest. _I never could have seen the crest from this far away before I had my vision fixed,_ he thought absently.

There was chatter throughout the chamber as he walked, and it only quietened with another bang of the gong. Harry was about to enter the lords' section when he found his way was magically barred. 'I can't enter,' he said, not sure whether this was a good or bad development.

'Yes,' replied Lord Wynter. 'You'll need a hat.'

Before Harry could explain that he didn't have one, he felt a hat magically appear on his head, compressing his hair. He scowled and was about to reach up to feel it when he heard the snap of a camera.

'Eject him!' cried the court secretary, and two guards apprehended the photographer and escorted him from the chamber at wandpoint. Rita Skeeter, however, remained, and she grinned cheekily at Harry. _Very funny,_ he thought. _I still look better in these robes than any of these corpses do in their upholstery._

Once hatted, Harry was able to enter the lords' section, and he felt the Black family seat welcome him as he sat down. The seat became more comfortable, moulding itself to his body, and Harry felt the ring become visible on his finger. He didn't bother trying to conceal it, though, knowing instinctively the charm wouldn't work.

Lord Wynter, who was watching Harry with amusement, turned again towards the full court. 'I humbly apologise for the disruption,' he said unctuously. 'I was only upholding my sacred duty as a lord of the Wizengamot. I hereby cede the floor to Lord Black.' He sat down and looked haughtily at Harry.

Harry was looking desperately at Sandra and Victor, who'd been whispering to one another, and Sandra encouragingly motioned for him to stand up. Harry stood and pulled the text from his pocket.

'I, Harry James Potter,' he began, and he felt a mild but unpleasant shock from the family ring. 'I, Harry James Potter,' he repeated, only to experience a more severe shock, which lingered. Sighing, he said, 'I, Harry James Black, hereby request the attention of the full Wizengamot.' The pain in his finger subsided and was replaced by a rather pleasant warmth.

'I wish to make complaint against Rita Skeeter for repeatedly performing illegal charms on more than two dozen Muggles over the past year. She performed Compulsion and Obliviation Charms on my old neighbours, classmates, schoolteachers, and—most grievously—upon two of my blood relations, as well as my uncle by marriage. I request the court's permission for a full hearing to investigate these charges and determine whether Miss Skeeter's actions merit civil or criminal punishment.'

There were more whispers among the Wizengamot members, and Harry could see that many of them seemed sympathetic towards him. People glared at Rita in the gallery, but she kept her eyes fixed insolently on him.

Harry expected the secretary to ask the court to vote, as he'd done during the previous complaint, but Lord Wynter cleared his throat again. 'I believe Lord Black is unaware of his particular privilege at this juncture.' Harry looked blankly at the elderly lord, who continued. 'As a lord of the Wizengamot, it is your inviolable right to have your request voted on exclusively by your peers.'

_Fuck!_ he mouthed involuntarily, before regaining his composure. 'Am I permitted to decline this right and request a vote from the entire court?'

'Yes, by removing your ring,' replied Lord Wynter coldly.

'Madam Proctor,' asked Harry desperately, 'is Lord Wynter correct?'

She was already looking through a small book and said, 'Yes, according to the 1707 amendment to the Wizengamot charter.' Harry felt his heart sink, and he was unable to appreciate all the sniggers when she said '1707.'

'Lord Black,' repeated Lord Wynter. 'Are you indeed unwilling to remove your ring?'

Harry sighed heavily, knowing he'd lost. 'That's correct.'

'Then please be so kind as to request lordly privilege. Lord Flint, please give Lord Black the required text.' A beefy, middle-aged wizard sneeringly handed Harry a parchment.

Filling in the blanks, Harry glumly read, 'I, Lord Harry James Black, hereby invoke lordly privilege and request a vote exclusively from the lords and ladies of the Wizengamot. This is my sacred right, earned by my forbears and passed unerringly to me, and I humbly supplicate my noble peers to impartially evaluate my demand.'

The court secretary announced, 'Those lords and ladies in favour of granting Lord Black's request for a full hearing, please raise your wands.' Three people raised their wands, including a witch Harry suspected was Daphne Greengrass's mother.

'Those opposed, please raise your wands.' Ten wands rose, and the secretary announced, 'Lord Black's request is denied.'

'Rita's a viper, you know,' blurted Harry. 'You're not any safer from her than I am. Merlin knows there have to be secrets about your families, like how they paid for their lordships in the first place.'

'Lord Black!' admonished the secretary, 'You will be silent or leave the chamber.'

'With pleasure,' scowled Harry, rising from his seat. He turned to the lords and said, 'You've really proven how noble you are, by voting to allow Rita Skeeter to manipulate Muggles for a good story. If only I could serve wizarding Britain as well as you did just now.'

Numerous people laughed, and nearly everyone in the gallery applauded. 'You tell 'em, Potter,' cried a grey-haired wizard. 'You'll get the last laugh anyway, with their granddaughters most likely.'

_Now there's an idea,_ mused Harry, thinking of Lydia Travers. Pulling off his hat and concealing his ring, he marched out of the courtroom to the sound of repeated gongs. At least a dozen spectators followed him, crowding around to offer their support. 'You made those lords look right petty,' said a witch. 'All because you burst their bubble last month—I hope you don't regret it.'

'Are you kidding?' replied Harry. 'I'd do it again in a heartbeat.'

He craned his head looking for Victor and Sandra, but before they arrived he felt someone put a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw it was Rita Skeeter.

Before he could speak, she said, 'Harry, I simply love those robes. Who made them for you?'

'Benedict Thimble,' he said automatically. 'But why should I even tell you, when you're just going to make something up?'

'I think you've forgotten how well we work together,' she replied. 'Don't you remember that interview Hermione Granger forced me to write and publish in the _Quibbler_?'

'Yes, and I remember the interview last year, which you turned into a lurid exposé about Hermione, Ron, and me.'

'Darling, I had to! All you talked about was months of eating mushrooms in some shabby tent. And besides, you were so boring back then, with your Auror job and your sweet little girlfriend. But you're so much more entertaining now,' she gushed. In a lower voice, she added, 'I'm certain we can find a way to satisfy both our needs.'

His eyes widened in alarm. _Is she propositioning me?_ he thought, horrified, and she burst out laughing. 'No, not like that, dearie. I don't flatter myself I'd appeal to someone with your range of options. Though you should really check your partners for Polyjuice Potion, because I've heard a lot of matrons are interested. Including the wife of one of the lords who voted against you.'

'Thanks for the tip,' he replied archly. 'I'd send you an autographed Chocolate Frog Card in appreciation, but I'm too busy having threesomes with a vampire and an underaged Veela.'

'The threesome was true,' she hissed. 'And the rest was just for fun. I've heard you on the radio ... you and your mates are having a ball with everything I wrote about you.'

'You mean about how I was abused? Yes, that's been a laugh riot.'

'That was also true. And I did you a favour, ripping off the plaster like that. In my line of work, I've seen how secrets destroy lives. Imagine how much happier Dumbledore would have been if he hadn't been so stupidly private.'

_She has a point,_ he thought. _And I hardly have any secrets left. _'I'm willing to talk,' he said cautiously. 'I have causes I'd like to promote—werewolf rights, for example. But I'd demand a binding civil agreement through Gringotts, inflicting penalties if you lie.'

'I'm certain I won't need to lie with a subject like you, dearie. You've exceeded my wildest expectations. And yes, I know about the witch on Monday night, and why you were so tired in practice yesterday.'

'Are you planning on printing that?' he asked, not particularly concerned.

'No, but she is. Apparently she learnt that several publications have a bounty for a first-hand account of a night with the Boy Who Lived—excuse me, the Man Who Lived. Your previous partners didn't take the bait, but someone was bound to eventually. I hope you satisfied her.'

Harry couldn't help smiling. 'I did. Repeatedly.'

Rita laughed and said, 'This is why I don't need to make things up anymore. Although I'd be glad to take down a few of those lords if you'd like, as a show of good faith.'

'No thanks. Revenge is a waste of time, as far as I'm concerned. But tell me,' he added, 'do you know if Lord Travers was there?'

'Yes, he was seated behind you. The Blacks paid more for their lordship than the Traverses did.'

'And how did he vote?'

'Against you.'

Harry smiled again, and Rita studied him a moment before exclaiming, 'You devil!'

'She started it,' he replied. 'And nothing's happened yet.'

'Let me know if you need my help getting the word out. I'm certain we'll make much better friends than enemies.'

'Perhaps we will,' said Harry. 'But first, Gringotts.'

'I'm glad to see you're learning from your mistakes. Some wizards never do.'

After speaking with an apologetic Victor and Sandra, Harry dashed up the stairs up to the atrium to avoid sharing the lift with anyone. Before exiting the stairwell he took a moment to catch his breath and drink some water, and he emerged to find several reporters and photographers waiting for him. He answered their questions:

'Yes, I was disappointed in the outcome ... I had no idea I'd be forced to invoke lordly privilege ... No, lordships are bollocks ... The robes are fully compliant ... Benedict Thimble ... We decided on a pocket square instead ... I'd enjoy seeing her again but I have no current plans to return to Paris ... I'm very happy for Hermione and Ryan, and there's never been anything like that between us ... That's correct, not until I'm twenty-one ...'

He finally had to shoo them away, 'I'm late for practice,' he said, walking towards the fireplaces. He travelled home and quickly changed into a tracksuit and managed to arrive just as his teammates were finishing their calisthenics.

Harry approached Tuttle and said, 'I'm fully rested and can run laps or do calisthenics if you like.'

'Did you win your vote?' she asked.

'No, the lords were ready for me. I should have known better than to take a fight to their stronghold.'

'You'll outlast those geezers,' she said. 'Go fetch your broomstick and knock my socks off during the drills.'

He caught up with Owen at the locker room. 'Is it official yet?' he asked eagerly.

'It is,' replied Owen. 'Tuttle made the announcement this morning.'

'Brilliant, and congratulations again.'

'Cheers, and thanks also for that little gift from Prongs last night.'

'Did it work?' asked Harry.

'Yes, not a peep out of the girls until sunrise. Joanne sends her thanks as well.'

Harry put his all into the flying drills that morning, partly to work out his frustration from the Wizengamot session. He was more upset by how petty the lords were than he was about Rita Skeeter getting away with it. He knew there was nothing personal about Rita's antics, but the lords had acted out of pure spite. Harry wondered whether he should attend the Wizengamot more often, just to be a thorn in their side. Perhaps Sandra could check the 1707 amendment to see if there was any wiggle room around the hat.

He didn't need to shower before lunch, having missed the running and calisthenics, so he looked in on Mrs Thwip. 'I'm afraid I fell behind on my correspondence last weekend, but I've no further plans to leave town and I'm staying in tonight.'

'I'm glad to hear it, Mr Potter. I can't help you if you won't hold up your end of the bargain,' she said sternly.

Hoping she wasn't preparing to sack him, he dictated a letter to the FLOOF directors, asking about a tutor. 'Could you send it by express owl?' he asked. 'And instruct them to reply to my home address? I'd like to get started straight away.'

'Yes, and I commend the effort.' She pulled out large envelope and said, 'You've received some letters we need to discuss. Please, have a seat.'

Concerned, Harry sat opposite her. 'Is it hate mail?' he asked.

'No, not at all. But you should read one for yourself,' she said, handing him a parchment from the envelope.

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_I am ten years old and live near Tinworth. My dad died almost two years ago, because he was Muggle-born, and my mum has a boyfriend named Roger. I don't like Roger, and I don't know why my mum likes him because he's mean to her too. I once managed to knock him over with accidental magic, but usually he's the one doing the thumping. My mum says Roger's only angry sometimes and that he's all right the rest of the time, but the problem is you never know when the sometimes are going to be._

_The reason I'm writing is because I know you had mean relations and I thought maybe you'd know how to help. _

_Sincerely,  
__Christopher Spotswood_

Harry felt shaky after reading it. 'How many are there?' he asked. 'Are they all from children?'

'There are fifteen so far. Most are from children, but two are from grown women, and one's from a teenage Squib.'

_Fifteen!_ thought Harry hopelessly. 'In a single week?' he asked.

'Since last Sunday, yes.'

_I have infinite guest rooms_, he thought, but something told him that wasn't the solution. 'What do you recommend? Naturally I want to help, but I wouldn't know where to start.'

'I've some experience with this,' she replied. 'One of my previous clients periodically received letters from women in abusive relationships, hoping he'd come and curse their husbands.'

_It had to be Lockhart,_ thought Harry. 'And how did your client respond?'

'He took the first one seriously—he fancied himself a hero, and the witch had included her photograph. But he wasn't as good at duelling as you'd have thought, and he wound up in St Mungo's for several days. After that he told me to handle them.' At Harry's prompting, she said, 'The Ministry is useless—the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol will respond to a complaint, but they haven't any services for finding people a new place to live. But there are several charities that do good work.'

'Are they on the list you gave me?'

'Yes, the Wizarding Orphans Relief Fund was included. The other ones hadn't yet contacted you when I prepared that list, but they've written to you since.'

'Since the article about my relations came out, you mean?'

'Correct.'

'Obviously I'd like to help them,' he said. 'The letter writers and the organisations. Could I authorise you to send drafts from Gringotts on my behalf? I'm not keeping up well enough on my own.'

'Yes, Mr Potter. Gringotts has a procedure for standing orders, which protects us both from any potential misconduct.'

'I'm certain you wouldn't do anything unethical,' began Harry, but she interrupted him.

'I wouldn't, but you've no way of knowing that. You'd best learn not to be so trusting.'

'All right,' he said. 'And can you refer the letter writers to the appropriate organisations?'

'Yes. The organisations don't have infinite resources, but your steady support would help. Would you also like to reply directly?'

'I would, but is there any risk of someone intercepting it?'

'Several of the letter writers offered alternative mailing addresses.'

Mrs Thwip gave him advice about how to reply, and Harry dictated letters to the three agencies she recommended.

'I wonder if I can raise money for those organisations as well,' he mused.

'I'm certain you could, Mr Potter. For example, you could donate signed merchandise to WORF's annual Hallowe'en Auction.'

'Interesting. When I had my vision fixed, the Optimancer suggested I auction off my old eyeglasses. Do you think someone would bid on them?'

'I've no doubt of it. People waste money on all sorts of rubbish.'

He put the envelope of letters into his bottomless pouch and thanked her. 'I'd really be lost without you, Mrs Thwip. Please give me advance warning if you're planning to sack me.'

She assured him she would, and he left for lunch with his teammates, who were sympathetic about his failure at the Wizengamot. 'That was really bloody stupid of them,' said Darren. 'You have far more power and influence than they do. The only thing they have going for them is that they're rich and have seats on the Wizengamot, but that's true of you as well.'

'But I don't want to go to the Wizengamot,' groaned Harry. 'I know that's the best way to annoy them, but talk about a waste of time.'

'There are other ways to annoy them,' suggested Janet. 'Lure their offspring over to your camp, for example.'

_I'm one step ahead of you,_ thought Harry, but he knew she wasn't just talking about seducing their granddaughters. 'What do you propose?'

'Throw more parties. Win over some big-name Dark family heirs. Show them your side is more fun than theirs.'

'You're asking me to out-Slytherin a bunch of Slytherins. I'm not that subtle.'

'You don't need to be subtle,' argued Suresh. 'You just need to be fabulous.'

'Fabulous?' said Harry incredulously.

'Yes, and completely shameless,' continued Suresh. 'Invite them to Cannons matches. Go out drinking with them, but pace yourself because you're a bloody lightweight. Take them out Muggling with you, once George Weasley figures out that condom. See if you can set up a cinema screen on your rooftop and show them films.'

'I don't know if I can spend time with a bunch of people who sided with Voldemort. They'd probably try to Body-Bind me and steal my blood for Dark rituals.'

'That only happened once,' snapped Janet. 'Why do you keep harping on it?'

'You're right,' agreed Harry. 'Maybe Doctor Niffler could teach me how to let it go. But back to your point, I have a few acquaintances from Dark families. I could ask whether they think it could work.' He was thinking of Theo Nott, Daphne Greengrass, and Lydia of course. 'I could even invite them to this weekend's match.'

'Perfect,' said Ryan. 'We're counting on you to stop the next war before it starts. But no pressure.'

After lunch, Harry and Owen dove into Seeker training. 'What do I need to know about Jerome Wither?' he asked, referring to the Wasps Seeker.

'Pure-blood,' replied Owen. 'I'm not sure which school he attended. He's a bit of a dark horse, actually.'

'Did Spencer play him?'

'Yes, but the first time we lost in less than twenty minutes, and the second time was when Spencer was experimenting with deliberately avoiding the other Seeker.'

'How would that even work?' asked Harry.

'It didn't,' said Owen.

'Wither ...' muttered Harry. 'I don't remember that name from the war trials or any Auror briefings. I suppose he could be the non-Dark kind of pure-blood. How's his flying?'

'Pretty good. But the Wasps have had bad luck with injuries this season, and they have a losing record.'

'Technically so do we,' observed Harry.

'True, but the Wasps aren't on a five-game winning streak.'

'I know,' said Harry smugly. 'I just wanted to hear you say it.'

'You arrogant bastard! I reckon Rita Skeeter was right about you.'

Harry spent the next hour searching for a modified Snitch while avoiding independently operating Bludgers. Owen monitored his progress from the ground and used a remote device to adjust the settings on the three balls. It was a useful exercise, and Harry upped the ante by flying aggressively, to make up for his poor performance on Tuesday.

'Nice work,' said Tuttle when Harry landed. 'I'm hoping we can replace Barrowmaker with someone who isn't afraid of their own shadow.'

'That would be fun,' agreed Harry. 'I'm getting tired of having to calm him down whenever a Bludger appears in his peripheral vision.'

'Oi!' cried Owen. 'You try getting crushed by two of them. Bludgers are my version of ... I don't know, what are you afraid of?'

'Black fluttering curtains,' said Harry without thinking. 'And Dementors.'

Owen was puzzled. 'Because they're wearing black fluttering curtains?'

'No,' sighed Harry. 'When Sirius died he fell through a black fluttering curtain in the Department of Mysteries. I have panic attacks around them.'

'Blimey,' exclaimed Tuttle. 'Thank Merlin I've never seen one over a Quidditch pitch, but don't let Gilstrap find out about that.'

'You should really try to get over it,' suggested Owen. 'I'm certain there are methods for desensitising you.'

'I'm certain there are,' said Harry, not intending to investigate them.

Harry won the practice match, in spite of a few close shaves with the Bludgers. 'We only have two more matches against each other,' he said to Owen forlornly. 'After that, who's going to call me Voldemort's soul-linked bitch? I can't see myself telling the new reserve about my Horcrux.'

'No, but I'll test all the recruits for their ability to take the piss. The last thing you need is to practice against someone who's scared to insult you.'

'Because I might kill them?' asked Harry. 'No, those days are over. Light magic is my bag now.'

'Potter, don't even think of selecting a reserve Seeker based on how beddable she is,' warned Owen.

'Ugh, can you imagine, having to fly against an ex day after day? No thank you.'

'It's a good thing your ex is a Chaser. We play the Harpies in a few weeks, you know.'

'Yes, and I'm glad I don't have to fly against her,' said Harry. 'I'd probably start crying and beg her to take me back.'

'Really? I thought you were over her.'

'Apparently not ... she showed up in a dream last night, and when I awoke I'd forgotten we even split up. It was an unpleasant realisation.'

'First loves are hard,' sympathised Owen. 'Just give it time. And of course distraction helps,' he added slyly.

_No distraction tonight,_ thought Harry. He'd been tempted to move up his date with Lydia, but he really needed to catch up on his fan mail—particularly the letters from people in abusive households.

In the shower that afternoon he reflected on what Rita had said: _'I did you a favour, ripping off the plaster like that. In my line of work, I've seen how secrets destroy lives.' _Harry knew he'd never have willingly revealed his history with the Dursleys, but perhaps something good would come from it. _If I can help even one child get out of a bad situation, it'll be worth it._

There were two letters waiting for him at home. One was a quick note from Hermione, expressing sympathy about the Wizengamot session. '_Send Prongs if you want company—I'm busy after six but I'd be glad to listen to you whinge for a short while_.' The other was from FLOOF, in response to his request for a tutor:

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_I'm pleased you wrote to us about finding a tutor. We have an ideal candidate—he taught for many years at Binglingham but was sacked after being infected in 1995. His name is Simon Longclaw (yes, really), and he ran their supplementary studies programme, covering both Muggle and wizarding culture. Simon recently returned to England after several years on the Continent and is an active FLOOF volunteer, and he's keen to return to teaching._

_Please let us know when you're available to meet him and evaluate whether he fulfils your requirements, and we'll make the necessary arrangements. _

_Yours sincerely,  
__Darryl Macaulay  
__Director, FLOOF_

Harry thought Simon sounded perfect, and he wrote back to invite him to dinner on Friday. _It's the night before a match, but even Tuttle can't object to a quiet evening at home with a male tutor_.

Next he sent Hermione his Patronus. 'Yes, the Wizengamot session was frustrating, mostly because I should have realised the lords would find some way to thwart me. I don't need to whinge, but feel free to drop in if you like.'

She found him in the sitting room a few minutes later. 'I can't believe how petty the lords were,' she scolded. 'I almost hope Rita goes after them.'

'Actually, she and I spoke afterwards, and she offered to do just that,' replied Harry.

'You spoke with Rita? And you didn't hex her?'

'I'm more annoyed with the lords than I am with Rita. She proposed an alliance.'

'Surely you're not going to accept it. She can't be trusted!'

'No, but she's willing to sign a binding civil agreement that imposes penalties if she tells lies about me.'

Hermione raised her eyebrows. 'Was that her suggestion?'

'No, mine—she commended me for learning from my mistakes.' He sighed and added, 'It's not actually the worst thing in the world that she told everyone about the Dursleys. I've started receiving letters from people in abusive households, mostly children.'

'Oh, Harry!' she exclaimed. 'How will you reply?'

He told her what Mrs Thwip had advised, and that he'd pledged monthly support to the organisations she'd recommended. 'I've half a mind to accept more sponsorships, just to raise more gold, but for now my income is sufficient.'

'I'd never have thought you'd do more good as a professional Seeker than as an Auror, but you're proving me wrong,' she admitted. 'By the way, I can't believe what you said to the lords ... everyone was talking about it.'

'Oh dear, what did I say exactly? I'm afraid I lost my temper.'

'You said, _"If only I could serve wizarding Britain as well as you did just now."'_

Harry smirked. 'And does everyone think I'm an arrogant prat now?'

'Yes, in the best possible way. I can't think of a better time for your obnoxious Seeker persona to make an appearance. And people were raving about your robes—apparently one wizard took his off the moment he left the chamber and set fire to them.'

'Please tell me he was wearing something underneath.'

'Y-fronts, or so I'm told. He rode the lift all the way to the Atrium and then Flooed home.'

'That's one way to get a lift to yourself,' he observed.

She looked at Harry's ordinary Muggle outfit. 'I gather you're staying home tonight?'

'Yes, I need to catch up on fan mail.'

'Surely you have plans tomorrow night,' she said. 'I can't see you staying home three nights in a row.'

'I do, but I'm not telling you about them.'

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. 'Why not? Will I be concerned about your safety or merely scandalised?'

'Probably both. But don't worry, I'm taking precautions. I haven't forgotten everything I learned in Auror training.'

'I don't like the sound of that. Do I need to ask Ron to follow you?'

'I'll be fine. We'll be in public—I'm certain you'll read about it on Friday morning.'

'All right,' she said cautiously. 'Which robes are you wearing?'

'The white ones.'

'You mean you're willing to be seen in them more than once? How disappointing.' He glared at her and she laughed. 'All right, I should leave you to your fan mail, Professor Lockhart. See you on Saturday, if not sooner.'

After she left, he wrote letters to Theo Nott and Daphne Greengrass, inviting them to the match. _At this rate I'll be inviting Blaise Zabini, _he thought sourly_. _But a few minutes later he realised he still had an extra ticket, on top of the one he'd tentatively set aside for Lydia.

_Dear Blaise,_

_I have to grudgingly admit you know your whisky—so far the only bottle I've touched is the single-malt you gave me. Admittedly it got me into trouble with Rita Skeeter, but that's hardly your fault. And I'm told you were helpful that night while I was otherwise engaged, so in appreciation I'm inviting you to Saturday's Cannons match against Wimbourne. Owl me if you can't make it, but otherwise you'll find the ticket waiting for you at the stadium. I've invited Theo and Daphne as well, so you needn't worry you'll be flanked by savage Gryffindors._

_Best regards,  
__Harry_

Before he could change his mind he sent Lysander off with the stack of letters. _I'll probably need another owl at this rate,_ he mused.

Harry spent hours responding to his fan mail, and the letters describing abuse broke his heart. '_My family calls me a freak too,_' wrote the sixteen year-old Squib. '_I can't believe your relations thought you were a freak for having magic, but I guess it's a matter of perspective. I don't mind being a Squib so much—I've got used to it, and Muggle school is all right. But it's two years before I start university, and I don't know how I'll manage at home that long_.'

He wrote back to her, incorporating the advice Mrs Thwip had given him but also speaking candidly:

_Dear Celia,_

_I'm glad you wrote to me, and I'm terribly sorry your family treats you so poorly. I've been called a freak more times than I can recall, and not just by my relations, so I know how much it hurts._

_I hope this is all right, but I've asked my assistant to forward your letter to an organisation that helps people in situations like yours. They're very discreet and won't take action on your behalf unless you authorise it, and I'm told they've helped other kids find a safe and supportive place to live. I only wish I'd known about them when I was younger._

_I'm glad you're planning to attend university—my friend Hermione is Muggle-born and often complains about how limited wizarding education is. I feel the same way, and I've even decided to engage a tutor to fill in the huge gaps in my education. I was recently in Paris and saw truly marvellous cathedrals and works of art that were created entirely without magic, and I'm convinced that human greatness has very little to do with whether you can use a wand._

_You deserve to be around people who value you, and who see everything you're capable of rather than the one thing you're not. But I hope you won't leave wizarding society altogether. I'd love to see better relations between wizards and Muggles, to the extent that secrecy allows, and I think Squibs have a crucial role to play. And you'll be cheating yourself if you never go to Paris and travel by Magipolitain, which you should have no trouble doing._

_Thank you for writing, and please keep me posted about your circumstances._

_Yours sincerely,  
__Harry_

_P.S.: You didn't ask for a signed photograph, but I've enclosed one just in case your family asks why you received post. But feel free to discard it if you don't like the Cannons._

Harry wrote long letters to each of the fifteen people who'd written to him about being abused. His hand was sore by the time he finished, but he was glad he'd responded personally. _I might get attention for catching the Snitch or telling off lords,_ he thought, _but this is far more meaningful._

As he prepared for bed that night, he admired the peacock feather wallpaper Kreacher had installed in his room. _I don't care if it's sybaritic,_ thought Harry defiantly. _It's pretty, and Hermione doesn't have to see it._ He was enjoying doing things his own way, regardless of what other people thought, and as he drifted off to sleep he wondered idly what other rules or conventions he might break next.


	52. Chapter 52

Harry had expected the _Prophet_ to run the photograph taken during the session, in which the funny hat had humiliatingly appeared on his head. But instead they ran a remarkably flattering photo taken in the Atrium, after he'd run up the stairs. His cheeks were pink from exertion, and he looked very elegant in his fitted robes.

'_Wizengamot Lords Rebuke Potter_,' said the headline beneath his photo, but the article itself was heavily slanted in Harry's favour. It didn't describe Harry's complaint, which was by extension directed at the _Prophet_, but otherwise it recounted the incident accurately. The article also quoted Harry's scathing criticism of the lords just before leaving the chamber:

_Potter shocked and delighted onlookers with his rapier wit, telling the lords, 'If only I could serve wizarding Britain as well as you did just now.' In a single, blistering sentence, the young Order of Merlin recipient showed the lions of the Wizengamot just how childish they'd been._

Harry was also pleased by the coverage of his robes:

_The self-proclaimed dandy further humiliated his elders by wearing bespoke Wizengamot robes in the style now known amongst magical tailors as 'Harry Potter robes.' He was initially scolded by Chief Warlock Sledge for failing to comply with the dress requirements for Wizengamot members, but Potter correctly asserted that his outfit adhered perfectly to chamber by-laws. As of Wednesday evening, multiple clothiers reported brisk sales for robes either matching Potter's or reflecting the customer's own taste._

_Potter eschewed his usual boutonnière and instead accessorised with a crisp pocket square, prompting speculation amongst fashion observers and even bookmakers that he no longer favours flowers. The _Prophet_ pledges to remain close to this story as it develops._

Harry had just finished reading the article when an owl tapped on the kitchen window. 'Master has a letter,' announced Kreacher, who brought it to the table. The letter was addressed in acid-green ink, and Harry knew without looking at the return address who had sent it.

_Darling Harry,_

_I didn't accept a byline for the article, but I hope you can see my dainty fingerprints all over it. I also selected the photograph, which you'll agree is more than flattering and will surely make an impression on previously cloistered young pure-bloods._

_My takedown of Dumbledore may have ensured my safety during the war, but I vastly prefer the current version of wizarding Britain, which you and your little friends did so much to bring about. I therefore await your business proposal, regarding which the goblins can provide expert advice. You might ask them to offer the same terms Lucius Malfoy negotiated years ago._

_With deepest admiration,_

_Rita_

Harry shook his head in disbelief. _It looks like Rita Skeeter and I are allies, or soon will be_, he thought. But then again, he'd also invited three Slytherins to Saturday's match, was going on a date with a Travers, and had invited Narcissa Malfoy to tea on Sunday. Short of taking the Dark Mark himself, he could hardly imagine a less likely cluster of events.

He arrived early to the training grounds and stopped by Mrs Thwip's office to drop off all the letters he'd written and photographs he'd signed. She looked almost impressed when she saw how much he'd done. 'There may be hope for you yet, Mr Potter,' she said cautiously. 'But try not to fall so far behind next time.'

'I'll sign another stack on Saturday morning,' he promised.

'We'll see.' She handed him another large envelope and said, 'These arrived since yesterday.'

Harry's heart sank. 'Not more abuse letters?'

'No, they're solicitations from wizarding tailors. See for yourself.'

He pulled out a letter and read:

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_First, allow me to congratulate you for putting an end to the horror that was Wizengamot robes. It always pained me to craft them, and I'm ashamed not to have discovered on my own that they never needed to be so ghastly. I also commend you on your remarkably good taste in clothing, which I know you attribute to my esteemed colleague Benedict Thimble, but it surely comes from your own sensibilities as well._

_Second, I'd like to thank you for singlehandedly bringing fitted robes back into fashion. They never deserved their bad reputation, and I'm pleased you had the discernment to wear them again. Only a young man with your impeccable Light credentials could have done it, and I humbly salute you._

_Although Thimble is a fine tailor, and from what I've seen he's never led you astray, I believe you'll also be impressed with what my shop has to offer. Your current wardrobe is probably sufficient for a private citizen, but you're photographed far more often than any other wizard, and I'm certain Thimble won't mind if you appear in someone else's creations from time to time._

_In appreciation for all the business you've generated, and also for the pleasure of outfitting wizarding Britain's leading style icon, I'd like to offer you up to three sets of robes at cost, and any additional purchases at a twenty-five percent discount. Furthermore, I'd be glad to schedule a private fitting during or outside of business hours, as you prefer. Just notify us by owl or by house-elf in advance to ensure I'll be available to advise you personally._

_Yours truly,_

_Lester __Goodbody__, proprietor_

_Plackett & Goodbody_

_Manchester_

Harry leafed through the letters and saw that they all had the same offer—three sets of robes at cost and a twenty-five percent discount thereafter—which made him suspect they'd agreed not to undercut one another. _That's a very generous offer, _he thought. _It would be wrong not to give them a chance_.

'Thank you, Mrs Thwip,' he said. 'I'll come round tomorrow afternoon to pick up my weekend assignment.'

'Yes, Mr Potter, good day.'

Harry's teammates congratulated him on the article and photo in the _Prophet_. 'I lost the team wager,' said Titus, 'but it was worth it to see you shaft the lords again.'

'Technically they shafted me,' replied Harry, but Titus shook his head.

'You never would have won against Rita Skeeter—she has too much dirt on everyone. You might have got your hearing, but they wouldn't have convicted her.'

'Are you serious?' exclaimed Harry. 'You mean I went through all that for nothing?'

'It wasn't for nothing. The lords got their petty victory but made themselves look like shrivelled old arseholes. Believe me Potter, you won.'

Harry flew well in practice, but he was more than a little distracted about his upcoming date with Lydia. He'd worked out a list of questions to ask her under Veritaserum, if she agreed, but he truly didn't know what to expect. Furthermore, Titus had explained that pure-blood princesses were expected to stay virgins until marriage, which Harry had witnessed with Vanessa. He knew he could have plenty of fun regardless, but he wondered just how far Lydia would be willing to go, and whether she had any prior experience at all.

_Ginny trained me_, he recalled. Perhaps this would be his opportunity to pass on the lineage. _Or maybe it's a trap_, he told himself for the hundredth time, but he knew he was well prepared. In addition to the Veritaserum, he'd warned Kreacher he might need rescuing in case of dire emergency—even if he were Body-Bound he'd be able to Summon the elf wordlessly.

Harry flew extra hard during the practice match that afternoon, suspecting he wouldn't burn off all his energy with Lydia that night. And even if she were willing, he didn't dare show up to practice knackered as he'd done on Tuesday. There were bound to be photographs in the morning _Prophet_, and he didn't want Tuttle to accuse him of shirking.

He caught the Snitch after about ninety minutes. 'You have one more chance tomorrow, Barrowmaker,' he taunted. 'Don't you want to go out with a win?'

'I already did,' replied Owen. 'When I saved your arse after you punched Gilstrap. Or are you planning on getting ejected on Saturday as well?'

'I'd better not, or else you'll have to hire two new Seekers, and I'll need to learn how to drive.'

'Why do you keep rejecting the "gentleman of leisure" path?' asked Owen. 'You already have the townhouse and the elf.'

'It's my suburban upbringing. I'd sooner work at a chip shop than sit around having my nails done like a bloody Malfoy.'

'I think you have unresolved issues around the Malfoys,' observed Owen. 'I may have to train my replacement to exploit them.'

As he prepared for his date, Harry couldn't help thinking about Malfoys and all the other so-called aristocrats he'd met in the wizarding world, including the lords. _Clearly she knows I'm not like that,_ he thought. _In fact she probably wouldn't be interested if I were. _

But he needed to be mindful of her expectations, and so he'd read a book he found in the Black library about courtship, not wanting to inadvertently send the wrong message. He chose his flowers carefully, knowing she'd recognise the hidden meaning; he ultimately selected a lavender boutonnière symbolising caution against danger, as well as a small handful of tuberose flowers. As he tucked the lavender into the lapel of his white robes, he felt a thrill of anticipation. He'd never gone on a date that felt dangerous before.

Harry arrived at the restaurant by Floo, not wanting to walk down Diagon Alley so formally dressed. 'Good evening, Mr Potter,' said the host. 'We reserved a secluded table, as you requested.'

'Perfect,' replied Harry. 'I'm meeting my date outside, and we might take a stroll first, but we'll be here soon after.'

He exited the restaurant, and although he expected Lydia to make him wait, according to the customs of pure-blood dating, she surprised him by arriving right on time. She looked at his outfit and declared, 'The Light Lord,' quoting the headline from when he'd been photographed in his white robes. 'Only I won't hide from the camera.'

'I'm glad to hear that—it would be a shame to deny the _Prophet's_ readers the pleasure of seeing you.' He leaned closer and said, 'You look beautiful.'

'I know,' she replied carelessly. 'You wouldn't bother with me if I didn't.'

'Am I known to be that shallow?' he asked.

'No, but you wouldn't take the risk otherwise.' She looked at his lavender boutonnière and smiled. 'Protection against danger.'

'And these,' he said, handing her the small tuberose bouquet.

Lydia raised the flowers to her nose and inhaled deeply. 'Dangerous pleasure,' she said, placing one of them into her hair. 'You've done your homework.'

'There was a book in the Black family library,' he admitted. 'I assume you have the same one.'

'Undoubtedly.' She looked him in the eye and asked, 'How do I gain your trust?'

'You mightn't like my proposal,' he warned her.

'Try me.'

Hardening his expression, he said, 'Veritaserum.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Right now?'

'Yes. We can go to the apothecary together, or I can silently ask my house-elf to buy some and discreetly deliver it.'

'As much as I'm eager to be seen with you, I'd just as soon not make that big a spectacle of myself.'

'So you're willing?'

'Of course. We'll never get anywhere without trust.'

They entered the restaurant together, and the host led them to their table. When they were seated, Harry said, 'Give me a moment.' Closing his eyes, he thought, _Kreacher!_

_Yes, Master!_

_Would you be so kind as to go to the apothecary and purchase a bottle of Veritaserum and the antidote, and then deliver them silently into my pocket?_

_Yes, Master! With pleasure!_

Harry felt the house-elf disappear from his mind and opened his eyes again. 'I should have it in a few minutes,' he said. 'Would you like to go over my questions? I won't ask anything you haven't agreed to first.'

'We can go over your questions, but I haven't anything to hide. Ask whatever you like.'

'Anything?'

'Yes. I assume you want to know whether this is a trap, and whether I have any harmful intent.'

'Of course.'

'It's not, and I don't. But you'll find that out soon enough.'

'I also want to know why you're interested in me. Obviously I'm not husband material.'

'That's exactly why I'm interested. But we'll save the details for later—I'd rather preserve the surprise.'

'And does your family approve?'

'They don't know yet, but no, they'll be horrified.'

Harry felt the weight of two small bottles in his pocket. He pulled them out and placed them on the table. 'I assume you'd like a privacy ward?' he asked, freeing his wand from its holster.

'Yes, but only for now.'

He raised his usual Notice-Me-Not Charm and squeezed three drops of Veritaserum into a teaspoon. 'Here you are.'

She swallowed the contents and looked at him blankly.

'What's your name,' he asked.

'Lydia Veronica Travers.'

'How old are you?'

'Eighteen.'

'Do you want to harm me?'

'No.'

'Do your relations want to harm me?'

'Probably.'

'Are they using you as bait?'

'No.'

'Do they know you're out with me tonight?'

'No.'

'Is someone other than your relations using you as bait?'

'No.'

'Are you aware of any specific plot to harm me?'

'No.'

'Why do you want to go out with me?'

'I want you to ruin me.'

'Ruin you?' he asked, astonished. 'What does that even mean?'

'I don't want to be a suitable wife for an old-family pure-blood.'

'Are you currently?'

'Yes.'

'Do you have a fiancé?'

'No.'

'Is someone courting you?'

'They're trying.'

'More than one wizard?'

'Yes.'

'Are they likely to attack me if I ruin you?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'They're afraid of you.'

'Why don't you want to marry them?'

She surprised him by speaking more animatedly than before. 'Because they're tedious. And I'm tired of my world.'

'What world is that?'

'Sacred Twenty-Eight. Dark.'

'Do you practice Dark magic?'

'No.'

'Were you taught it?'

'Yes.'

'Did you use Dark magic during the war? On an opponent?'

'No.'

'Why me? If by "ruin" you mean deflower, surely anyone can do that.'

'Symbolism,' she said. 'And I want you.'

He smiled. 'Why?'

'Vanessa told me about you.'

'What did she say?' he asked wickedly, anticipating the answer.

'That you're famous for the wrong reason.'

Harry could think of at least a dozen more questions he wanted to ask, but they were far from gentlemanly. 'Is there anything else you want to tell me?'

'I'm a virgin.'

'Yes, I'd worked that out.'

'No, completely.'

'You mean you've never been kissed?'

'Kissed, yes. But hardly more than that.'

He took the other teaspoon and added three drops of antidote to it, which she swallowed. Her eyes regained their focus and she looked at him appraisingly.

'You were awfully restrained,' she said.

'Was I? I thought I was being incredibly nosy.'

'You're clearly not a Dark wizard. A Dark wizard would have pulled every possible secret out of me, including about my family.'

'You were ready to betray them like that?'

'I didn't think you'd do it. But yes.'

'Are they that bad?'

'A few of them are. Not as bad as my uncle, but bad enough.'

Harry shrugged. 'I'm not an Auror anymore.'

'I wouldn't have approached you if you were.' She looked around and said, 'You can lower the privacy wards now.'

Harry put the two bottles back into his pocket and cancelled the charm. 'I'm sorry I asked for such a private table.'

'That's all right. Everyone noticed us as we walked in, and I'm certain there will be a photographer outside later.'

'Did you tip them off?' he asked.

'Yes.'

The waiter did a double-take when he noticed their table, and he quickly approached them. 'I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there for some reason.'

'That was my fault,' replied Harry. 'We needed a moment of privacy.'

'Of course. Would you like to order something to drink?'

Harry looked at Lydia, and she said, 'A bottle of wine?'

'I won't drink more than a glass,' he said.

'Oh right, you have Quidditch practice in the morning.'

They each ordered a glass, and the waiter left them alone again.

'What'll happen to you once you're ruined? Are you certain you've thought this through?'

'I've thought about it constantly for weeks. I'll be fine.'

'You won't be disinherited?' he asked, thinking of Andromeda.

She smiled. 'No. It's too late for that.'

'You were already disinherited?'

'Quite the opposite. It's a long story, but my great-grandfather was still alive the first time Uncle Ursinus was sentenced to Azkaban. Back then my great-uncle was still on an allowance, which meant the Ministry couldn't confiscate his assets. So my great-grandfather entrusted his inheritance to my grandfather, with the understanding that my great-uncle would regain it if he were ever freed. But my grandfather kept it and insisted on continuing the allowance, which naturally Uncle Ursinus didn't like. He spent months trying to Imperius my grandfather to grant him access, but he was unsuccessful, so he finally persuaded the Dark Lord to do it.'

'Voldemort Imperiused your grandfather?' asked Harry, fascinated. _I threw off Voldemort's Imperius, _he thought with satisfaction.

'Yes. Days before the end of the war. My great-uncle went to Gringotts the morning you robbed it to make the transfer. But he didn't succeed for some reason, and then he was called away by the Dark Mark.'

_He didn't succeed because I Imperiused him,_ thought Harry, but he didn't say anything.

'So what does this have to do with your inheritance?' he asked.

'The morning you killed Voldemort, my grandfather went to Gringotts straight away and transferred my great-uncle's inheritance into new vaults for my sister, brother, and me—to prevent the Ministry from confiscating it. His own fortune was already protected.'

'So you can't be disinherited? Because you already have a third of your great-uncle's fortune?'

'My grandfather can still cut me off from his own estate, but I won't be a pauper, thanks to his efforts to defraud the Ministry. And I'd have only received a marriage portion—the bulk of his estate is destined for my brother, Jacob.'

Harry smiled. 'Do you realise where a lot of the confiscated gold went?'

'No. Did you get it?'

'Of course not. It went back to Gringotts, as restitution for my breaking in. They based the amount on how much gold they were able to seize from Death Eaters. That's why it took nearly two months after the war ended for the Ministry and Gringotts to reach a deal.'

'I can't say I was following the news very closely back then. It was a busy time for the Travers family.'

The waiter returned with their wine and offered to take their order, but they hadn't looked at the menu yet. Harry wasn't familiar with a lot of the items, so he asked for a recommendation and followed the waiter's advice.

'That was awfully trusting,' observed Lydia.

'Do you think he's likely to poison me?'

'No, it's just that you mightn't like what he suggested.'

'I'm not a fussy eater,' said Harry, 'and this way I get to try something new. It's worked well for me so far.'

'Yes, you certainly seem to crave novelty,' she smirked.

'Are you criticising my loose morals?'

'Not at all. In fact, I'm counting on them.'

'So you claim. I must say, I'm fascinated by your wish to be ruined, and not just for the obvious reason. Would you mind telling me more about it?'

'I'd be glad to,' replied Lydia. 'I should probably start by telling you about my sister, Esme.'

'Yes, I heard a little about her from one of my teammates. Apparently she's married to some Selwyn or other and they were prominent during the war.'

'That's right. She married at eighteen, and it was considered a stellar match. Two noble houses, and not too closely related. His family didn't mind my great-uncle, particularly with the Dark Lord on the rise again. And they were less worried about Dumbledore than before, because he appeared to be well past his prime.'

'He probably was,' said Harry. 'And they didn't consider me a threat?'

'Not without Dumbledore, or Sirius Black for that matter. Your godfather impressed everyone hugely by escaping from Azkaban unassisted,' she said. 'But I digress. Esme married Charles in early '97, which was the perfect time for a Dark-leaning couple to take their place in society. By the time the Dark Lord took over the Ministry, they were well established as the leaders of the younger set.'

'Did either of them serve Voldemort directly or take the Mark?'

'No, they didn't need to. My sister didn't work, of course, and Charles had a meaningless but impressive-sounding job in the Ministry. He still does, in fact.' She levelled her gaze at Harry and said, 'We were all just waiting for you to die. Then the war would be over, and the shops would open again—or new shops would replace them—and things could go back to normal.'

'And you considered that normal? Muggle-borns deprived of their wands and all the rest?'

'I didn't know any Muggle-borns,' she said breezily. 'There are hardly any at Stodgings, and I certainly didn't associate with them. All I knew was that they were a threat to wizarding traditions, either by cultural contamination or bad blood.'

'You know about my mother, right?'

'Of course I do. My whole life I heard you described as the worthless son of a Mudblood and a middle-class blood traitor.'

'Which one is supposed to be the greater insult?' he asked. 'Mudblood or middle-class?'

'Oh, Mudblood, certainly. The Potters were rich, so families like mine sneered at them for being middle class. Nevertheless, I might have been permitted to marry a pure-blood Potter, if such a thing still existed.'

'It doesn't. I'm the only one left.'

'Yes, but you're a far rarer creature: a half-blood Black. Head of House, no less.'

'My name's Potter,' he said casually.

'No, it's not. I heard what happened at the Wizengamot—your ring wouldn't even let you call yourself Potter.'

'The ring is hardly impartial,' argued Harry.

'What does your tapestry say? Or aren't you on it?'

He frowned. 'It says Black.'

She smiled triumphantly and said, 'Then I probably could marry you if I wanted. But of course you're not matrimonially inclined.'

'Not at present. And marriage would go against the whole ruining bit—which you still haven't explained.'

'Right. So Esme and Charles were prepared to be the leading couple of the post-war era. As non-combatants they didn't have any blood on their hands, and their frequent association with Death Eaters wouldn't have hurt them in a pro-Voldemort society. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd started planning a victory gala when they heard you'd died that morning. But then you came back and the Dark Lord was gone, and it was clear they'd allied themselves too closely with the losing side.'

'And how did you feel about what happened, if I might ask?'

'You mean did I celebrate when we thought you were dead?'

'For example.'

Lydia paused to reflect a moment. 'I was torn. I certainly wanted the war to be over, and I knew my family would lose standing if our side lost. But when I heard how you'd robbed Gringotts and escaped on the back of a dragon ... I started rooting for you. And then when I learnt how you'd never wavered even once, and that you were to be an Auror and probably marry your girlfriend ...' She looked down and stopped speaking.

Harry was unsure whether to respond, so he remained silent and just watched her. _Merlin, she's pretty,_ he thought.

'It was like a glimpse of another world. One where people aren't strategic or calculating. I'd been taught to think of people like you as being a bit thick, but I realised that wasn't entirely true.'

'It's not entirely false,' confessed Harry. 'Except for Hermione, of course.'

'Perhaps, but here you are on top, and people like my uncle are in Azkaban. You tore down the entire wizarding peerage in three paragraphs, and you made them look like fools again yesterday. You may be impetuous, but you're not thick.' She paused again and added, 'And your side looks like more fun. Not the part involving eating mushrooms and living in a tent—that sounded ghastly. But the part where you do whatever you like and wear whatever catches your eye and nobody consults an etiquette manual or says it isn't strategic enough.'

'No, they just call me arrogant or attention-seeking or who knows what else.'

'But you still get to do it, while I don't get to do anything. And then if I follow all the rules and marry the right wizard, I might still end up shunned like Esme and Charles.'

Harry was sceptical. 'Have they really been shunned?'

'Well, no. But they only entertain in private now, and I'm certain they'll never be invited to one of your parties.'

'Perhaps not. But won't you be shunned if you're seen with me? In fact, it might be too late for you already.'

'I could be forgiven for having dinner with you once. But I'm planning on far more than that,' she said with a gleam in her eye. 'And yes, I'll be shunned, but I'll also be free. I'll have plenty of gold, and I'll be able to marry—or not marry—whomever I like. I'll insist you throw a party while we're together, and I promise I won't hide from you like Vanessa's friend did. And nobody will care about my surname anymore, because everyone will know I'm the black sheep of the Travers family. Don't you agree that sounds much better than marrying a distant cousin and whinging about how Harry Potter ruined lordships?'

He looked at her carefully. 'I'm still waiting for the part where you talk about right and wrong.'

'I spoke about it earlier,' she insisted, 'when I said I felt as if I'd glimpsed another world. Your world is free of the Dark Arts, mostly. And I didn't care for them at all.'

'Really? Why not?'

'My sister changed when she started studying them. She didn't let me sleep in her bed anymore—we used to curl up together every night. And her face became harder. She looks fine for now because she's still young, but my mother and grandmother have the same expression, and I don't want it. Speaking frankly, I rather like how I look.'

'So do I,' said Harry. 'It's a pleasure sitting across from you tonight.'

'You'll see the rest of me soon enough, and you won't be disappointed.'

Their starters arrived, and Harry was grateful for the break in conversation because his head was spinning—not from the wine but from everything Lydia was proposing. He'd enjoyed causing a scandal with his Wizengamot robes, and appearing in public with a pure-blood princess would cause an even greater stir. Nobody could accuse him of misleading her, since he'd literally broadcast his intention not to marry for at least two more years. And with Rita Skeeter on his side, he knew the story would be presented in the best possible light.

'What about your grandfather?' he asked. 'I'm told he voted against me yesterday at the Wizengamot.'

'Yes, he was furious about the 1707 revelation, as we've come to call it.'

'Because it was true, or because I called attention to it?'

'Both, but he says it doesn't matter. The fact that we were able and willing to give so much gold to the Ministry in its hour of need demonstrates both our cunning and our service, and makes the Travers family worthy of perpetual glory.'

'Interesting,' replied Harry. 'And how did the Travers family earn its fortune?'

She smiled. 'Piracy. My ancestors used magic to locate ships carrying gold from the New World and capture them on the high seas. I'm certain they're the source for all sorts of Muggle legends about ghost ships and the like.'

'I can't say I know how the Blacks earned their gold—I only know they squandered most of it.'

'Too much inbreeding,' said Lydia. 'My family's been more careful, and of course that won't be a problem for me.'

'Do you think you could marry a Muggle-born?'

'I don't know,' she admitted. 'I suppose you'll be a good in-between step.'

'Because of my mum?'

'And because you shagged a Muggle. I couldn't believe you announced that—I was in the audience that night, in the shop.'

'Why is that worse than having Muggle grandparents? Not that there's anything wrong with having Muggle grandparents, of course.'

'Superstition. Nobody knows what causes Squibs, so there are all sorts of rumours, including one about prior intimate contact with Muggles.'

'Do you actually believe that?' he asked.

'Not really, but you know how illogical superstitions are.'

'Yes, and I know how illogical wizards are.'

Their conversation that evening covered a wide range of topics, including all the things she'd heard people say about him. 'Until yesterday they called you an upstart, but when your ring forced you to call yourself Harry Black they knew they'd lost that battle.'

'But that doesn't even make sense. You'd think an upstart would want to adopt a posh name and title, but I've rejected them.'

'They see that as pride. Trying to make yourself look better than they are.'

'I'm sorry, but that's complete bollocks. The fact is they don't like me, and they'd find a reason to criticise whatever I did. If I'd eagerly called myself Lord Black and worn the ring in plain sight, they'd call me a social climbing ... what was it? "Worthless son of a Mudblood and a middle-class blood traitor." And everyone else would have laughed at me for acting like such a pretentious git.'

'You're arguing with the wrong person,' she said. 'I think you've handled it perfectly. They're just upset because you're sneering at wizarding tradition.'

'I beg your pardon, I think I've shown great respect for wizarding tradition. I'm wearing robes, aren't I?'

'Yes, and they have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, my brother-in-law no longer gets spat on for wearing them. But now people accuse him of wearing "Harry Potter robes," which infuriates him, and of course he daren't wear flowers even though I know he's dying to.'

'I'm beginning to understand why you want to be shot of your world,' said Harry. 'People should wear what they like. That's what I've done, certainly.'

'Yes, but you're vulgar. That's another thing they say about you.'

'Because of my loose morals?'

'Exactly. They say you shouldn't talk about it on the radio.'

'Then maybe they shouldn't listen to me on the radio,' he snapped.

'But they wouldn't miss it! It's all anyone talks about.'

'And how is that not vulgar?'

'It's not as bad as sending a Patronus to Malfoy Manor,' she countered.

Harry sighed. 'Yes, that's been pointed out to me. You'll notice I didn't do it again this week.'

'No, and I was disappointed. I thought it was brilliant—next time you should send it to Azkaban.'

'That seems unfair to Prongs,' replied Harry. 'Poor fellow, I should ask his opinion next time. Did they say anything about my intention not to marry before I'm twenty-one?'

'Yes—my father in particular was appalled. He said any decent young wizard should marry before he's twenty, if not sooner. Otherwise he'll get up to all kinds of mischief.'

'Don't tell me wizards are also expected to be virgins when they marry.'

'No, of course not. But that's what France is for. Haven't you heard of portkey brothels?'

'What? No!'

'Oh my god, you'll love this ... it's immoral to have sex with a prostitute in England, but if you go to France she's a _fille de joie_ and it's fine.'

'Are these witches or Muggles?'

'Witches, of course. Don't forget the superstition.'

'My mind is reeling,' he said. 'I've learnt more about wizarding culture tonight than I probably learnt in the past year. Why didn't Ron ever tell me about this?'

'Ron Weasley?' she said contemptuously. 'They're blood traitors. How they were listed in the Sacred Twenty-Eight is beyond me.'

'I'll have you know I rejected friendship with Draco Malfoy for insulting the Weasleys. If you keep talking like that, I mightn't be willing to ruin you.'

'Oh yes you will,' she said. 'And I was joking of course. Clearly I want to be a blood traitor too.'

'Fine. Do you want to order pudding here, or should I have my house-elf prepare something?'

'It'll be far more scandalous if we leave early,' she said eagerly.

He smiled. 'Should I just throw some Galleons on the table, start kissing you passionately in the restaurant, and Apparate you home?'

'No, we need to be photographed first. And we shouldn't kiss in public until after your match on Saturday. Do I need to get hold of a ticket? I understand they're hard to come by.'

'I still have one left. I saved it for you.'

They requested the bill, which Harry paid, and he escorted her from the restaurant with his hand on the small of her back. 'This is the first time I've touched you,' he whispered.

'It won't be the last time,' she replied.

As arranged, several reporters and photographers were waiting for them outside. They held hands, and Lydia posed for the cameras nearly as well as Laetitia had done. She even answered questions:

'Lydia Travers ... He's my great-uncle ... That's none of their concern ... For the same reason every witch wants to go out with Harry Potter … Yes, I know he has no intention of getting married … Not yet, but ask me again tomorrow.'

Harry turned his head in shock at her last answer, and the cameras snapped again. 'With that, I think we'll be going,' he said, and at her nod he turned on his heel and Apparated home.

'You've really planned this,' he said, as she looked around the formal reception hall.

'Every detail. But I expect you to surprise me.'

'Would you care to tell me what you've planned, so I can deviate from it accordingly?'

'Yes. First, I want to see the Black family tapestry. I'm curious whether we're related.'

'Oh? Was your mother a Dursley?' he asked innocently, and she whacked him with the bouquet he'd given her. They walked past Padfoot, who simply stared at Lydia in canine astonishment, and went upstairs to the drawing room.

'There you are,' she said, indicating his name on the tapestry. 'Harry James Black. Are you going to change your name? You've hinted at it.'

'Most likely,' he said. 'Harry Potter-Black.'

'That sounds faintly Muggle, but I don't know why.'

'It's the hyphen. Wizards almost never do that.'

'Interesting. Will you burden your children with two surnames?'

'When they're born, probably, but they can choose when they're older. I'm expected to carry on both names, you know.'

'Yes, what a terrible responsibility, fathering all those children. How ever will you manage?' She continued examining the tapestry. 'I haven't any recent Potter forbears,' she said absently, 'but there have been a couple of Blacks in the last two hundred years. No, I think we're only distantly related at most. I'm probably more closely related to Ronald Weasley than I am to you.'

'Would it have made a difference?' he asked.

'No. I was mostly curious. May I tell people about your name on the tapestry?'

'I haven't any secrets,' he said. 'Be my guest.'

She turned to him and said, 'Speaking of hospitality, you promised me pudding but I don't actually want any. Do you?'

_I always want pudding_, he thought. _It's the Light magic. _'No, I don't need any.'

'But I would like to see your enormous bed. Vanessa told me how comfortable it was.'

He put his hand on her waist and said, 'No, you can't see it tonight.'

'What! Why not?'

'Because you're a virgin, and I want to do this properly.'

'I'm not waiting two years for you to marry me first,' she said indignantly.

He laughed and said, 'Not that properly. But I want you to experience what it's like to have a good snog but not be fully satisfied yet. There's a lot to be said for anticipation.'

'I've had eighteen years of anticipation,' she grumbled, and he ran his other hand through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp.

'Trust me,' he said. 'I'm famous for the wrong reason.'

She leaned in, and he kissed her gently for about ten seconds. When he pulled away, she said, 'That was just a kiss. I want to snog.' She was obviously trying to sound petulant, but her closed eyes and breathy voice told a different story.

He answered her with actions rather than words, and before long they were on the sofa opposite the tapestry. It had been a long time since Harry had gone that slowly, but he found he was enjoying it, and so apparently was Lydia. He deliberately kept his clothes on, in spite of her attempts to remove them, and he stopped her from taking off her own clothes as well.

'I can only ruin you once,' he insisted. 'We're going to take our time at it.'

'Don't you want me?' she asked, with a surprising note of insecurity.

'Desperately,' he murmured. 'But once we start, I mightn't be able to stop, and I have practice tomorrow and a match on Saturday. Can you wait until then?'

'Will you snog me on the pitch?'

'Oh god yes. I'll be as indecent as you want me to be.'

'Like you were in the photo with that French girl? Like you are now?'

'If that's what you want.'

'That is definitely what I want.'

They continued for another half hour, and by the end he felt he deserved another Order of Merlin for his ingenuity in satisfying her through clothing. He was feeling rather uncomfortable, but he knew he would start glowing the moment she left.

'You should go,' he said. 'I have practice tomorrow.'

'Fine,' she replied, sitting up and straightening her outfit. 'What should I wear on Saturday? After the match, that is. Are we going out?'

'Do you want to?'

'I suppose it depends on how long you take to catch the Snitch. But yes, I want to go out. And then come here. Or maybe come here first and then go out. Oh please, catch the Snitch quickly.'

'I dare you to hold up a banner saying that,' he smirked.

'I might just. We'll see how tomorrow's photograph goes down.'

He led her to the formal fireplace and, as predicted, he began glowing as soon as she'd gone. Padfoot, wearing mirrored sunglasses, wagged his tail vigorously when Harry passed his portrait. 'I love you,' mouthed Harry, addressing neither his godfather nor the painted Animagus. 'I love you,' he repeated, thinking of no one and everyone, as he climbed the stairs to his blissfully comfortable room.


	53. Chapter 53

He awoke to a shouting otter.

'Harry James Potter!' cried Hermione's voice, 'Have you completely lost your mind? I can't believe you went on a date with a Travers—do you have a death wish? Merlin, she's probably with you right now! If you're even still alive ... oh my god, I'll be right over.'

Disorientated, Harry sat up and saw that it was half seven in the morning. _At least I slept well_, he thought. He shuffled to the bathroom and was brushing his teeth when someone pounded on the bedroom door.

'Harry! Are you all right? Oh my god, if anything happened to you ...'

'Come in!' he called, but apparently she didn't hear him through his mouthful of toothpaste, because the door flew open and she stormed inside and cried '_Protego!'_ before surveying the bedroom.

Harry spat his toothpaste into the sink and said, 'Hermione, I'm fine. And no one else is here.'

'Thank Merlin you're all right!' she exclaimed, and she ran over to give him a hug.

'Ow! Could you drop the Shield Charm?' he said, rubbing his nose.

'Sorry!' She cancelled the protection barrier and threw her arms around him, which was slightly awkward as Harry was only wearing boxer shorts. 'What happened? I can't believe you went out with a Travers—I saw the photograph in the _Prophet_ just now.'

'Do you need breakfast?' he asked, walking into his wardrobe and closing the door.

'Er, if that's all right. I'm actually quite hungry—I went to an early Spinning class.'

Harry was mystified but decided to postpone his question. 'I met her last week—she asked for my autograph after the radio broadcast. She was rather forward, and of course I assumed it was a trap, but I decided to give her a chance.' Hermione snorted derisively, and he said, 'Yes, because she's pretty. I'm only human. Anyway, we met in public, and I insisted she answer questions under Veritaserum before we even ordered drinks.'

'And did she?'

'Yes, willingly. I'd prepared a list of questions and was going to ask for her approval first, but she didn't even look at them and told me to ask whatever I wanted. And she passed with flying colours.' He had emerged from the closet in his workout clothes, and they started walking downstairs.

'Why on earth would she want to go out with you?' said Hermione. 'I'm sorry, that came out wrong. Surely she had an ulterior motive for going after you of all people.'

'Yes, she wants to disqualify herself from marrying a proper pure-blood. Running around with me is the fastest way to do it.'

Hermione eyes grew large. 'She wants you to ruin her! This is like something out of Austen ... she's even called Lydia! Are you going to lure her to Gretna Green with promises of marriage?'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' said Harry irritably. 'I'm not meeting my tutor until tonight.'

'That's wonderful,' she said approvingly. 'But back to Miss Travers ... Have you ruined her yet? Why isn't she here now?'

'My instinct is to say that's none of your business, but I suppose she wants it as public as possible. No, I haven't ruined her yet. She was more than willing, but it's her first time and I don't want to rush anything.'

'I can't believe it … you're a gentleman even while ruining a girl!'

'I feel a certain responsibility to do the job properly. I'm not certain I've ever been anyone's first before—Ginny wouldn't say.'

'But aren't you afraid of reprisals? She must have suitors, even with her surname.'

'Apparently having a convicted Death Eater in the family isn't an impediment among the Sacred Twenty-Eight. And yes, she has other suitors but she says they're too scared of me to attack.'

'What about duels? One of them could challenge you.'

'I'm not worried,' he said, thinking of Light magic.

Hermione seemed unconvinced. 'They'd probably know Dark curses,' she said. 'And you don't have the Elder Wand anymore.' She looked as if she were going to say something else but stopped herself.

'And I'm not a particularly powerful wizard,' he finished. 'Yes, I know that. But I have another advantage.' He took a deep breath and said, 'I've been experiencing accidental Light magic.'

Her eyes shot open. 'Accidental Light magic? Are you sure? I've only read bits and pieces about it—apparently it's quite rare.'

'Yes, I spoke with Alistair about it on Monday. It started in Paris, and I found a book in the Black library that describes it perfectly.'

She insisted on seeing the book, but they were already in the kitchen so Harry Summoned it. '_Defence Against the Light Arts_,' she read. 'Jacobus Filch?'

'His grandfather, according to Alistair. Read the introduction.'

Hermione's jaw dropped as she read the first few pages, and then Harry showed her the section on the hallmarks of the Light wizard. He watched her carefully, anticipating her reaction.

'So that's your extenuating circumstance!' she cried. 'And here I thought it was just an overcorrection from years of being downtrodden. And your age, of course.'

'Those might also be true,' admitted Harry. 'It's not clear when the Light magic began manifesting—I only started glowing on Saturday.'

'In public?' she asked.

'In the Sainte Chapelle.'

'Oh, Harry!' she exclaimed. 'You've become such an aesthete! I can't get over it.'

'What is that?' he asked. 'Clearly it's not the same as an athlete.'

'No, but they both come from ancient Greek. It means someone with a deep appreciation for beauty.'

'Isn't that everyone?' he asked. 'Surely I'm not more shallow than most people. Or am I?'

'No, it's not like that. It's an ability to see beauty even where others mightn't. But when something—or someone—is objectively beautiful, like a Gothic cathedral, you might be more sensitive than most.'

They'd begun eating the hot breakfast Kreacher had prepared. 'I don't know whether being an aesthete is connected to Light magic or not, but Alistair is trying to find me a teacher, so hopefully they'll be able to tell me.'

She dropped her fork. 'You're going to study Light magic from a teacher? May I join you?'

Harry laughed and said, 'You must really miss school! Is that why you're learning spinning, whatever that is?'

'It's an exercise class at the leisure centre near my parents' house. Lucinda Bellamy convinced me that wizards are too idle and I'll be old before my time if I don't exercise, so I go there several times a week.'

'And you want to keep up with Ryan,' he smirked.

'Please, may I study Light magic with you? I don't know if I'll be able to experience it, but even the theoretical side sounds fascinating.'

'I can't imagine it's as rare as all that,' said Harry. 'But yes, of course, I'd be happy for you to join me. Alistair told me to give him a week to find a teacher, and if that doesn't work I'll ask Dumbledore's portrait, although Alistair was sceptical he'd know of anyone.'

'Interesting. But back to Lydia Travers ... why doesn't she want to marry a pure-blood and all that?'

Harry conveyed what she'd told him, how she didn't want to end up like her sister and would much rather live without constraints. He also told Hermione about Lydia's unscheduled inheritance, and the role he'd inadvertently played by Imperiusing her Death Eater uncle.

'So if we hadn't diverted Travers from his original purpose that morning at Gringotts, Lydia would be financially dependent on her family and couldn't risk offending them. But this way she's free to rebel and start a new life?'

'Exactly.'

Hermione scowled. 'And it didn't occur to her to get a job and support herself like most young magicals do?'

'I doubt it,' replied Harry. 'She said her sister doesn't work either.'

'And why exactly are you interested in her? You've no shortage of attractive witches throwing themselves at you.'

'That's true,' he admitted. 'But I like the drama of it. I rather enjoyed creating a scandal with my robes on Wednesday. And I've learnt a lot from her already ... did you know about portkey brothels?'

Hermione was outraged when he told her. 'Talk about hypocrisy! Wizards are encouraged to sleep with prostitutes—I'm sorry, _filles de joie_—but if a young witch explores her sexuality in a consensual relationship, she's ruined and liable to be cast from her family.'

'Don't get angry at me, I didn't make the rules.'

'No, you just benefit from them,' snapped Hermione. 'Imagine it if had been the Girl Who Lived, and she started experiencing accidental Light magic and shagging everyone within a ten-foot radius.'

'Oi!'

'I'm sorry. But you see my point.'

'I suppose you're right. But maybe Lydia can help change attitudes.'

'What, as a feminist role model?' scoffed Hermione. But her expression softened. 'I suppose she could become a twenty-first century Madame de Staël, or one of the other French salon hostesses, and expose the hypocrisy of the current system. And I can't think of a better way for her to make a name for herself than by having a public affair with Harry Potter,' she mused. 'But how do you feel about that? You realise she's using you.'

'Of course she's using me. But I'm getting something out of it as well. Besides the obvious, of course.'

'You mean revenge? The _Prophet_ suggested that, but I didn't read the entire article because I was so worried about you.'

'I suppose I should look at it.' He reached for the newspaper and unrolled it. 'We're not on the cover?' he said, disappointed.

'Oh, the tragedy! It's probably because you'd already worn those robes. Do you need me to perform a Cheering Charm?'

'Very funny. No, I'm upset for Lydia—she was counting on it appearing on the front page.'

'Alas, it's only in the gossip column. But it's the leading item, and there's a lot of text.'

She opened the newspaper to a large photograph of Harry and Lydia, which he had to admit revealed shockingly strong alchemy between them. He was no expert in body language, but he could see from the photo how powerfully he'd been attracted to her. And she was looking at him with an air of amused ownership, and desire as well.

'No wonder you were worried,' he said. 'I look like I was Love Potioned.'

'That was my first thought, but I knew your ring would protect you.'

The item read:

_Barely a day after his rebuke from the lords of the Wizengamot, Harry Potter, 19, laid claim to Lydia Travers, 18, granddaughter of Lord Magnus Travers and great-niece to notorious Death Eater Ursinus Travers. The young couple, who enjoyed dinner last night at Café Wellington in Diagon Alley, appeared smitten with each other on what they claimed was a first date._

_Potter, dressed in white robes he'd worn previously, was 'mesmerised' by Miss Travers's beauty, according to onlookers, and in their eagerness to leave they skipped the final course. However, Miss Travers very kindly spoke to our reporter and described her deep admiration for her escort._

'_I know I oughtn't be in public with Harry, or anywhere else for that matter, but I find him utterly irresistible. I was raised to appreciate greatness, and nobody can argue that Harry isn't one of the greatest wizards living. I look forward to learning the full breadth of his abilities,' she said._

_Potter's undeniable attraction to the aristocratic Miss Travers already explains his decision to woo her, but she holds another appeal as well: she represents the old, Dark families who have long tried to thwart him. And what sweeter revenge could Potter want, than to hear his own name moaned through the rosy lips of someone raised to scorn him. _

_Adding insult to injury, Potter's public declaration that he won't propose marriage to anyone for two more years removes any doubt of his motives in escorting her, and Miss Travers appears to have no illusions on the topic. 'Yes, I know he has no intention of getting married,' she confirmed. And when asked whether they had been intimate, she said, 'Not yet, but ask me again tomorrow.'_

_Chudley Cannons watchers will be eager to know whether Potter performs at full capacity on Friday, and whether the demands of his private life mightn't jeopardise his performance against the Wimbourne Wasps on Saturday. In the meantime, we wish the young couple much bliss in spite of their radically different backgrounds._

'Your new friend isn't very subtle,' observed Hermione. 'She did everything but offer you her knickers then and there.'

'I don't collect knickers,' said Harry absently. 'That's something Voldemort would have done.'

'Maybe you should start. Is there a Light version of a Horcrux?'

He ignored her and said, 'I can't say I like the final paragraph, which implies I'm shirking my responsibilities to the team. Rita knew about Tuesday morning, you know. Apparently the witch I met on Monday is selling her story to some publication or other.'

'You mean a tell-all?' she gasped. Harry couldn't decide whether Hermione looked outraged or fascinated.

'Yes, Rita said there was a bounty. How do people even find out about these things?' he asked. 'Never mind, I should go to practice early. I don't want anyone thinking I didn't get enough sleep—thank Merlin I didn't have any nightmares.'

Hermione's face fell. 'You still have nightmares?'

'Er, sometimes,' he lied. 'Not often.'

They finished eating, and Hermione said, 'Next time warn me when you do something like that. I was really terrified for you.'

'I did warn you, on Wednesday night. I said I was taking precautions.'

'You're right, I forgot. But even so, don't frighten me like that!'

'Yes, Mum,' he said, and she scowled at him. 'Oh dear, I can only imagine how Mrs Weasley reacted to the article. Should I send Prongs to reassure her?'

'That might be a bit much, but I'll send my otter.'

Harry arrived at practice half an hour early and spent the first ten minutes flying aggressively. When he landed, Tuttle was there. 'Burning off frustration, Potter?'

'No, I'm fine. And I got plenty of sleep—she was out the fireplace by ten o'clock—and I only had a glass of wine. I'm just sorry the fans might think I've been shirking.'

'I can think of a good way to prove you aren't,' she said.

Harry smiled. 'Fly like a madman?'

'Yes. Showing up early is good too—it saved me the trouble of preparing another tirade.'

'You prepare them?' asked Harry. 'They always sound so spontaneous.'

'There's a method to my madness. And Bagman trained me.'

'What was that like, flying with him? I got to know him years later, when he tried to fix the Triwizard Tournament, and he didn't strike me as very disciplined.'

'He wasn't—I drove him like a demon for years. I can't count the number of times I had to dump cold water on him and Hover his drenched arse out of bed, no matter what he was in the middle of doing.' Harry's eyes shot open, and she said, 'He pitched a fit every time, but he never warded his flat against me. We were the best in the league, and I didn't mind letting him have the spotlight. It was always Bagman and Tuttle, and not the other way around, which was fine with me.'

'He was lucky to have you,' said Harry. 'He doesn't make the best choices on his own.'

'You don't know the half of it,' she muttered, but Harry corrected her.

'I know he was tried after the First Wizarding War, for passing information to Rookwood.'

Tuttle rolled her eyes. 'The daft bugger. He thought Rookwood was his mate and looking out for him—he didn't realise he was a bloody Death Eater.'

'I've been fooled by Death Eaters in disguise,' admitted Harry.

'You were fourteen and he was disguised as an Auror!' she snapped, referring to when Barty Crouch junior had impersonated Alastor Moody for an entire school year. 'No, you're not likely to fall for someone offering you a job.'

Harry could guess what she'd left unsaid. 'But I could be fooled by a witch? Don't worry, I questioned her under Veritaserum before dinner, and I'm able to communicate telepathically with my house-elf at a distance. I was perfectly safe.'

'That's a relief. Don't forget your Auror training entirely.'

'I won't. And by the way, thanks for taking on Owen as Seeker coach. I know I strong-armed Darius a bit.'

'More than a bit,' she chuckled. 'But it's a good role for Barrowmaker. And I didn't want to lose him either—you might have noticed I kept him around years longer than I should have done.'

'Yeah, I wondered about that. Not that I'm complaining, of course—I'd probably be zero for five without him.'

'You weren't bad when you arrived,' she said. 'You might have even got the job the usual way, on account of your flying.'

'That's a relief. I'm sorry you were stuck with me, without even getting a vote.'

'I was furious. Darius promised he'd let me evaluate you properly, and then I get back from lunch and find out he'd already hired you, based on two minutes with a Launcher. I didn't trust his judgment one bit—he'd have hired you regardless, because of the effect you'd have on sales. And when Lara said you were good I assumed she was star-struck.'

'And then you thought I just wanted to muck about on a broomstick and get my wand polished,' recalled Harry.

'Was I wrong?'

'No. The most fun I'd ever had in my life was playing Quidditch, and I realised I wanted more of it. When I told Kingsley Shacklebolt I was leaving the Ministry, I described my life until then as "all vegetables and no pudding."'

Tuttle laughed out loud. 'It's a good thing I didn't know about that at the time. I only had my suspicions.'

'I knew I'd work hard, and Ron would kill me if I didn't take the team seriously. But Merlin, I needed a break! You know now what my life was like.'

'The final year of the war ...' she began.

'It was far worse than you realise. It's classified, or else I'd tell you, but it was a living nightmare. People think it was hard because we spent months in a tent eating mushrooms, but that was the easy part.' He shook his head in disgust. 'Dark magic is the worst. I can't tell you how much good it's doing me to be on a broomstick all day.'

'I'm glad to hear that,' said Tuttle. 'You have a lot of distractions—I'm glad flying isn't just another one.'

'It's not. Flying is essential—the faster the better.'

Harry's teammates were starting to gather around the benches, and Tuttle said, 'Go put your broomstick away. Shall I take the piss this morning, in front of the team?'

'Be my guest,' he said before running back to the building.

When he returned, Tuttle entertained the team with some good-natured ribbing. 'I hope you'll all console Potter, who's heartbroken about not getting onto the cover of the _Prophet_ this morning.'

'Nobody wants to see you in the same old robes, Snitchbottom,' said Janet. 'Do we need to take up a collection and buy you something new?'

'It'll need wider sleeves,' observed Renée, 'to allow easy access to his Dark Mark.'

'If Harry has a Dark Mark, I doubt it's on his arm,' said Suresh.

Harry's jaw dropped. 'That's the most horrifying concept I've heard all week!'

'Ten laps, now!' barked Tuttle, and they all started running.

Janet caught up with Harry before he had a chance to sprint ahead. 'So, did you deflower her yet?'

'Not on a school night,' he said primly. 'I'll wait until after the match tomorrow.'

'Interesting—you don't normally kiss and tell.'

'She wants me to, if you hadn't noticed. She's tired of being a pure-blood princess.'

'Yes, I found it tiresome as well,' drawled Janet. 'So she's using you?'

'You make that sound like a bad thing.'

'Not at all. Ron split a side when he saw the item this morning—he told me to congratulate you for sticking it to old Travers like that.'

'He wasn't worried I'd been lured into a trap?'

'No, he has more faith in you than that. But what are you going to do about the robes?' she asked. 'Your fans demand variety.'

'Every magical tailor in Britain owled me this week to offer me robes at cost. I thought I'd choose some tomorrow, if there's time after the match.'

'Will you bring your new friend with you? She's bound to know a lot about Death Eater robes. I'm sorry, Harry Potter robes,' she corrected.

'Thank you. And yes, I'll bring Lydia with me. She's keen to be seen with me in public.'

'Just don't get killed. At least not before we train the new reserve.'

'Cheers,' he said before running off.

He worked hard all day in practice, knowing the mysterious 'team observers' were probably watching. _Monday night was a one-time occurrence,_ he thought. _The Cannons come first_. And that afternoon he had his final practice match against Owen, which was bittersweet.

'I'm going to miss you,' said Harry sentimentally. 'But I'll never forget you—I've arranged for Kreacher to mount your head on my stairwell.'

'What?' exclaimed Owen, bewildered.

'Oh, I mustn't have told you about that,' he said before explaining how Grimmauld Place had been decorated with house-elf trophies when he'd first arrived. 'I think they're still in the attic—Kreacher couldn't bear to part with them.'

'For the love of Merlin, don't let my daughters see them. They'll have nightmares for weeks.'

'Unlike my godson, who'd probably just impersonate them. Do you think your daughters would enjoy playing with a baby sometime?'

'He's a Metamorphmagus, right? Yes, they'd love it, but they'd almost certainly provoke him to tears.'

'He cries regardless, sooner or later. I can't imagine how I'll survive being a parent when it's my turn.'

'You'll manage,' said Owen. 'And I'll teach you my patented wandless Volume-Dampening Charm.'

Harry practised some new manoeuvres during the match, but Owen didn't bother following him. 'You don't want one final Bludgering, for old time's sake?' asked Harry.

'No, thanks—I'll settle for the Snitch.'

To everyone's delight, Owen caught the Snitch that afternoon, and when they landed Lara poured champagne, and Gary made a toast.

'I'd like to congratulate Barrowmaker on a truly crap career as a league Seeker,' he began, causing Owen to laugh uproariously. 'I mean, you were good for a few minutes there, but then you nodded off on your broomstick and were crushed between two well-meaning Bludgers who were just minding their own business. I wasn't playing, of course, but I had a great view from the skybenches, and I only regret that I wasn't mercenary enough to sell my Omnioculars to the highest bidder.

'But now, you're beginning a new career as a coach, which means you'll need to learn a raft of new rude words. Have you considered visiting Scotland? I recommend the Hog's Head Inn—one evening there should supply you with a rich new vocabulary for telling Potter what a waste of space he is.'

Harry laughed and gave Gary a two-finger salute. 'But seriously, you've been a first-rate Cannon and I'm speaking for all of us when I say how glad I am you're not going anywhere. To Owen Barrowmaker!' he cried, and everyone cheered and drank.

Other toasts were made, and eventually it was Harry's turn. 'When the war ended, and I finally had the opportunity to experience this strange thing called a "normal life,"' he began, using his fingers to indicate inverted commas, 'I often wondered whether I'd even be able to relate to people who hadn't experienced what I had. Where would I find people who could understand what it was like to persevere against insurmountable odds day after day, year after year, with essentially no hope of success, and to experience one crushing defeat after another?

'But then I discovered a remarkable group of individuals called the Chudley Cannons, and it turned out they knew exactly what that was like. They too had experienced dashed hopes, heartbreaking losses, and above all, cruel mockery. "These are my people!" I thought. "This is my family."

'I've been fortunate to meet a lot of people in the wizarding world who have treated me like family, but until I met Owen Barrowmaker, I didn't have what truly felt like an elder brother. Maybe it's because he was stuck listening to me for hours on end—which probably explains why he's retiring—but I feel closer to him than I would ever have thought possible with someone who hadn't fought beside me.

'Darius can tell you, I did everything but threaten to quit if they didn't find a way to keep Owen around. And I'm thrilled I was able to manipulate him so thoroughly—it seems I learnt something from Voldemort after all. So please join me as I drink another sip of champagne in honour of the Cannons' new Seeker coach, my brother, Owen Barrowmaker. Cheers!'

Harry drank the last of his champagne and hugged Owen. 'You realise this is all premature,' said Owen. 'Harry might be ejected tomorrow, and I'll have to clean up after him again.'

'Don't even think about it, Potter,' warned Tuttle. 'I'll curse your fists off if you lose your temper like that.'

'Fortunately Harry doesn't need either hand to operate his wand,' said Janet, prompting more laughter.

After the impromptu celebration, Harry showered and went home to Grimmauld Place. He dutifully signed photographs and responded to fan mail until half past six, when he went to the formal reception hall to greet the wizard he hoped would be his new tutor.

Right on time, a tall, thin man emerged from the fireplace. His hair was streaked with grey, and four parallel scars raked his neck and jaw. 'Welcome,' said Harry, 'please come in. May I offer you anything before dinner?'

'No, thank you. Mr Potter, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Simon Longclaw.'

'Please, call me Harry.'

'Then you must call me Simon.'

Harry led the way to the library upstairs. 'I'm so glad you were able to come to dinner on short notice. I'm a bit impetuous, and once I get an idea in my head I'm unable to drop it. Did they show you the letter I wrote, explaining why I'm looking for a tutor?'

'Yes, and I commend your impulse to learn more about the world. Most wizards your age are relieved not to be in school any longer, so it's impressive you're choosing education for its own sake.'

'I can't say I have a stellar educational record. I didn't actually finish school, and I hope I never have to sit my N.E.W.T.s, But I'd like to be more familiar with literature, and art, and architecture, and all the rest. I feel ignorant a lot of the time, and I'm hoping to remedy that.'

Simon's eyes widened as they entered the library, and he moved automatically towards the shelves. 'Certainly you have a lot of resources here in the house,' he began, until he started reading the titles. 'Sweet Merlin! I thought all copies of the _Encyclopaedia Maleficarum_ were destroyed by Fiendfyre in the eighteenth century!' He backed away and crossed his forearms protectively in front of him.

'Welcome to the Black family library,' said Harry. 'I honestly have no idea what to do with all these books. I'm certain they could be useful in combatting the Dark Arts, but I don't know how to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands.'

'That's a valid concern,' said Simon, still looking at the shelves. 'And I see some useful books on wizarding culture, but I suspect there's nothing written by Muggles or pertaining to Muggle culture.'

'There might be a few cookbooks,' suggested Harry, 'but possibly of the cannibal variety.'

'_To Serve Man_,' quoted Simon, and Harry looked blankly at him. 'It's a line from an old American television show called The Twilight Zone,' he explained. 'A race of aliens comes to Earth, and they appear to have solutions to all our problems. But some people are suspicious of their motives, and a cryptographer—someone who breaks codes—is brought in to translate a book the aliens left behind. Everyone is relieved when the title turns out to be "To Serve Man," which sounds noble, but at the last minute, when the cryptographer is boarding a spaceship to go live on their planet, his assistant runs in and cries, "It's a cookbook!"'

Harry chuckled and asked, 'Would most Muggles be familiar with that reference?'

'A fair number, yes. Even those who never saw the episode, which was broadcast in the early sixties, I think.'

'See, this is exactly the type of thing I'd like to know about. I met a Muggle a few weeks ago and she literally thought I might be a space alien, for how little I knew about popular culture.'

'Did you have to Obliviate her?' asked Simon.

'Er, no. She came up with her own theory that I was a Light Faerie, which is apparently a thing in Muggle literature. Urban fantasy, she called it. It was far enough from the truth that I let her believe it.'

Simon laughed out loud. 'Yes, I'm familiar with the genre—it's an entertaining mix of good guesses about magical culture and complete rubbish.'

'That's what it sounded like. But I don't know any classical literature either. I attended Muggle school through the age of ten, and after that I went to Hogwarts. My relations weren't intellectual, so we didn't have a lot of books around the house, and when I was there during the summers I wasn't permitted a library card.'

'The library didn't allow you to have a card?' asked Simon, surprised.

'I needed a parent or guardian signature,' said Harry, and Simon nodded.

'Have you seen many films?'

'Not in the cinema, but a lot on the telly. My cousin watched them, and as long as his mates weren't over I was usually allowed to watch as well. But they were mainly crap. "Rambo" and so forth.'

'Not very edifying,' agreed Simon. 'What types were your favourites?'

'I liked adventure stories. Saving the world—that kind of thing. And history, like the Greeks and Romans, or King Arthur. I didn't like romance movies, but that's probably because I was a kid. And I liked "Star Wars" and "Raiders of the Lost Ark." Fortunately Dudley liked those as well, so I got to see them more than once.'

'And you haven't read many books about subjects other than magic?'

'Not really. I liked reading in school when I was little—I usually stayed in the library during recess—but again, it was only until I was ten so it wasn't exactly great literature.'

'You have a good vocabulary,' said Simon. 'I reviewed some of your interviews this morning.'

'Not the thestral diatribe, I hope.'

'Oh yes. If nothing else, it demonstrated you have a quick mind and a way with words.'

'And a foul temper,' said Harry. 'But yes, I have a good vocabulary, mostly thanks to Hermione. My friend, Hermione Granger.'

'Of course. And you're fortunate, because that means you can start with good literature instead of working your way up. Not that there's anything wrong with literature for adolescents, and of course that's part of the culture as well. Did you ever read the Narnia books?'

'Yes, I actually read those! Most of them, anyway—I think the school was missing a couple. But wasn't the witch the villain?'

'She was. You'll find that in a lot of Muggle literature—I think it's from the collective memory, originating before the Statute of Secrecy.'

Kreacher appeared in the library with a loud _crack_, which startled Simon. 'Master, dinner is ready. Would Master prefer to eat in the kitchen or dining room?'

'The dining room, please, and thank you.' _Crack!_

'Sorry about that,' said Harry, leading Simon out of the room. 'My life is distinctly weird, and the house-elf is part of it.'

Based on the other werewolves Harry had known, he'd assumed Simon would like red meat, slightly undercooked. 'Is this all right?' he asked, when they sat at the table.

'It looks ideal. I'm obviously not the first werewolf you've met.'

'No, one of my father's best friends was a werewolf, and he was like family to me. He was also one of the only good Defence professors I had at Hogwarts, so I'm probably predisposed to liking werewolf teachers.'

'Yes, I remember when it came out that Albus Dumbledore had hired a werewolf. That was before I was infected, and I remember vehemently agreeing that he shouldn't have been allowed near children. An opinion I later regretted, of course.'

'I can't understand the prejudice against werewolves,' said Harry. 'Particularly now that Wolfsbane is more widely available.'

'Honestly, as someone who was bit by a werewolf, I understand the prejudice completely. It was a savage and deliberate attack. But obviously not all werewolves are like that—in fact hardly any of us are—so I'm glad FLOOF is providing certification for compliant werewolves like myself.'

'Have you always had access to Wolfsbane?' asked Harry.

'All but one time,' he said. 'Not long after I was infected. I didn't hurt anyone, but it was ... difficult.'

'I should introduce you to Padfoot. My father and his mates became Animagi to keep Moony company—their werewolf friend. Sirius Black became a large dog, and his portrait is in the entrance hall. My father became a stag, Prongs.'

'That was remarkably kind of them,' said Simon. 'I'm certain it made all the difference.'

'I think so, and I'm glad to hear you say that. My father was apparently an arrogant prat until only a few years before he died, so it's good to remember he had some redeeming qualities as well.'

'People are almost never all good or all bad,' observed Simon. 'Unfortunately a lot of films and books portray people as one-dimensional, but great literature and films are usually more nuanced than that.'

Harry's thoughts drifted to Snape. 'I've known people I thought were entirely evil, but they turned out to be more complicated than that. And finding out they'd had a good motivation all along didn't erase everything else they'd done, or continued to do.' He sighed and said, 'I suppose nothing's that simple.'

'No, but there's beauty in the complexity. A character who's perfectly good is usually also perfectly boring. And sometimes a messy novel that's not perfectly structured is more compelling than one that's technically flawless.'

'Or women,' said Harry. 'Sorry, I'm nineteen ... but sometimes a woman with what might be considered a flaw, like a crooked nose or funny ears, is more attractive than someone you can't find fault with.'

'Yes, definitely. Sometimes it's the flaw that sets off the perfection.'

'It's like the peeling wallpaper in the house,' said Harry. 'Kreacher has been fixing it, but he's also preserved the option to unfix it. And I definitely like it both ways.'

They continued talking through the meal, with Simon drawing out Harry's interests. 'What about music?' he asked. 'Are you familiar with much popular music?'

'Not anymore. I knew some growing up, but I never had tapes or anything. And of course I haven't a stereo system, because there's no electricity in the house.'

'What about a record player?'

'I think there's one in the attic, but I haven't any records.'

'They're not as easy to buy as they once were—Muggle records—because everyone's switched to compact discs. But you can still find them in charity shops, and used record stores. I could loan you some so you can discover what you like.'

'Cheers, I'd appreciate that.'

'Do you think you'd enjoy classical music, or opera?' asked Simon.

'I honestly couldn't say.'

'It might be worth taking you to the London Symphony Orchestra, to see whether you like it. There's nothing like a live performance in a first-rate concert hall.'

Harry realised there might be a problem. 'Er, I should tell you about something. I probably shouldn't attend a concert or anything in an enclosed dark space anytime soon. I've lately been experiencing accidental Light magic, which means I sometimes start glowing spontaneously.'

'Accidental Light magic?' asked Simon. 'I'm ashamed to say I've never heard of such a thing. The only Light magic I know is the Patronus Charm.'

'Yes, apparently it's not well known. But I found a book about it in the library here, and it explains perfectly what's happening to me.' Harry told Simon what he'd learnt, minus the part about increased libido.

'Fascinating. I hope you'll tell me more about it as you learn more. And I'm glad you told me—I can choose our excursions accordingly. Do you think you'd be all right at the cinema?'

'I think so, as long as the film's not too beautiful or heart-wrenching.'

Simon laughed. 'I'm sure there are plenty that'll work, but we'll leave "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" off the list for now.'

'Oh, there's one film I'm curious to see. I can't remember the title, but it has the line "_We'll always have Paris_." Do you know it?'

'"Casablanca,"' he said. 'It's a classic, and it's shown at repertory cinemas regularly. It occurs to me you should also see "The Rocky Horror Picture Show," but that's usually shown late at night on weekends.'

'I can't do a late show on a Friday night, if I have a match the next day, but Saturdays would work. I might want to bring a date, though.'

'Of course, that's fine. Perhaps I would as well.'

They resolved to meet regularly on Fridays at six, which would give them time to visit a museum or see a film before Harry needed to turn in, and Simon agreed to send over a stack of books and records.

'I should warn you that next Friday is the night after the full moon, so I won't be very energetic.'

'Would you rather skip next Friday and start in a fortnight?' asked Harry. 'Or I could meet you that Sunday evening.'

'No, I always appreciate company after a full moon, and watching a film would suit my energy level.'

After dinner, Harry led Simon to the entrance hall and introduced him to Padfoot, who sniffed eagerly at the front of the canvas and wagged his tail. 'I think he recognises your werewolf scent,' observed Harry.

'Remarkable … I must say, it would be great fun to tussle with a large dog in wolf form. I'm certain it made a huge difference to your father's friend, particularly before Wolfsbane was available.'

'It did, and I think he suffered terribly after my father was gone and while Sirius was in Azkaban. Fortunately things improved towards the end of his life, in spite of the war. He married and had a son, although he died soon after.'

'He had a son?' exclaimed Simon.

'Yes, my godson, Teddy.'

'And he's not ...'

'No, he's quite normal. Except that he's a Metamorphmagus, but that comes from his mother.'

'Fascinating. There's very little information about whether werewolves can safely father children.'

'I could introduce you if you like,' said Harry. 'I've been trying to spend more time with him.'

'If his mother wouldn't mind, I'd like that very much,' replied Simon.

'Unfortunately his mother died too, but he's being raised by his grandmother, Andromeda Tonks. And I'm certain she'd be happy to meet you.'

'Ideally it would be near the full moon, when my senses are most acute. I'm curious whether he has any subtle wolf traits.'

'Depending on his mood he might look like a wolf cub,' said Harry, 'but that's from his Metamorphmagus side.'

They shook hands at the fireplace. 'It's been a pleasure to meet you, Harry, and I look forward to working together. So many wizards dismiss Muggle culture, even thought it's perfectly splendid and very much linked to our own magical culture. It'll be a privilege to share it with you.'

After Simon left, Harry went upstairs to prepare for bed. It wasn't terribly late, but he could never predict when a nightmare would interrupt his sleep, so he wanted to turn in early.

There was a tapping at the window, and although it was dark out he could tell it wasn't an owl. He opened the window and to his mild horror discovered it was a bat, with a letter attached to its leg.

He removed the letter and was relieved when the bat flew away. The envelope was black with silver writing, and Harry couldn't help laughing.

_My dear Harry,_

_I'm pleased to report that my enquiries regarding the Light Arts have borne fruit, and that I've identified an excellent teacher here in England. Her name is Davina Hampton, and she spent decades abroad studying with various Light masters. I exchanged correspondence with her (by owl, of course—I thought you'd enjoy my little joke) and she's amenable to taking on a student should you meet her requirements._

_I didn't reveal your identity, but I would be glad to host a private meeting a week from Sunday, at eight o'clock p.m. Please confirm whether you can attend, although I advise you to rearrange your schedule around her if at all possible._

_Yours sincerely,  
__Alistair_

Harry was pleased, not only that Alistair had found him a teacher, but also that he wouldn't have to talk to Dumbledore's portrait. Although he'd now told a handful of people about his accidental Light magic, it still felt very personal, and he didn't like the idea of every portrait in Hogwarts knowing about it.

He owled Alistair a brief reply, confirming the Sunday meeting and asking whether Hermione might accompany him. _I suppose that means I can't visit the arena afterwards_, he mused, but he suspected he might have his hands full with Lydia for the foreseeable future.

_This should be interesting_, he thought with anticipation, as he extinguished the light.


	54. Chapter 54

Harry had instructed Ron not to come to Grimmauld Place first thing on Saturday. He had an eight o'clock meeting at Gringotts, to discuss the contract with Rita Skeeter, and he'd use Prongs to notify Ron when it was time to visit.

He was assisted that morning by the same goblin who'd helped with his Cannons contract. 'Good morning, Mr Potter.'

'Good morning, Redblade,' replied Harry. 'I'm grateful for the advice you provided when I signed with the Cannons—if I hadn't demanded the right to approve all merchandise, people would be running around wearing Harry Potter knickers right now. So you've done me a tremendous service already.'

'Gringotts takes pride in offering superlative guidance on all business matters.' Redblade opened a folder to reveal a parchment and said, 'I'm certain we can help you in your dealings with Madam Skeeter. I should mention, however, that client confidentiality forbids me from revealing the details of her contract with Lucius Malfoy, but there was nothing unusual about his terms and they're exactly what I'd have advised regardless.'

'Brilliant. As long as she can't stab me in the back again.'

Redblade showed Harry the details of the proposed contract, which imposed both magical and financial penalties if Rita were to lie or misrepresent Harry. In return, Harry was to give Rita the right of first refusal regarding any non-Quidditch related story he wished to share with the press, excepting anything he chose to reveal directly on Weasley's Wizard Wireless. Harry would not be required to provide a specific number of interviews or story opportunities, but it was understood that as long as he was a public figure, he would provide her with information, which she would disseminate in a largely flattering light.

They both had the right to terminate the contract at will, but Redblade didn't anticipate the need. 'Madam Skeeter has numerous agreements of this nature, and they've proven beneficial to both parties. I shan't reveal names, but any witch or wizard who has received consistently positive coverage at her pen is very likely to have a similar contract.'

The magic powering the contract was to come from an escrow vault funded exclusively by Harry. Apparently goblins had a method for generating and sustaining magic from gold itself, and Harry's initial deposit would be sufficient to enforce years of Rita's good behaviour. If either party terminated the contract, the remaining gold would return to Harry's primary vault.

_This explains why goblins are so obsessed with gold, _he mused, signing the agreement. _All wizards can do is spend it and look at it._

Harry was back at Grimmauld Place in short order, and he sent Prongs to tell Ron to come over whenever he liked. A minute later, Ron leapt purposefully from the fireplace with his wand raised. Assuming the posture they'd learnt in Auror training, he barked, 'Is the room secure, or should I sweep it for the Dark Mark?'

'Very funny,' replied Harry. 'She doesn't have a Dark Mark, and I haven't seen her since Thursday night.'

'Is it over already? Did her family commit her to St Mungo's, or send her to a spa in Switzerland to keep you apart?'

'No, but she owled me to say they're not at all pleased.'

'Can they actually stop her from seeing you?' asked Ron.

'Not really. She's of age, and she's financially independent. They haven't kicked her out yet, but they might do after we finish Phase Two.'

Ron waggled his eyebrows. 'Is that what you're calling it?'

'She doesn't know that, but yes. Phase Two is what you might call the point of no return. Ruination complete.'

'You bastard,' said Ron admiringly. 'I'll have you know my dad Floo-called me last night, begging me to tell you to stop seeing her.'

'What reason did he provide?' asked Harry, annoyed.

'All of them. First, that it's a trap. Second, that it's not seemly, whatever that means. And third, he's afraid she's taking advantage of you.'

'Of course she's taking advantage of me. And vice versa. It's brilliant!'

'That photograph was something else. Are you certain she didn't Love Potion you?'

'I'm certain,' said Harry. 'Quite the opposite—I demanded she take Veritaserum.'

'Are you serious? Bollocks of steel, mate! And she agreed to it?'

'Yes, she didn't even bother looking at my questions first. She's definitely on the level.'

'Don't take this the wrong way,' said Ron, 'but this is one of those cases where you're lucky you don't have parents. Mine would go mental if I started dating a Dark pure-blood.'

'Because of the inbreeding potential?' retorted Harry.

'Oi! I'm not inbred!'

'I didn't say you were. Though you have to admit, it's a little suspicious that both your parents have red hair.'

Ron frowned. 'You're not the first person to point that out. But they checked their family trees first, and even took a blood test at St Mungo's.'

'I know, that's what Ginny told me when I taunted her about it.'

'You're a brave man if you taunted my sister. I reckon Voldemort was just practice.'

'And you're one to talk,' said Harry. 'I heard what happened at that nightclub between you and Janet.'

Ron attempted to scowl, but it turned into a look of pleasure. 'That Janet, she's unbelievable. At this rate we'll need to lock our wands in a strongbox to keep from cursing each other.'

'Isn't that what a marriage bond does?' asked Harry innocently. 'Keep the happy couple from killing one another?'

'Don't even joke about that. I can't imagine marrying Janet.'

'I don't know, you're older than I am. If you were a responsible young wizard you'd be settling down right about now.'

'This from Mister "I'm not proposing until I'm twenty-one,"' scoffed Ron. 'Admit it, nobody actually forced you to make that pledge.'

'Untrue! Helena did.'

'Really? Why?'

'For exactly the reasons I said—I fall in love too easily and I need to grow up first.'

Ron shook his head in amazement. 'She did you a huge bloody favour, mate. Now you don't even have to bother with the speech about how it's just a fling.'

Harry sighed, remembering what he'd said to Helena after their first night together. 'Yes, I suppose she did. And I've certainly had fun since we split up, but I'm still sorry it didn't work out between us.'

'You do fall in love too easily,' said Ron. 'You won't catch that happening to me.'

'What, because it took you seven years with Hermione, and you still broke up with her?'

'Bloody hell, this is still the obnoxious Seeker phase, isn't it?'

'Sorry, yes. Owen can't predict how long it might last. But really, it's nothing personal, and feel free to insult me right back.'

'Cheers, you can count on it. So tell me more about your hot-blooded little Death Eater.'

'She's not a Death Eater! But she's definitely hot-blooded ... it was all I could do to slow her down on Thursday.'

'Why slow her down?' asked Ron.

'It's her first time. I want to do things properly. And pure-bloods are weird about sex—non blood-traitors that is. Have you heard of portkey brothels?'

'No ... but I can guess. Is that how posh wizards cope with having to court virgins?'

'Apparently. They just take a portkey to France and pay some witch to spread her legs.'

'I hope she does more than that,' sniggered Ron.

'I was speaking figuratively. I assume they have professional standards. Training, even.'

'Or maybe not,' mused Ron. 'In fact, this could explain why most pure-blood families have so few children. If the husband learnt what he was doing from some French prostitute who was looking at her wristwatch the entire time, and then he used those same moves on his virginal bride, I think we know why Draco Malfoy is an only child.'

Harry choked with laughter. 'I have trouble believing Lucius Malfoy wasn't a man of the world.'

'Maybe with other wizards,' said Ron. 'He put way too much effort into his clothes.'

'Oi!'

Ron held up his hands innocently. 'You told me to insult you back! And besides, it's the only way to deflate your Lockhart-sized ego.'

Harry was signing photographs and responding to fan mail throughout their conversation. 'I'm sorry,' said Harry, 'but it's the only way I can keep up. Did you ever write to the Cannons when you were a kid?'

'All the bloody time,' admitted Ron. 'Every season I used to cycle through the players to get a full set of team photos for free.'

'That was very crafty of you, Weasley. Well done.'

'Hey, not all of us had a huge pile of gold!'

'No need to get defensive—that was sincere praise. And besides, I didn't have any money as a kid, not with the Dursleys.'

'Why not?' asked Ron. 'I mean, why didn't you just exchange Galleons for pounds and shillings?'

'One, because Britain stopped using shillings before we were born. And two ... I don't know.'

'You don't know?' echoed Ron. 'You never thought, "Wow, Dudley's old trainers are total crap. Why don't I take a handful of coins from my overflowing vault and buy something decent?"'

Harry was irritated, and not just with Ron. 'First off, I usually went to Gringotts only once a year, just before leaving for Hogwarts. It's not as if I could just pop through the Dursleys' fireplace and make a withdrawal.'

'You could have taken the Knight Bus,' persisted Ron.

'Yeah, but I didn't,' snapped Harry. 'And no, I don't know why! Dumbledore probably warded the house to keep me from thinking of it, because Merlin forbid I enjoy myself as a child!'

'Sorry, mate, you're right. And I probably didn't make things easier—I'd most likely have been envious if you'd had nice shoes.'

'We were both complete gits,' said Harry. 'No wonder we were best mates. The only mystery is why Hermione put up with us.'

'True enough. For such a clever witch, she had some seriously thick friends.'

Harry chuckled. 'Lydia said something similar—not about Hermione, but about how she'd been raised to think of non-Dark wizards like us as thick.'

'I reckon that's why she wants you to deflower her,' smirked Ron, and Harry laughed again.

His expression turned sober and he added, 'She said they were waiting for me to die, during the war, so they could start shopping and having big parties again. But then she started rooting for me when we robbed Gringotts and escaped on that dragon.'

'I wonder where he is now,' mused Ron. 'He had more life in him than you'd have thought.'

'He did,' agreed Harry. 'A far sight more than we did, come to think of it.'

'True that—you looked like an Inferius when I pulled you out of that pond. What kind of moron jumps into an icy pool with a Horcrux around his neck?' Harry scowled and Ron added, 'But seriously, it's starting to feel like I dreamt it all. Do you know what I mean?'

'Yeah, sort of. I sometimes feel that way about Sirius, even though I have all the proof I could need that he existed.'

'Like the ring? Nice job with the lords, by the way.'

'Thanks, I guess I won after all. And you won't believe this, but I just formed an alliance with Rita Skeeter. That's why I was at Gringotts this morning, to work out the contract. Apparently it's the same terms Lucius Malfoy had, and loads of other high-profile wizards.'

'Are you serious? You're bribing her?'

Harry shook his head. 'No, it's not a bribe. I'll just give her stories and interviews, and she'll give me favourable and relatively accurate coverage. That's why the photo and article about the Wizengamot were so flattering.'

'Blimey! I think I finally believe you about the Sorting Hat wanting to put you into Slytherin. You really are a Black now!'

'I probably am,' admitted Harry. 'Andromeda and I are meeting with Narcissa Malfoy tomorrow, here at the house.'

'We definitely dreamt the war—that is just mental.'

'Wait 'til you hear the next step ... I'm going to visit Draco at Malfoy Manor. And I invited some Slytherins to the match today. Zabini, Nott, and Daphne Greengrass. And Lydia, of course—there's no question which house she'd have been sorted into.'

'Don't take this the wrong way, but why? Malfoy's never going to like you.'

'No, but he doesn't need to be an enemy either. Andromeda pointed out that now's the best chance to smooth things over, while I'm still on top. Because we know this isn't going to last.'

'No, probably not,' agreed Ron. 'I can't believe it, but you almost sound like Percy.'

'Ouch! There's no need for insults!' cried Harry, and they both laughed.

'So are you going to change your name?'

'Yeah, most likely. Harry Potter-Black.'

'That's not so bad. Better than Harry Black. Or Harry Slytherin,' he added with a smirk.

'Harry Gaunt,' suggested Harry. 'Or Lestrange.'

'Riddle,' announced Ron. 'Harry Marvolo Riddle.'

'Brilliant! I should go to Gringotts straight away—I'll announce it after the match.'

'Be sure to get Rita involved. She's your best mate now.'

'That's right. You're sacked!'

They talked Quidditch for the rest of the morning, until it was time for Harry to leave for the training grounds. 'Wish me luck,' he said. 'But hold a banner for Janet, because I won't thank you the way she will.'

'She's no French prostitute, that's for certain.'

'I'll tell her you said that. See you later!'

Harry met his teammates at the benches, and the trainers led them through their usual pre-match routine.

'There's rain in the forecast,' announced Gary. 'A real downpour, starting about an hour into the match. But it shouldn't last too long.'

'I'm under strict orders to catch the Snitch quickly today,' said Harry, and the other Cannons ribbed him.

'Are you going to deflower her right there, on the pitch?' asked Janet.

'That seems tacky,' said Owen. 'I recommend somewhere more dignified, like the Wizengamot chamber.'

'But then his ring would show up,' said Titus. 'And he'd have to make a statement. "I, Harry James Potter—OW!—I mean, I, Harry James Black—BUGGER!"'

Janet was laughing and said, '"I, Lord Harry James Black, intend to deflower the living daylights out of Miss Lydia Travers, right here in the Wizengamot chamber where her grandfather tried to shaft me."'

'"So I'll shaft her,"' interjected Darren. '"Repeatedly. To bring wizards together. Or something like that. The end."'

'That's perfect, cheers,' said Harry. 'Could someone write that down?'

After lunch they travelled by Floo to Chudley Stadium, and Lara took pictures when Owen stepped out of the locker room wearing his Seeker robes for the last time. 'It's a shame you won't fly out,' Harry told him. 'You deserve a final round of applause from the fans.'

'I'm not bothered,' said Owen. 'It would be one thing if I were leaving forever to go drive the Knight Bus, but I'll be here same as always next week.'

'I guess so, but it's still the end of an era.'

When the referee scanned Harry for hidden charms and enhancements, Suresh tried making him say his name to see if the ring would punish him again, but it didn't have any effect.

'No, I think it requires the magic of the Wizengamot chamber,' replied Harry. 'Or a large audience or something.'

'So your ring is a drama queen? In that case you'd think it would have better taste.'

The starters flew out and circled the stadium, and as always Harry was announced last and received huge applause. It was a home match, so the stands were a sea of orange, with occasional patches of Wimbourne yellow and black. All the usual banners were there, except with fewer marriage proposals than the previous week, and more blatant propositions.

'_Take me now, Harry Potter!'_ said one banner, which actually made him blush, and he checked to make sure Lydia wasn't holding it. '_You don't need to marry me, Harry,_' said another sign bedecked with hearts and flowers.

Several banners were in French, clearly in reference to his trip the previous weekend. _'Allez Potter!'_ said one, and '_Vive Harry!'_ said another. He understood those, but another one said, '_Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir, Harry_?' which he'd have to ask Hermione about.

He flew closer to the stands than he usually did, in an attempt to see whether Lydia was holding a sign. It took a while to find his cluster of seats, but then he spotted it. _'I'm waiting, Harry. Breathlessly,' _said the sign, and it featured a border of red, orange, and yellow roses, which he knew signified passionate thoughts.

_Sweet Merlin_, he thought, and he felt his mind expand into vast awareness. _Let the Snitch appear_, came the intention. _Avoid Bludgers. And keep your mind on the bloody match, Snitchbottom._

'You seem to have a lot of admirers, Potter,' said Jerome Wither, flying next to him. 'How do you manage to concentrate?'

'Years of experience,' said Harry coolly. 'It's the cross I bear.'

'Last month at Seeker's night out I didn't think you were arrogant, but now I do. Has something changed, or have you just stopped trying to hide it?'

'Both, I reckon. But I didn't get much of an impression of you at all,' replied Harry. 'You were just one of the other Seekers, as far as I was concerned. You're no Phil Routledge, that's for sure.'

'Yes, he's your new best mate, isn't he? What on earth possessed you to wear his jersey in public?'

'They were all out of Andrew Gilstrap's jersey. And they didn't even carry yours.'

'I beat the Cannons twice,' replied Wither. 'You're still a fluke.'

'Five games? I don't think so.'

'Gilstrap doesn't count. And you're just a novelty. Everyone knows you'll get bored by the end of the season and find some other hobby. Something that doesn't interfere with your social life.'

'Quidditch isn't a hobby,' said Harry with a deliberate edge in his voice. 'This is how I get my aggression out, burn off pent up energy.'

'I thought you had a different method for burning off pent up energy.'

'Yes, but she's still a virgin. Not for long though.' Harry felt power rising from his abdomen into his chest.

Wither started to reply but Harry shot into a precipitous feint, which Wither had to follow. The surge of adrenaline fed Harry's sense of physical power, and he momentarily pulled back his sleeve to make sure he wasn't glowing._ But this doesn't feel like glowing_, he thought. _This feels like captured lightning._

He barely heard himself replying to Wither as the match progressed, but he knew he was being appallingly arrogant. _Snape was right_, he thought, and another delicious thrill ran through him. Wither feinted occasionally, but Harry didn't bother following him—he knew instinctively the Snitch wasn't there.

Time passed, and the sky grew dark with clouds . Harry feinted from time to time, because he knew the fans wanted it. He also unveiled several new manoeuvres, which drew huge cheers, and when he caught his teammates' expressions he saw a mixture of fear and awe. _This is power_, he thought, and the entire stadium vibrated with it.

Fat droplets of rain began to fall, bouncing sharply off his protective gear. He didn't bother with his hood, which only would have blocked his vision, but instead revelled in the downpour. He knew he couldn't miss the Snitch in this state—his sense of awareness was so acute that he'd have noticed anything he'd set the intention for. _May the Snitch appear to me_, he repeated.

'Potter, are you always like this?' asked Wither. 'Because you're one serious freak this afternoon.'

Harry felt a prick of anger at the word 'freak,' but it passed through him instantly. 'No, I've never experienced this before,' he admitted. 'I'm sorry you can't. I hope you will.'

Without even intending to, Harry feinted again, past the opposing Beaters and inexplicably towards Janet, who was alone at her rings. He saw her watching him in what felt like slow motion, and when he flew past her he raised his hand to catch the Snitch, which had appeared only a second earlier.

'Potter has the Snitch! Cannons win, 230-50!' cried the announcer, and Harry's perceptions suddenly returned to normal.

'Holy shit, Snitchbottom!' yelled Janet. 'What the hell just happened?'

'I caught the bleeding Snitch!' he cried exuberantly. 'I'm going to deflower a pure-blood princess!'

He and his teammates circled the pitch to deafening applause, in the still heavy rain. Harry flew close to the stands where he'd seen Lydia earlier, and with his perfect vision he caught her eye. 'I did it,' he called, slowing down, and she gazed at him hungrily.

Before she could reply he held up the Snitch again and circled, and then pulled out his wand and pressed it to his throat. '_Sonorus_,' he incanted, amplifying his voice, and then he said, 'Owen Barrowmaker, get up here!' The other reserves shoved Owen onto his broomstick, and the starters escorted him around the pitch. 'Owen's our new Seeker coach, and he's absolutely brilliant,' announced Harry before sliding his wand back into its holster.

'That was uncanny,' Owen said to him after they'd circled the stadium. 'How in hell did you find the Snitch? I didn't even see it when you started feinting—not until a moment before you grabbed it.'

'Neither did I,' confessed Harry. 'I honestly don't know what happened, but it was like nothing I've experienced.'

'And that's saying something, considering all the weird shit you've experienced.'

The rain was getting lighter, and by the time they landed it was only drizzling. The rest of Harry's teammates congratulated him, and Tuttle said, 'Nice work, Potter. That'll shut up anyone who says flying's not your priority.'

The two sides shook hands, and Harry apologised profusely when he saw Wither. 'I'm so sorry, that was strictly above-the-pitch behaviour. Feel free to curse me if I act like that on Monday.'

'Bloody hell, Potter, I've played some fucked-up matches but that was spooky. Your girlfriend isn't teaching you the Dark Arts, is she?'

'Definitely not. And sorry again—I hope we can spend time together when I'm not in a weird trance like that.'

'How did you even see the Snitch? I still can't figure out what happened.'

'Neither can I.'

'Harry!' boomed a familiar voice. 'That was absolutely amazing, I've never seen anything like it!'

With a shock of recognition, Harry said, 'Bagman? Er, Mr Bagman?'

'Call me Ludo!' he cried, grabbing Harry's hand and shaking it vigorously. 'Unbelievable flying today, and what a catch! How are you?'

'Er, I'm well. And how are you?'

Bagman's short-cropped hair was more grey than blond, and his mid-section was bigger than before. But his cheeks were still rosy and his eyes bright, and Harry could see he was back to his jovial self. 'I can't complain, not at all,' said Bagman. 'Life has been good to me, and things are always interesting. And you in particular, my boy ... talk about some big changes this summer! Next time give me some advance warning before you jump tracks, ha ha!'

'Right,' said Harry weakly, recalling that Bagman now made a living as a bookmaker.

'I should buy you dinner,' continued Bagman, 'after you earned me a sack of Galleons with that pocket square switcheroo. I knew you hadn't given up on flowers, not with your sponsorship, but nobody thought you'd be photographed wearing them the very next day. I cleaned up on that one, no mistake.'

_People really placed bets on how soon I'd wear flowers again?_ thought Harry. _Wizards really need more celebrities. _

'I've enjoyed getting to know Tuttle since I joined the Cannons,' he said. 'She's a brilliant coach.'

'Good old Margie! She really had my number, no doubt about it. Has she tried the old _Aguamenti_ on you yet? Ha ha!'

'No, it hasn't been necessary.'

'Not even Tuesday morning?' persisted Bagman. 'I'm just having a laugh … now's the time, Potter. What I wouldn't give to be nineteen again!' He lowered his voice and said, 'Have you deflowered that pure-blood yet? And can you give me an inside track ... are you going to announce it Tuesday night on the radio, or before then?'

'Er,' hesitated Harry.

'Bagman, get away from him right now!' barked Tuttle. 'Don't you go ruining my Seeker—he's enough trouble already.'

'Margie, we were just talking about old times. Those were the days, weren't they Harry?'

'You mean when Cedric died?'

'No, no, besides that. You and that Horntail ... I should have placed a long wager then and there that you'd be a league Seeker someday. Though of course we didn't know back then whether you'd survive You-Know-Who, ha ha!'

'Were there bets on that?' he asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

'Were there ever!' boomed Bagman. 'I was at the Surly Bowtruckle that night, and when the news hit that you died I thought my goose was cooked—I was ready to scarper. But then it turned out you were alive and You-Know-Who was gone, and let's just say I owe you another dinner.'

'Er, I'm glad I could help,' said Harry, trying to get away.

'Potter, go talk to the reporters,' ordered Tuttle. 'Now.'

Harry was glad to leave, and he spoke with reporters for a while. 'Is Miss Travers here at the match?' asked a reporter from _Witch Weekly._

_Since when does _Witch Weekly_ cover Quidditch matches?_ he wondered. Normally he would have dodged the question, but knowing Lydia's desire for publicity he said, 'Yes, I expect her on the pitch presently, and we're going out later.'

'How do you think your parents would feel if they knew you were dating someone from a Dark family?' she asked.

'I have no idea how my parents would feel—I can't remember them. But Lydia can't help what family she was born into, so I won't hold it against her. She certainly hasn't held my Blood Status against me.'

'There she is,' cried another reporter.

_It's showtime_, he thought, and he walked towards her. 'Oh, Harry, you were marvellous,' exclaimed Lydia as she approached. Her hair was wet, and so was the shirt she was wearing—midnight blue with Harry's lightning-bolt emblem—and it clung to her.

He caught her in an embrace, and as promised he began kissing her passionately. Her hands dug under his robes and began pulling apart the laces at his breastbone, and he allowed his hands to slide under the back of her shirt. During a brief pause between kisses, she whispered, 'Yes, perfect, keep it up,' and her hands grasped the sides of his hips before they kissed again.

Cameras snapped, and he finally pulled away from her and saw that they were surrounded not only by photographers but also most of his teammates and friends. 'Get a room!' shouted Janet, before pulling Ron into a similar embrace, and Hermione and Ryan smirked at each other before following suit.

Harry ran his hand through his wet hair and took stock of the situation. Lydia looked unbelievably sexy, and he noticed an orange lily in her dripping hair. He reached to touch it and tenderly moved a wet lock behind her ear. 'What does orange mean?' he murmured.

'I burn for you,' she said, before kissing him again.

'Is the lily for Harry's mother?' asked the reporter from _Witch Weekly_. 'She was Muggle-born, you know.'

'Yes, but she had the most beautiful eyes,' said Lydia, looking meaningfully at Harry. 'And she couldn't help who her parents were, any more than I can.'

'Have you been disinherited?' asked another reporter.

'I don't care,' said Lydia.

'I should probably talk to my other friends,' said Harry, who was mindful of his mates' amused expressions. He left her with the reporters and talked first with Neville and Hannah, along with a group of Hufflepuffs: Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan, and Justin Finch-Fletchley. 'I'm glad you could make it,' he told them, 'and sorry about the sideshow. Lydia's trying to break from her family and this is the quickest way.'

'My hat's off to you,' said Ernie, 'and old Travers deserves it for voting against you on Wednesday.'

'Oh right, you're related to one of the lords, aren't you? Sorry about all that.'

'No you're not,' said Ernie. 'But don't worry about it—lordships are bollocks, and I wasn't in line for it anyway.'

Next he was greeted by the Slytherins. 'Good show, old chap!' exclaimed Blaise. 'That was quite a match!'

_Good show, old chap?_ repeated Harry internally. _Who even talks like that anymore?_ 'I'm glad you could make it,' he said. 'I can't say I ever expected to invite a bunch of Slytherins to a match, but times have changed—for the better, I think.'

'They've certainly changed,' said Daphne. 'And you've been more than gracious, particularly this past week, when you didn't antagonise Draco even once on the radio. Did they ward the booth to make you forget about him?'

'No, that was genuine. I sincerely regret sending my Patronus to him, and it won't happen again.'

'Fair enough. You've only just become a Black, and we can't expect good breeding to happen overnight,' she said breezily. 'So when are you changing your name? I daresay even I'd be permitted to marry you now, but I've no interest in waiting two years.'

'That was absolute genius,' said Blaise, 'telling everyone you'd been forbidden from proposing until you're twenty-one. Draco was appalled, of course—he's convinced you made it up.'

'I swear on Dumbledore's tomb, it's the absolute truth. I'm just not saying who required it of me, to protect their privacy.'

'Oh, it was Helena Strauss,' said Daphne. 'I suppose that makes sense. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone.'

'And Theo, how are you doing?' asked Harry. 'I'm pleased you could come.'

'Thanks for inviting me,' he said. 'And also for seating us with your intriguing new friend.'

'Had you met her before?'

'Of course,' said Daphne. 'Perhaps not Blaise, but Theo and I had. I must say, I never expected her to rebel so thoroughly, but she's clearly sincere—and shockingly public about it.'

'Did she try to convince you to do the same?' asked Harry.

'Merlin, no. I don't think she wants the competition—if this sort of thing happens too frequently it loses its novelty. And of course my family is neutral, not Dark.'

'Yes, and I should thank your mother for voting in my favour on Wednesday.'

'She couldn't have cared less about your complaint, but she knew how foolish the lords would look for crossing you, and of course she was right. There's a reason we've lasted this long.'

'Actually I'd like your opinion, all three of you,' said Harry. 'I'm serious about bringing young witches and wizards together, and ideally preventing the next war. But do you think there's any point, or would I just be making an arse of myself?'

'You mean reaching out to people from Dark families? And not just aspiring blood-traitors like Miss Travers?' asked Daphne.

Harry nodded, and Blaise said, 'I doubt you'll succeed with the truly Dark families, like the Lestranges or the Rosiers.'

'What about the Notts?' suggested Harry. 'Or the Blacks, for that matter?'

Theo laughed. 'I'm game, but of course I've been disowned. It's official, my cousin is Head of House now.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry, realising Theo's father must have died in Azkaban. 'My condolences.'

'Thank you,' said Theo. 'But I appreciate friendship more, and you've offered that.'

'I meant it,' replied Harry. 'We've all lost too many friends.'

'Yes, yes,' said Blaise dismissively. 'But back to your question, and I know where you're going with it. What about Draco? Can Potter and Malfoy ever be friends? That's still your surname, right? No matter ... and honestly I have no idea. Daphne, what do you think?'

'You'll have to come crawling,' she said.

'That's not going to happen,' said Harry. 'But I'll be friendly, and sincere.'

'I say try it,' said Theo. 'I hear you've invited Narcissa over.'

'Yes, tomorrow.'

'Will Lydia be there, in a negligée?' asked Daphne.

'No, I'll send her away before then.'

'That seems wise. But Theo's right, there's no harm in trying. Literally there's no harm—Draco doesn't even have a good wand yet.'

Harry recalled how he'd disarmed Draco during the war, and he knew Ollivander wouldn't sell him one after he'd been captive at Malfoy Manor for nearly two years. 'I still have his hawthorn wand, but I doubt it would work for him anymore.'

'You could try,' said Daphne. 'That's probably your best hope.'

'Noted,' replied Harry. 'Well, I should be going.'

'Indeed you should,' said Blaise approvingly. 'Mustn't keep Miss Travers waiting!'

Harry joined Lydia just as the reporters were leaving. 'I'll only be a little while longer,' he told her. 'I need to hear the match notes from our coach, and then shower. But we can go to my house after that.'

'Couldn't you shower at home?' she asked. 'I can help.'

'If I get into a shower with you, we won't leave the house again tonight, and I know you want to be seen together.'

'Fine,' she said petulantly. 'But don't keep me waiting much longer. You saw my banner, right?'

'Yes, and I nearly fell off my broomstick.'

He ran to the lockers, and Tuttle's notes were mercifully brief. 'We mustn't keep Potter,' she said archly. 'He has an important task ahead of him.'

Ignoring everyone's ribbing, Harry dashed to the showers and was back on the pitch in record time. 'Do you need to change clothes?' he asked Lydia, looking at her damp t-shirt. 'You look fantastic, of course, but I assume you don't want to be photographed all over England like that.'

'No, bring me to your house,' she said, taking his hand, and he turned on his heel. This time he brought her straight to the bedroom, and they took things to the next level, but he didn't let her remove her blue jeans—or his trousers, for that matter. 'Have you ever worn jeans before?' he asked.

'No, I bought them this morning, at a Muggle shop. What do you think?'

'They're brilliant. But I can see why they're unsuitable for someone who's expected to remain a virgin until marriage—your suitors would go mad.'

She lay on the bed and asked, 'So where are you taking me today? You said all over, right?'

'Yes, and I need your help deciding where.' He used his wand to Summon the envelope of letters and said, 'Every tailor in Britain wants to sell me robes, and I ought to oblige at least a few of them. Can you tell me which ones I should avoid?'

She started leafing through the letters. 'You mean which ones just want a sample of your hair for nefarious purposes?'

'Exactly.'

'Let's see ... definitely avoid Twilfitt and Tattings. And Grisworth's. And for Merlin's sake, don't go anywhere near Pendermere's—that's where my brother-in-law shops. But the rest should be fine.'

They selected three shops, including the one in Manchester, and Harry sent Kreacher ahead to let them know he'd be visiting but didn't require a private fitting. 'We mustn't arrive right away,' she insisted, pulling Harry back to the bed, and twenty minutes later she changed into elegant daytime robes and they left.

'Mr Potter,' said the proprietor of the first shop. 'I'm honoured to serve you. Please, allow me to show you what I have in mind.' He led them to a dressing area in the back and Summoned a rack of robes. 'I haven't sold these to the public yet, and I wouldn't sell the same colours to anyone else. If you'll look at these fabric samples, I could use charms to approximate the final result.'

Throughout all this, a measuring tape was recording Harry's various dimensions, and Lydia looked appraisingly through the robes. 'Absolutely not,' she said in response to the first set. 'But these aren't bad. And these could work with a different lapel.'

Harry shot the tailor an apologetic glance, but he seemed unperturbed. 'Yes miss, you're absolutely right. A notch lapel would be much more suitable.'

'Actually, could you add a loop behind the lapel, for the bottom of my boutonnière?' asked Harry. 'I don't like charming them in place, for fear of damaging the fabric.'

'Yes, of course, Mr Potter. That's an excellent suggestion.'

Lydia selected colour combinations Harry wouldn't have anticipated, but he had to admit they were impeccable. 'You're good at this,' he said.

'I was raised to be the wife of a man who does nothing but buy robes. Of course I'm good at this.'

After the fitting was complete, Harry paid for the robes, and he was surprised by how reasonable they were without any markup. _No wonder Thimble likes me_, _after everything I spent there._

They went to the second tailor and selected three more, which were quite different from the others he'd seen. Lydia's taste was daring, which Harry appreciated, and he knew he'd raise more eyebrows.

'You should really wear gloves,' she said. 'They'd complete the look.'

'I assume your father and brother-in-law wear gloves?' he asked.

'Yes, of course.'

'And why do they wear gloves?'

She thought for a moment before blushing slightly. 'To avoid touching Muggle-borns.'

He turned to the tailor, who was waiting for his decision, pen in hand. 'No gloves,' said Harry.

'Very good, Mr Potter.'

The third tailor was in Manchester, in the same complex where Harry and Laetitia had eaten dinner several weeks earlier. 'There's a good restaurant here,' he told Lydia. 'Would you like to eat there later?'

'This is where you and that black witch were photographed, right?'

'Laetitia, yes.'

'She was very pretty. Are you really just friends?'

'Yes, really. She already has a fiancé. A Muggle, in fact.'

Lydia looked shocked. 'Why would she marry a Muggle? Surely she has options.'

'They fell in love. And I've met him—he's brilliant. We were all in Paris together last weekend.'

'Thank Merlin I'm not that romantic,' she said. 'But yes, the restaurant looked lovely. Can we have a table in the middle this time?'

'I'm certain that can be arranged,' he said, and they walked over.

'Mr Potter, good afternoon,' said the host. 'Would you and your companion like a table?'

'Not right now,' said Harry, 'but perhaps at half six, if you've something available.'

'Of course,' said the host, opening the reservation book.

'Could we have that table?' asked Lydia, pointing at a well-lit table on a platform.

'I'd be delighted to reserve it for you,' said the host, inscribing Harry's name in his book. 'Am I to assume you'd like publicity?'

'Yes,' said Lydia. 'Can you arrange that as well?'

'Gladly. We benefitted greatly from Mr Potter's last visit.' He turned to Harry and said, 'May we offer you dinner on the house?'

'No, that won't be necessary. But thank you.'

As they walked away, Lydia said, 'I can't decide whether or not that was middle-class of you, turning down a free meal.'

'If I did it, then it was definitely middle-class,' he said. 'What would you have done?'

'I'd have accepted it. As a Travers I deserve special treatment.'

'You're about to be disowned,' he pointed out.

'I'll be better than a Travers once I'm disowned,' she said. 'I'll have all the mystique but none of the constraints.'

'Yes, my friend Hermione suggested you start a salon. Not a hair salon, of course—the kind French hostesses used to have.'

'She _is_ clever,' exclaimed Lydia, with a hint of surprise. 'That's exactly what I'm planning on doing. I'll have my own flat and invite whomever I like.'

He decided to challenge her. 'Would you invite someone like Hermione?'

'I wore a lily in my hair today,' she said indignantly. 'I thought you'd understand my meaning.'

'I understood the reference, of course, but I didn't realise you were making a larger statement.'

'Of course I was. Your friend Daphne caught it right away.'

Harry shook his head in amazement. 'I don't think I'll ever understand your kind.'

'No, probably not.'

They entered the third tailors' shop, Plackett and Goodbody, and Lester Goodbody greeted them warmly. 'I'm so glad you accepted my offer, Mr Potter.'

'You're right, people do seem to expect me to have a larger than normal wardrobe. My mates gave me a hard time for wearing the same robes so quickly.'

'That's the problem with wearing anything distinctive,' said Goodbody. 'If you wore ordinary black robes all the time, nobody would even notice. But you've broken the mould.'

Harry and Lydia were both impressed by the robes he showed them, and she talked him into to buying a fourth set, even though he'd have to pay more than cost. 'It's still a good price,' she argued. 'And this dark houndstooth will be perfect for autumn and winter.'

'Whatever you say,' he replied, stealing a kiss. 'You'll have to look through my shoes and tell me if I'm missing anything. But if you tell me to get a raised shoe, I'll push you through the fireplace and not ruin you.'

She giggled. 'My brother-in-law wears a raised shoe. He's naturally five-foot nine, but he wants to be six feet.'

Harry scowled and said, 'I'm five-foot seven, and I don't wear a bloody raised shoe.'

'You don't need to be tall,' she replied. 'Only small wizards do.'

After he paid for the robes, they returned to Grimmauld Place to change into their evening clothes. 'I've been seen in all of these,' he said, showing her his wardrobe. 'But feel free to choose.'

She selected his green-trimmed robes. 'You've never been photographed in these. I know you wore them to your party, with lilies of the valley, but I haven't seen them before.'

'Is it all right that I wore them on Monday? With another witch?'

'Yes. But which flowers should I wear?' she asked, looking through the vase on his bedroom table.

He smiled wickedly. 'Freesia.'

'Innocence ... and tomorrow?'

'Anything but freesia.'

She chose a small white orchid for him, and they travelled by Floo to the restaurant. As promised, a reporter and photographer were there, and they posed together in the courtyard. _She couldn't be more different to Helena_, he thought. _I don't see myself falling in love with her, but she's certainly interesting._

Without discussing it they both ate lightly, even though Harry had flown a match that afternoon. _Kreacher can make us something later_, he thought with anticipation. After sharing a tarte Tatin, which was almost as good as what he'd eaten in Paris, they returned to Grimmauld Place by Floo and raced up the stairs to his bedroom. He insisted on taking things slowly, which she grumbled about but later appreciated, and afterwards she lay in his arms, content.

'So now I'm ruined,' she announced. 'Could you send your Patronus to my parents?'

'I'll do no such thing.'

'What about to my uncle in Azkaban? Or to the _Prophet_?'

'Were you so miserable as a pure-blood princess that you can't wait until morning?'

'Yes. You can't imagine how awful it was, being trapped like that.'

He didn't bother correcting her, and he supposed being trapped with the Dursleys wasn't quite the same. 'Poor Lydia,' he said, stroking her gently. 'So many suitors, so little sex.'

She swatted him and said, 'It wasn't about the sex. Well, maybe a little. It was about seeing an entire world, and only being allowed to occupy one tiny corner of it. A nice corner, admittedly, but a tiny one. And since the war ended, people like you are having so much fun, but I wasn't permitted to join in.' She pouted and said, 'When I read about your party, I knew I'd never be able to attend anything like it. That's when I made up my mind.'

'And when did you decide I was to be the lucky wizard?'

'After Vanessa told me what happened. It all fell into place after that. The only remaining question was how to meet you, but your radio broadcast solved that problem.'

'And here I thought I was just setting the record straight, and helping Lee and George launch their radio empire.'

'No, and you have to keep doing it. It's brilliant—that was the perfect way to contradict Rita Skeeter.'

'Actually, I have a new way to handle Rita,' he said, and he told her about the contract he'd signed.

'You are clever! My father laughed at you for not knowing how to handle her.' She was quiet a moment and said, 'Do you think she'd write about me, under your agreement?'

'I don't know. Technically it doesn't cover you, but I suspect she'd be willing to tell the truth, since you have such a good story. But you should probably get your own contract as well.'

'That's a good point, yes. The last thing I need is Rita Skeeter tearing me apart. Can we owl her tomorrow?'

'Yes,' he replied. 'But now I need something to eat. And then we need to digest. And after that, we should really verify that you're completely ruined. It would be a shame not to do the job right.'

He ordered a light meal from Kreacher, and when it arrived she noticed at once that the trays weren't silver. 'I really am ruined,' she said, 'eating off pewter like some half-blood.'

'Welcome to your new life,' he said, and she smiled slyly.

'Believe me, Harry, I'm delighted to be here.'


	55. Chapter 55

By the time Harry and Lydia were ready for breakfast the next morning, there was no question she was irretrievably ruined. Harry recognised the wanton expression of someone who'd been satisfied too much in a short interval, and her eyes gleamed with new knowledge.

'I refuse to believe Esme has ever experienced anything like that,' she said disdainfully. 'Charles doesn't have it in him.'

'You can't tell from looking at a bloke,' Harry argued. 'It all depends what he learnt from those French prostitutes.'

'_Filles de joie,'_ she insisted. 'Where's the _Prophet?_ I want to see our photograph.'

Harry wordlessly asked Kreacher to send up the newspaper, and seconds later he unrolled it for her.

To Lydia's disappointment her photograph wasn't on the cover, although Harry's was, on the bottom half of the page. _'Potter Extends Cannons Streak to Six,' _read the headline, above a photo of him feinting and then catching the Snitch.

'That was a good catch,' she said sullenly, turning to to the gossip column. 'Oh, here we are, they printed two photographs—one from after your match, when we were snogging, and then one at the restaurant. Don't you look dashing in your Cannons robes ... it's perfectly scandalous the way your hands are roving! And look, they noticed the freesia in my hair and interpreted it correctly. I'm very photogenic, don't you think? Esme is too, but she has that nasty Dark Arts expression.'

'Yes, you're very photogenic, and I'm glad you don't have that expression—I hope you never get it,' he said. 'But I'm hungry, and you probably are as well. Shall I cook breakfast for you like a Muggle, just to prove how far you've fallen, or should we have Kreacher send something up?'

'We should go out to brunch,' she declared. 'I want everyone to see me like this.'

'You mean in the afterglow?'

'Exactly. I already reserved us a prime table at Dunnings—we're to arrive at ten o'clock.'

'Dunnings?' asked Harry.

She rolled her eyes. 'You really were brought up by Muggles ... it's only the oldest restaurant in Diagon Alley.'

'Older than the Leaky Cauldron?'

'The Leaky Cauldron isn't a restaurant,' she scoffed. 'And naturally I'd never go there.'

'Never say never,' he cautioned. 'You're entering a wide new world, and you mustn't rule out new experiences. I stayed there for three weeks when I was thirteen, and more recently I snogged someone there under my Invisibility Cloak.'

'You're right, I need to broaden my horizons. But not all at once—we'll start with Dunnings.'

Harry was having trouble getting excited about a restaurant whose name sounded like Grunnings, Uncle Vernon's firm, but Lydia assured him that Sunday brunch at Dunnings was the place to be seen by the wizarding elite. 'Dark or Light ... everyone goes to Dunnings. Everyone who matters, that is.'

They both showered, which did little to make Lydia presentable for their morning out. _She doesn't realise it,_ he thought, _but she's a walking advertisement for vigorous sex._ She was carrying herself differently, and it was clear she was inhabiting her body in a new way. She wore a very chic outfit she described as 'luncheon robes' but didn't put a flower in her hair.

'I'd wear a bird of paradise this morning, but you haven't any,' she said. 'But it's not necessary, for I've a better idea.' She straightened the robes she'd selected for him—medium grey, and suitable for daytime—and slid the freesia she'd previously worn into his lapel. 'You've taken my innocence,' she said. 'And I want everyone to know it.'

'Believe me, everyone's going to know it. For a Slytherin, you're not at all subtle.'

'Do you really think I'd have been in Slytherin if I'd gone to Hogwarts? My father's people were, and as a girl I assumed I'd be Sorted into Slytherin, but I'm not so sure anymore.'

'I don't know,' replied Harry. 'Are you exceptionally hardworking and loyal?'

She swatted him and said, 'No, I'm exceptionally brave. I'd have been like Sirius Black and sorted into Gryffindor, only I wouldn't have gone to Azkaban and lost my looks.'

Harry tried to imagine Lydia sharing a dormitory with Ginny for seven years. 'I'm sorry, I just can't picture it. But maybe that's why you received a Stodgings letter instead, to avoid being pigeonholed.'

'Perhaps.' She tidied her hair one last time in front of the mirror. 'How do I look?'

'You look like a painting of Venus that I saw at the Musée d'Orsay, only she wasn't blonde.'

'I'll take that as a compliment. You, on the other hand, look appalling. Can't you do anything with your hair?'

'No. This is all it does. I've tried cutting it short, hair products, you name it.'

'Haven't you tried Sleekeazy's Potion? I understand your grandfather invented it.'

'Did he? I had no idea. But no, it doesn't work on my hair—Ginny made me try it once.'

'Your old girlfriend,' she said. 'You were to have married her.'

'Apparently not. Clearly I was meant to ruin a pure-blood princess, among other things.'

'I wasn't in your prophecy, was I?' she asked.

Harry laughed and said, 'No, sorry. It didn't include anything as fun as deflowering.'

'What did the prophecy say? I want to know.'

'That's too bad, because I shan't tell you.'

'You're no fun at all,' she pouted.

'Does that mean you don't want to go to brunch this morning?'

'Of course I do. I want to show you off, and you want to be shown off.'

'I do,' he admitted. 'I've discovered I rather like causing a scandal. Shall I owl Rita Skeeter before we leave?'

'Yes, let's write to her together,' insisted Lydia, and they sat at the table. He pulled a sheet of stationery from the drawer, but she frowned at it. 'Your stationery is frightfully common. It's not even monogrammed.'

'I'm frightfully common, remember?'

'You'll have to get something nicer after you change your name. If we're still together I can help you select it.'

'How long do you intend for us to stay together?' he asked.

'Long enough for you to host a party. After that we'll see what happens.'

'I shan't marry you,' he warned her.

'That's fine. I'm to have a series of lovers after you.'

'You might be disappointed,' he said slyly.

'Then I'll train them. I'll tell them Harry Potter deflowered me and I require only the best.'

They wrote the following note:

_Dear Rita,_

_Assuming you received and signed the contract prepared by Gringotts, I'd like to offer you a news item. As anticipated, my relationship with Lydia Travers has advanced rapidly, and she's keen to tell her side of the story. With your leave, Miss Travers would like to arrange a contract similar to ours, but in the meantime she's hoping to speak to you under mine._

_It is yet unknown whether her parents will cast her out, but if you owl her in care of me, your letter will surely reach her._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry_

They travelled to the restaurant by Floo, and Harry discovered yet another wizarding institution previously unknown to him. The dining room was very elegant, with large windows overlooking a river he was certain wasn't actually outside. As the host seated them, Harry saw that all the tables were either taken or had a printed card on top that said _Reserved_.

'Your table, Miss Travers,' said the host, who didn't acknowledge Harry. Before Harry could pull Lydia's chair out for her, it slid from the table automatically and then back in once she was settled. Harry's chair did the same, and they sat opposite each other next to a window.

He understood why she'd wanted that table—it was visible from most of the restaurant, and the natural light flattered her fair hair and complexion. 'Everyone saw us enter,' she whispered. 'Everyone knows.'

Harry was accustomed to attracting public notice, but he'd never previously had the sense that more people were talking about his companion than about himself. _This feels good_, he thought, leaning into his chair. _Lydia is more newsworthy than I am. _He was certain he saw the word 'freesia' on several people's lips, with an accompanying raised eyebrow.

She spent most of the meal regaling him about the other diners. 'That witch over there used to be Esme's best mate, back in school, but not any longer. Her husband is a half-blood—we pitied her at the time, because she couldn't do any better—and he quarrelled with a guest at one of Esme's parties ... I wasn't there but apparently he made a frightful scene. Charles refused to have them back, but now the husband is a rising star in the Improper Use of Magic Office, and Esme wants Charles to apologise but he refuses.'

Harry was bewildered. 'And she and your sister used to be best mates?'

'Yes, but they also were rivals. Felicia fancied Charles as well, but she's not Sacred Twenty-Eight, so even though she's pretty she couldn't compete. The only rich pure-blood who courted her was some horrid Rowle with too few great-grandparents, so you can understand why she wasn't interested.'

'Do you know I'd never even heard of the Sacred Twenty-Eight until after we met? I asked my teammate Titus about you, because he also attended Stodgings. Apparently he was classmates with your sister.' She looked blankly at him and he said, 'Titus Kilbourne.'

'Kilbourne? They're middle-class. Some Kilbournes are rich, like the Potters, but otherwise they're uninteresting. They're useful few every centuries for infusing fresh blood—I probably have a Kilbourne ancestor or two, but I certainly wouldn't brag about it.'

'I'm tempted to preserve this conversation as a Pensieve memory,' said Harry. 'I suspect you'll be horrified by it in a few years, or maybe sooner.'

'What a disagreeable thing to say! What do you mean?'

'I've been in the wizarding world for eight years and I don't think I've ever heard anyone talk like you are, not even Draco Malfoy.'

'Of course not. We don't talk like this with outsiders. I'm only talking to you this way because you ruined me, so I haven't any secrets from you.'

'It's just ... people are so much more interesting than who their ancestors were or how much gold they have. You're not interested in me because of the Potters or the Blacks, or the Evanses for that matter. I get the impression you like me in spite of all that.'

'Certainly in spite of the Evanses ... I assume those were your mother's people.' She sighed and added, 'But you're right. I need to forget about all that, or at least stop talking about it. I certainly have no use for tiresome people—that's why I jumped ship. Are you saying I was tiresome just now?'

'Yeah, a bit. I can't say I minded, because you're lovely to look at, but it wasn't nearly as interesting as other conversations I've had recently.'

She frowned for a moment. 'I'm glad you told me. I want to be interesting too—it's not enough to be pretty.'

'Believe me, you're interesting,' said Harry. 'You're headstrong, and witty, and you know a lot about certain topics. You're showing me a world I know little about and need to learn how to navigate.'

'You certainly do,' she said. 'Admittedly, you've done shockingly well, but I get the impression it's largely been by accident.'

'That's probably true. I think it's only recently that I've become more strategic, like with Rita Skeeter. I wasn't even very strategic during the war—I mostly acted on instinct.' He mused, 'Perhaps I would have done better in Slytherin after all.'

'You did rather well in this Slytherin,' she said saucily. 'Daughter of Slytherins, anyway. Speaking of which, why weren't you in Slytherin, if you're a Parselmouth?'

'There are two answers to that,' replied Harry. 'One is that I'm no longer a Parselmouth—that part of me died with Voldemort. The second is that the Sorting Hat offered me Slytherin, and I refused because I'd heard it had turned out more Dark wizards than any other house.'

'You're not a Parselmouth anymore?' she exclaimed. 'I didn't know an ability could disappear like that.'

'I can't share the details, because they're classified, but it had to do with the prophecy and why I was able to defeat Voldemort.'

'You really are fascinating—everything about you. Other wizards are better looking, and taller certainly, but you're just magnetic. How do I get to be like that?'

'I don't even know how to respond,' said Harry. 'I can assure you, nobody thought I was magnetic before I entered the wizarding world.'

'Yes, I read about that. Your childhood sounded ghastly—I can't believe your relations mistreated you so badly, and Albus Dumbledore as well. I was impressed you didn't want revenge, but of course my family thought you were daft.' She noticed his expression and added, 'Oh dear, you've gone pale. Shouldn't I have mentioned that?'

He took a deep breath. 'I'm still not accustomed to everyone knowing the details of my childhood. I hadn't even told my closest mates about it, and now it's common knowledge.'

'I cried when I read it,' she said. 'You were so small in those Muggle photographs, and you looked so lonely.'

'I was,' he said quietly. 'Receiving my Hogwarts letter was the best day of my life. It meant I was free.'

'That's how I feel today,' she said. 'I'm not stupid, I know my situation isn't the same as yours. But I feel like I've escaped from a cramped cupboard and into a new world, just as you did.'

Harry looked at his plate, unsure how to respond. He finally said, 'I'm glad I could help. And not just because it was fun for me too. I'm glad your world is bigger now. It's awful feeling trapped.' He took another deep breath and asked, 'What did your family think about that article?'

'It confirmed everything they already believed about Dumbledore, that he didn't deserve his reputation as some kind of saint. But of course Rita Skeeter's book already did that. As for you, they think you're damaged. My grandfather said, "No wonder he's not a proper wizard," and they said what a tragedy it is for the Blacks that you're Head of House.'

He sighed heavily and said, 'I shouldn't be surprised. I'll never satisfy everyone.'

'You satisfied me,' she said, her eyes gleaming. 'And my grandfather's wrong—you are a proper wizard. And if you're damaged, I want to be damaged too, because I think you're brilliant. Even if your hair is appalling.'

He reached across the table and stroked her hand. 'You're magnetic too,' he said. 'And not just because you're pretty or because you're a Travers. You're incredibly alive—that's why everyone here is looking at you.'

She surveyed the restaurant. 'They are, you're right. Have they been looking at me the whole time?'

'Not since we first sat down. Not while you were gossiping about people. But just now, when you started speaking more passionately, they noticed you again.'

'How odd,' she said distractedly.

They spoke about lighter topics for a while until a young couple approached the table. Harry knew instantly that the witch was Lydia's sister Esme—her hair was darker, but they had the same aristocratic features and pouty lips. And the wizard behind her could only be Charles, who was six feet tall and elegantly clad in fitted robes.

'Lydia,' whispered Esme sharply, her face perfectly composed. 'I see you didn't have the decency to remain behind closed doors with your ... lover.'

Harry rose and turned to Lydia. 'Do you need privacy?'

'It's too late for privacy,' snapped Esme quietly, never losing her pleasant expression. 'I'm Esme Selwyn,' she said to Harry, not offering her hand. 'And this is my husband Charles.'

Nodding politely, Harry extended his hand to Charles, who looked down at him from his superior height and responded with a brief handshake. _Those are nice gloves_, thought Harry absently.

Esme saw the freesia at Harry's lapel. 'You scoundrel!' she hissed. 'She was innocent. And now look at her.'

Lydia stood and said, 'Don't blame him. It was my decision, and he was more than considerate. A gentleman, even.'

'A gentleman,' scoffed Charles. 'Ruining a young witch, for a weekend's amusement. Couldn't you find any Muggles, or are you still waiting for those condoms?'

'Lydia is of age and is capable of making her own decisions,' replied Harry coolly. 'And if you're implying I forced her, we should finish this conversation outside.'

Esme grasped Charles's arm. 'I'm certain that won't be necessary,' she said. 'This is a family matter.'

'Am I still part of the family?' asked Lydia. 'Or have I been cast out?'

'Mother is beside herself,' said Esme. 'She needed a Calming Draught. You can stay with Charles and me tonight.'

'And what if I want to stay with Harry?' she countered. 'You'll just berate me.'

'I can't stop you,' said Esme. You've made your bed,' she added, emphasising the final word.

'And it was brilliant,' replied Lydia, with a flush of pleasure. 'I don't regret it.'

'You will.' Esme turned to Harry and said, 'Good day, Mr Potter.' She turned and walked sharply across the restaurant to an empty table, her husband in tow.

Harry took Lydia's arm. 'Are you all right?' he asked, his head near hers.

'Yes, I'm fine,' she replied automatically, sitting down. 'I knew they'd come. They always take brunch here at eleven.' She looked down and asked, 'May I stay with you again tonight? I should have asked first.'

He sat facing her and took her hand. 'Of course. I have a commitment this afternoon but you're perfectly welcome in the house, and Kreacher can provide whatever you need.'

'I have my own house-elf. I can send for her.' Her breathing became more shallow. 'I've really done it. This is really happening.'

'Now is the hardest part,' he said. 'The transition.'

She nodded and took a long sip of water. 'Yes, the transition.' She looked around the restaurant and said, 'I feel as if I'd been freed from Azkaban but I'm still waiting on the island for no apparent reason.'

'We can go if you like,' he said. 'I can just leave some Galleons on the table.'

'No, we mustn't run out like that. But please ask for the bill.'

Harry raised his hand to attract the waiter's attention, which worked immediately because everyone was still staring at them. 'We'd like our bill please,' he said.

'Yes, sir. Of course.'

She was beginning to cry. 'This is just a tiny corner of the world,' said Harry. 'I've never even been here before today.'

'You're right,' she sniffled. 'Maybe we should go to the Leaky Cauldron,' she added chokingly.

He stroked her hand gently. 'I have a better idea.'

The waiter returned with the bill, and Harry placed coins on the table while Lydia cried softly. He went to her side, took her hand, and escorted her towards the exit. She walked through the room with her head held high as everyone watched them, and Harry whispered, 'I think you might be a Gryffindor after all.'

She smiled, and Harry led her to down the alley to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The store was crowded with customers, and Harry realised there was little more than a week until school started. 'Did you look around the shop when you were here for the broadcast?' he asked her.

'No, I arrived late and was near the back. It took me a while to work up the courage to come.'

'And were you ever here before that?"

'No, Weasleys are blood traitors—I only went to Gambol and Japes.'

'This is much better, let me show you.'

For the next half hour they explored the shop, and she was delighted by all the novelty items. George showed them around and made jokes at Harry's expense, but he also insisted they try every sweet and firework. 'He's our original backer,' George told Lydia. 'He won't let us repay him, so we're slowly making it up to him with Canary Creams and a lifetime of free visits with Walburga—would you like to meet her?'

'I don't know,' said Lydia. 'I'm not certain I'm ready to hear how I've thrown my life away for a night of debauchery with a filthy half-blood.'

'Nonsense,' replied George. 'I find Walburga always lifts my spirits. Come on, I insist.'

He led them to Walburga's booth and used his wand to open it. 'Mrs Black,' he said. 'Walburga? I've brought Harry and his newest friend, Miss Lydia Travers.'

Walburga's eyes blinked open. _'Travers? Has the lecherous half-blood taken my advice and found a vessel worthy of the Black seed?'_

'She's more than worthy,' confirmed Harry.

'And there's been plenty of seed,' Lydia giggled.

'_I'm glad to hear it_,' said Walburga. _'I trust you'll control him with the requisite potions?'_

'Er, which potions are you referring to?' asked Harry.

'_She'll know, if she's a Travers_.'

'Yes, ma'am,' said Lydia obediently. 'I've started brewing them already.'

'_Excellent. I tried getting Kreacher to do it but the traitorous elf refused. Are you with child yet?'_

'I don't think so,' she replied.

'_Well get to it! And then start him on those potions—you don't want any bastards running around_.'

'No, ma'am, and thank you.'

Harry tapped the portrait with his wand and turned to Lydia. 'What potions?'

'Anaphrodisiacs. To dampen your libido.'

George started laughing. 'Harry, you'd better go to Gringotts and make sure the ring protects you from those.'

'Is that really a thing?' Harry asked Lydia. 'Don't tell me you were taught to brew and administer potions like that.'

'No, but my grandmother was. She didn't teach my mother because she was afraid half-bloods and blood traitors were outbreeding families like ours.'

'I wonder what gave her that impression,' smirked Harry, looking at George.

'I think it's safe to say those potions aren't in the Weasley Grimoire,' he replied.

Lydia smiled and said, 'Thanks, George. You were right about Walburga—I do feel better. Harry, can we stop at an apothecary before returning to the house?'

'No, I'm planning to sire several bastards this week. But maybe next week.'

George grinned and said, 'We intended to ward the radio booth to make you forget your name, but we may have to postpone it. Lydia, do you want to join us on the air?'

'No. Appearing on the radio is vulgar.'

Harry laughed and said, 'You were willing to snog in public and turn up at Dunnings with an obvious sex hangover, but appearing on the radio is vulgar?'

'Correct.'

'Potter, you really know how to pick them,' said George jovially. 'Would you two like to come to Sunday dinner at the Burrow tonight? I'd give anything to see Molly and Arthur attempt to make conversation.'

'No thanks, I'm already having Narcissa Malfoy to tea this afternoon. By the time dinner rolls around, I'll probably want to eat fish and chips from a newspaper in a park.'

'Narcissa Malfoy is coming to tea?' asked Lydia. 'Whatever for?'

'Her sister, Andromeda Tonks, is trying to arrange a reconciliation. They're both Blacks by birth.'

'Good luck with that,' she said. 'The Malfoys are as bad as the Traverses.'

'Harry can't resist a challenge,' said George. 'If he can turn the Cannons around, he can certainly handle a Malfoy.'

'I'm not so sure, but thanks for the vote of confidence. See you on Tuesday,' said Harry, and soon he and Lydia were back at Grimmauld Place. Rita Skeeter's letter awaited them:

_Dear Miss Travers,_

_I would be delighted to make your acquaintance, and naturally I'll offer you the same protections Harry now has, until you can arrange a contract of your own._

_Regarding your story, time is of the essence. I therefore propose meeting this afternoon—you can reach me at the _Prophet_, and I'll arrange a private location for our conversation._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Rita Skeeter_

'Is that what you'd like?' Harry asked her. 'Do you think you're ready to talk to her?'

Lydia sighed. 'She's right, time is of the essence. And I'm fine now—what happened earlier was just a moment of weakness.' She smiled and added, 'Did you see Charles's expression when you challenged him? I think his raised shoes stopped working for a moment. There's a reason he never took the Mark—he's no duellist.'

They sent Kreacher to the _Prophet_ to arrange a meeting between Lydia and Rita, which would coincide with Narcissa's visit. Lydia was to meet her in private at the Leaky Cauldron, which Harry teased her about. 'How far you've fallen in a single day, from Dunnings to the Leaky Cauldron! Do you want to borrow my Invisibility Cloak?'

'Yes, please,' she said gratefully. 'I don't mind being seen places like that with you, but I'm not ready to go alone yet.'

In preparation for her stay at Grimmauld Place, she summoned her house-elf. 'Kammy, I want you to fetch my clothing, shoes, and accessories, and bring them to the wardrobe in the master bedroom, on the top floor. Also bring my diary, which is in a charmed compartment in my bedside table. And my stationery as well.'

'Yes, Miss Lydia,' said the elf, who was neatly dressed in a starched tea towel. She Disapparated somewhat less loudly than Kreacher did.

'I'm sorry to take over your house. That wasn't my intention—I'd meant to stay with Esme and Charles. But the way she looked at me ... I couldn't. Did you see it? It was that Dark Arts expression I can't stand. She wasn't like that before.'

'Yes, I first saw it on Narcissa Malfoy,' said Harry. 'Like there's a nasty smell underneath her nose.'

'Exactly,' cried Lydia. 'That's just it, and I hate it.' She embraced Harry unexpectedly and said, 'Don't ever let that happen to me.'

Taken aback, he stroked her hair and said, 'That's up to you, not me. You're right to avoid the Dark Arts—I saw up close what it does to a person.'

'You mean turn them into someone like the Dark Lord?' she asked. 'He was horrid ... he didn't even have a nose.'

'And what it did on the inside ... his soul was the most ghastly thing I've ever seen.'

She was astonished. 'You saw the Dark Lord's soul?'

'Yes, and I can't say more, because it's classified. But it was awful—never, ever perform Dark magic.'

'I won't, unless someone's attacking me.'

'No, not even then.'

'But I might be killed otherwise,' she argued.

'There are worse things than dying.'

He gave her a full tour of the house, and she was impressed by the library. 'This is even bigger than my grandfather's,' she said. 'Is that your Grimoire?'

'Yes, and don't touch it. Only Hermione and I can touch it safely.'

Lydia was aghast. 'Hermione Granger can touch your Grimoire? Are you married?'

'No, all we needed to do was place a few drops of our blood inside the cover.'

'That's fortunate,' said Lydia. 'It's one thing to be ruined, but to sleep with another witch's husband is something else entirely.'

Kammy arrived with two large trunks containing Lydia's belongings and unpacked her summer clothes into Harry's wardrobe. 'It's a good thing you have plenty of room,' said Lydia. 'I refuse to live out of a trunk like some vagrant.'

Harry smirked, looking at the trunk that had formerly contained Lydia's summer clothes. It expanded into a large and elegant armoire, which was nearly as nice as his own walk-in wardrobe. A small maker's mark inside said _Strauss Leather Goods._

They spent an enjoyable but restrained twenty minutes on his bed until it was time to greet Andromeda. She was to arrive before Narcissa, which Harry considered fortuitous, since he wanted to introduce her to Lydia. They'd both fled Dark families, and perhaps Andromeda could give her advice.

'Harry, you've done a poor job staying out of the _Prophet_ this week,' said Andromeda when she emerged from the fireplace. 'Oh, you still have company. Miss Travers, I presume?' she said, extending her hand.

'Yes,' replied Lydia, taking Andromeda's hand and kneeling slightly. 'And you're Madam Tonks? Harry speaks very highly of you. It's a pleasure to meet you.'

'Call me Andromeda,' she said. 'And I hope you'll permit me to call you Lydia.'

Lydia smiled and said, 'Yes, please.' They walked together to the drawing room and she added, 'I understand you were disowned by your family years ago.'

'Yes, when I married my husband, Ted. He was Muggle-born.'

'Whereas I've omitted the husband,' replied Lydia. 'Did you know you wanted to leave before you met your husband, or was it only after?'

'I couldn't say. I met Ted in school, and our relationship coincided with my distancing myself from what I'd been taught as a girl.'

'I don't think that's true,' interjected Harry. 'Sirius said you were always his favourite cousin.'

'Perhaps, but consider the competition,' she said. 'Bellatrix in particular. And Narcissa always thought he was too wild.'

'He probably was,' acknowledged Harry. They were seated on a sofa and an armchair, and he told Andromeda, 'I think Lydia's still in shock, and she might benefit from some reassurance that she made the right decision in rejecting blood purity and all the rest.'

'Blood purity's a load of rubbish,' replied Andromeda sharply. 'I married Ted, and our daughter was the first Metamorphmagus we'd had in generations. And Dora married a werewolf and had a Metamorphmagus as well.'

'You let your daughter marry a werewolf?' exclaimed Lydia, shocked.

Andromeda and Harry both laughed. 'There was no preventing Dora from doing what she wanted,' she replied. 'But yes, I gave her my blessing. Remus was a fine man, although rather older than she was. Not that it matters now.'

'They both died in the war,' explained Harry. 'Andromeda's raising their son, my godson. And how is Teddy? Where is he right now?'

'With a babysitter. And he's thriving—he absolutely loves that broomstick you gave him.'

'Excellent, I had Kreacher prepare a room for him. It's the second on the right—Sirius's old room. I couldn't take down his posters, including the bikini-clad Muggles, since he'd attached them with a Permanent Sticking Charm, but we covered them with new wallpaper. You should feel free to come over anytime.'

'I won't come unannounced,' she said, turning towards Lydia. 'But back to your decision ... I must say, you've been bold about it. I'd have been disowned for being that disobedient, regardless of my actions. But I can certainly understand why you wanted out of that world, particularly now that Dark families are at a disadvantage. Are you able to support yourself?'

'Yes, I'm independent,' replied Lydia without providing details.

'Oh, then there's no reason not to. If you don't mind gossip, and you're not afraid to have children with someone who's not a pure-blood—which you shouldn't be—then you'll be much happier outside your gilded cage.' She paused and added, 'But take my advice: don't burn bridges with your family. I had two sisters, and of course there was no hope with Bellatrix, but I went decades without talking to Narcissa, and we've only recently begun to reconcile.'

Lydia nodded soberly. 'I know you're right, but I can't face them right now. Harry's letting me stay here.'

Andromeda raised an eyebrow, and Harry said, 'She'll be away this afternoon, during Narcissa's visit.'

'That's fortunate. You didn't time things very strategically.'

'Since when have I been strategic?' asked Harry.

'Gryffindors,' said Andromeda. 'Harry's the worst of the lot.'

'The Hat wanted to put me into Slytherin,' he countered.

'Yes, and it's the only thing that might have cured you. But I have no idea what world we'd be living in if it had done.'

She conferred with Kreacher to review what he was planning to serve, and Harry led Lydia to the fireplace and added her to the Floo wards. He gave her his Invisibility Cloak and said, 'You don't have to answer all of Rita's questions. She'll ask you for every last detail, but you needn't provide them.'

'You mean you don't want her to know everything we did last night?'

'I'm afraid that's coming out soon enough—apparently my last partner is selling her account to some publication or other.'

'The French witch?'

'Er, no ... someone since then.'

'Not since Thursday, I hope!'

'No, on Monday. And I'm not planning to see her again ... she was nowhere near as interesting as you are.'

'Even though I was a virgin?'

'That's not what I meant. I meant her conversation.'

'I'm relieved to hear it, particularly now that I've moved in. I promise I'll find a flat in short order. But you need to schedule a party, as soon as possible.'

'Is next weekend soon enough?' he asked.

'Yes, that's perfect.'

She left through the fireplace, and he returned to Andromeda in the drawing room. 'Harry, that was terribly unwise.'

He frowned. 'How do you mean?'

'I'm certain Narcissa was considering Lydia as a match for Draco, and now you've taken her out of the running.'

'Lydia took herself out of the running. I was merely the instrument.'

'She couldn't have done it more thoroughly. I don't disagree with her decision to leave that world, but choosing you ... and doing it so publicly! I almost owled you on Friday morning, but I assumed it was too late.'

'No, I insisted we take it slowly,' he said, and Andromeda snorted derisively.

'Yes, three days instead of one ... that was positively glacial. You should at least wear flowers other than the freesia she was wearing last night. Really, Harry, parading a girl's innocence like that!'

'She chose them. I was merely the instrument,' he repeated.

'At least Narcissa needn't worry you'll let the line die out. But you ought to be more discreet.'

'I can't be more discreet, unless you want me to go to a portkey brothel, which I only just learnt about. I haven't any privacy, and don't tell me to find a nice witch and settle down, because I tried.'

Andromeda's expression softened. 'You're right. And with that other witch as well ... Helena?'

He nodded. 'She's the one who made me promise not to marry before I'm twenty-one. I didn't make that up.'

'Then I suppose I can't fault you. But really, your timing was appalling. And change those flowers immediately—I'll go wait in the reception hall.'

Harry dashed upstairs and selected a blue and white clematis boutonnière, which signified ingenuity. When Andromeda saw it she nodded and said, 'Ingenuity was another Black trait. I daresay Hermione embodies it more strongly than you do, but we needn't tell Narcissa that.'

A minute later, the fireplace flared green and Narcissa Malfoy emerged gracefully from it. She approached Andromeda and air-kissed her. 'Dromeda,' she said in a neutral tone. 'How lovely to see you.'

'Cissa,' replied Andromeda. 'I'm pleased you could make it.'

Narcissa haughtily extended her hand to Harry. 'I don't actually know what I should call you,' she said, as he shook her hand lightly.

'I was wondering the same thing about you,' he admitted. 'But please, call me Harry.'

'Then you may call me Narcissa. It appears we're family, although I'm curious to see the tapestry for myself.'

Harry decided to ignore the implication they were deceiving her and allowed Andromeda to lead them to the drawing room. This required passing Padfoot, who started growling when he saw Narcissa. _Remarkable_, thought Harry. _Does he know that Narcissa's treachery resulted in Sirius's death?_

Narcissa coolly assessed the hostile portrait. 'I understand Aunt Walburga is a sort of exhibit at a joke shop.'

'She's not sentient,' replied Harry. 'It was either that or incinerating her.'

Narcissa said nothing, and they walked upstairs and entered the drawing room. Kreacher had reattached the original wallpaper, so the room looked better than it had in years, but Narcissa turned her gaze to the tapestry.

'_Toujours puissant_,' she read aloud.

'That was the original motto,' said Andromeda.

'Yes, I know.'

Narcissa spent a long time examining the tapestry, and Harry thought he detected a smirk when she noticed Priapus Maximus. 'I see your daughter is there,' she remarked to Andromeda. 'And your husband. I'm certain that's a comfort to you.'

'It is.'

Narcissa's eyes appeared to rest on Draco's name before she finally looked for Harry's great-grandmother and followed the lines down to Harry. 'It's true then,' she said resignedly. 'You're a Black.'

'According to the tapestry, yes,' replied Harry.

'And the ring as well, although that could have been influenced by goblin magic,' said Narcissa. 'But there's no arguing with the tapestry.'

_Walburga argued with it all the time_, thought Harry.

'And I see there are other new Blacks as well,' she added, indicating the restored branches. 'I suppose we aren't as rare as I previously believed. Have you contacted them?'

'Yes, Harry owled them several weeks ago. Only two families are still in Britain, and this whole branch is in Canada,' said Andromeda. 'The Canadian representative asked for a photograph of the tapestry and would enjoy corresponding about family history, but otherwise they don't seem interested in establishing close ties. Although they were impressed that Harry was Head of House, and we're encouraged to visit if we're ever in that part of the world.'

'And the British families?'

'This family was surprised to learn they were related to us,' said Andromeda, indicating another branch. 'Apparently they're descended from a Squib, and it was several generations before magic resurfaced. Strongly, in fact—they've two Metamorphmagi currently living.'

'Interesting,' said Narcissa.

'And the other family changed their surname about seventy years ago. Perseus Black was cast out for rejecting the Dark Arts, so he changed his name to White, and that's what all his descendants are called. But the tapestry still calls them Black.'

Just then, Kreacher entered the room with a tea tray, which was laden with tiny sandwiches, pastries, and a pot of tea. 'Mistress Cissa,' he said, bowing low. 'Kreacher is honoured to serve so many of the family all at once.'

'It's lovely to see you, Kreacher,' said Narcissa, more warmly than she'd spoken to Harry. 'I hope you're satisfied with your present circumstances.'

_Is she implying that I mistreat him?_ Harry thought. Admittedly Sirius had mistreated him—which had led to Narcissa capturing his loyalty and tricking Harry into rescuing Sirius at the Ministry when he was actually safe at home.

'Kreacher is overjoyed to serve Master,' was the elf's cheerful reply. 'Master entertains guests frequently.'

'I'm certain he does,' said Narcissa.

Andromeda served the tea, and she attempted to keep the conversation light. But it was difficult, considering Narcissa's husband was in Azkaban and her son, Harry's former nemesis, was under house arrest. After yet another icy silence, Narcissa finally asked Harry, 'Do you intend to change your name?'

'Yes,' he said simply.

Her expression didn't change. 'Why? You made your name as a Potter. I thought you were so devoted to your parents' memory.'

'I am, which is why I'm planning to hyphenate.' She looked at him blankly, and he said, 'Harry Potter-Black. It's a Muggle custom, when two families are joined.'

'I see. And to what end? Will this become House Potter-Black?' she asked, gesturing towards the tapestry.

'No, there's no such thing as House Potter. I'll give my children both surnames, and they can choose when they're older. Ideally I'll have more than one son.'

She paused, seemingly unsure which conversational thread to follow. 'But why do you even want to affiliate yourself with House Black? In spite of what others might say, I don't believe you're socially ambitious.'

'I'm not. But Sirius's last request—his last written request—was that I remake the Blacks as a Light family. And I take that responsibility seriously, if you'll pardon the pun.' Harry paused before adding, 'Sirius was also the closest thing I've had to a father, that I can remember. I may resemble James Potter, but the father I think of every day and actively miss is Sirius Black.'

'He wasn't much of a father,' she said haughtily. 'He ran after Pettigrew instead of looking after you. He abandoned you to those Muggles.'

'He did it impetuously, and it was his greatest regret. Surely you've made decisions you regret. Decisions you made much more calmly, I'll wager.'

Harry looked at her fixedly, and to her credit she didn't look away. 'I have done. And I've lived with the consequences.'

'Sirius didn't have that luxury,' he replied sharply, with more emotion than he'd intended. 'He charged me with reinventing House Black, and I intend to honour that wish. And more than one person has pointed out to me that the fastest way to do it is by changing my name.'

Narcissa was quiet a moment. Her eyes still meeting his, she said, 'You seem convinced that House Black can only benefit by association with you.'

'As far as Dark magic is concerned, yes. In other respects, perhaps not. I'm only one person, and clearly I have my faults.'

'And your vices,' said Narcissa.

'I'm nineteen. I'm not misleading anyone.'

'You ruined a girl!' she snapped. 'She was innocent and you ruined her.'

'For Merlin's sake, what year is this—1999 or 1899? It was her decision to pursue me, not the other way around. And she's not ruined, like a melted cauldron! She simply has experience now.'

Narcissa shook her head angrily. 'You have no respect for wizarding tradition. For centuries, young witches from the best families have behaved according to certain rules.'

'Yes, and young wizards go to portkey brothels. How is Draco managing under house arrest? Do you import prostitutes for him, or is he using "charms for the single wizard?"'

'Harry!' admonished Andromeda. 'That's quite enough!'

'No, it's not enough! Sirius is dead because of Narcissa's manipulations. Hermione was tortured in your house.'

'So were we,' snapped Narcissa. 'You know what he was … what the Dark Lord was.'

'And didn't you? Or did you only decide he was a monster when you fell out of favour? Wasn't it enough that he'd murdered hundreds of people, including my parents, and Cedric Diggory?'

'Harry, this is water under the bridge,' said Andromeda. 'Narcissa saved your life. And so did Draco.'

'And I saved his, from Fiendfyre. I kept him out of Azkaban.'

'All of that's true,' agreed Andromeda. 'And you also nearly killed him with Dark magic, and vice versa. But you're family—we're family—and you need to find common ground.'

Harry took a deep breath before facing Narcissa again. 'Andromeda's right, we need to find common ground. I'll tell you what I want ... I want to make amends with Draco. I want to prevent the next war.'

After a silence, Narcissa said, 'I want that as well. Although you won't have an easy time with him.'

'No, I've behaved poorly. I should never have sent my Patronus to Malfoy Manor—I apologise. I'd apologise on the air but I assume that would make things worse.'

'You're right,' said Narcissa. 'You'll need to visit.'

'I'm not going to grovel,' he said. 'I'll apologise for what I've done, but I shan't beg. And besides, we have friends in common now, so I don't think it's impossible we could learn to get along.'

'Perhaps not. But there's something I want as well.' Harry looked at her, and she continued. 'I can't stop you from changing your name, but please, don't do it right away. I know you're a Gryffindor and do everything on impulse, but wait for this Travers business to settle down.'

Harry nodded. 'I suspect you and I have different ideas about when that might be, but I'll agree in principle. And I won't say anything else publicly on the subject. But I'm planning to host another party next weekend, and everyone will see the tapestry.'

'Yes, of course,' said Andromeda, who seemed relieved by the apparent détente. 'Everyone knows already, because of what happened at the Wizengamot. But you can certainly wait before making things official.'

'You won't marry the girl, will you?' asked Narcissa.

Harry was taken aback. 'Would you approve if I did?'

'She's a Travers. If your children married pure-bloods, their children would probably be accepted as such.'

'_Toujours pur_ is history,' scoffed Harry. 'The motto on the tapestry changed as soon as my mother appeared on it, and Ted Tonks as well. I'll marry who I like, and not before I'm twenty-one. And besides, Lydia doesn't want to get married either.'

'She might only be telling you that,' warned Narcissa.

'I questioned her under Veritaserum, before we even had dinner on Thursday night. She doesn't want to marry me.'

Narcissa looked impressed. 'There may be hope for you yet, as a Black. But do try to avoid scandal, for the family's sake.'

'I'm afraid I rather like causing a scandal,' he admitted. 'And there's more to come ... apparently a witch I met sold her story to some magazine. I don't know when it's coming out.' He hoped his attempt to look sheepish was working, but he suspected it wasn't.

'Harry!' scolded Andromeda.

'I didn't sell my story! I turned down a sponsorship from Silver Arrow to avoid appearing mercenary. My only endorsements have been for flowers and wallpaper.'

'He'll probably increase the family assets,' observed Andromeda. 'And he certainly dresses like a proper wizard.'

'Small mercies,' replied Narcissa, but her expression was softer than before. _She's pretty when she doesn't have that Dark Arts sneer_, he thought. _Thank goodness Lydia will never have it._

The conversation went more smoothly after that. Narcissa promised to ask Draco when a good time to visit would be, and Harry refrained from making a snide comment about Draco's busy schedule. She left after a suitable interval, and Harry and Andromeda discussed how things had gone.

'You had me worried for a bit,' she confessed.

'It needed to be said. She and I both did terrible things during the war, and Draco as well. I only hope he and I are able to get past it.'

'I hope so too, but I'm not optimistic. He's quite bitter. He was to be Lord Malfoy and Lord Black, with an enormous fortune. Instead he has half the Malfoy assets and a Dark Mark on his forearm.'

'I assume it's fading,' said Harry. 'My scar is.'

'Yes, I'd noticed that. But you didn't take your scar willingly, as he did with the Mark. That kind of harmful intent doesn't fade quickly.'

They spoke a little longer before Harry said, 'Thank you, Andromeda. I can't tell you what it means to have someone looking out for me, someone I respect. And don't be shy about putting me in my place when I need it, as you did with the Patronus.'

'I won't,' she promised, and they hugged before she left.

Harry went up to his bedroom, hoping to find Lydia there, and he wasn't disappointed. Furthermore, she was wearing shockingly provocative undergarments from what appeared to be a vast collection.

'Is this the sort of thing you wore while being courted?' he asked.

'Yes—I daresay most virginal pure-bloods do. It was my only outlet.'

'I may have to start collecting knickers, if this is the type I have to choose from,' he said, pulling at them.

'Don't you want to know how my interview went?' she asked before he was able to make much progress.

'I meant to ask you, but I was distracted somehow.'

'Then close your eyes!' she said. 'And sit over there ... I seem to recall your extolling the virtues of anticipation.'

'Well played,' he replied, sitting at the foot of the bed. 'How was your interview?'

'I thought it went well. There was a photographer, and he took my picture next to the window so you wouldn't know we were in a tavern. And Rita wanted to hear how I'd come to my decision, and why I fancied you, and whether you'd been a gentleman.'

'Whether I'd been a gentleman? I think by definition I wasn't.'

'But you didn't seduce me or try to get me drunk, and you kept verifying it was what I wanted, and so forth. Rita was very impressed you took such pains to make sure my first time was perfect.'

'And was it?' he asked, moving back towards her on the bed.

She was in the middle of answering when a bell chimed out of nowhere. _That's not Kreacher's gong_, thought Harry, puzzled.

'Yes?' said Lydia, who seemed to recognise the bell.

A high, disembodied voice said, 'Miss Lydia, Kammy has a letter to deliver.'

'On the bedside table,' she replied. 'I'll call you when I need you again.'

'Very good, Miss Lydia.'

A letter appeared next to the bed, and Lydia reached for it languidly. 'It's for you,' she told Harry. 'It must be from my parents.'

'From your parents? Not a Howler, I hope.'

'Kammy would never give me a Howler. You should read it.'

He took the letter from her and opened it:

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_I can't say I ever expected to write to you, and certainly not under these circumstances. But life is full of unpleasant surprises, and so here we are. _

_Until Friday morning, when my wife and I had the great misfortune of seeing our daughter's photograph in the _Prophet_, we believed we'd raised a proper young witch who would only be a credit to her family. We now know we were naïve and perhaps blind to her dissatisfaction. After all, these are challenging times for a family of our affiliation, and particularly for someone of Lydia's tender age._

_My father—Lydia's grandfather—is outraged by her defection and is prepared to disinherit her. I was able, however, to persuade him to reconsider under the following conditions: (1) Lydia leave your house immediately and either return home or stay with Esme, as she prefers. (2) You commence an accelerated courtship, according to wizarding norms. (3) You propose marriage in no more than four weeks. (4) You abstain from further intimacy until after you're married. (5) You change your surname to Black._

_In return, you would be given permission to marry her, and you would be received in our house just as Esme and Charles are. Lydia would receive her full marriage portion as well as her eventual inheritance from her mother and me—hopefully many years hence. This would include jewellery and family heirlooms Lydia has long been told would be hers._

_I persuaded my father to allow you to continue your career as a Seeker with an understanding that, after you retire, you either find employment at the Ministry or choose to live as a gentleman of leisure, should your income be sufficient. Our family's influence would ensure you a rewarding Ministry post and spare you the necessity of sitting your N.E.W.T.s. Note that a position as an Auror or with any other active branch of law enforcement would not be considered acceptable._

_I think you'll agree this is a very generous offer, particularly given the situation thus far. We await a reply at your earliest possible convenience._

_Yours truly,_

_Desmond Travers_

Harry was dumbstruck. Which he realised was fortunate, given what he was likely to say. Lydia was dumbstruck as well, and only after a long silence she asked him, 'What do you think?'

_What do I think?_ thought Harry. _I think it's the most appalling load of rot since that textbook Umbridge assigned us._

'I'm sorry, Lydia, but I can't possibly meet his terms,' he began, and she feverishly embraced him.

'Thank goodness! They're trying to un-ruin me, and I absolutely refuse! They want to turn you into Charles, and I'd have hated that. You'd just be another boring wizard and I'd be just as trapped as if I'd never run away.' She shuddered and said, 'They'd probably convince you to wear raised shoes in the end, and you'd get soft and need to wear charmed robes that hide your belly.'

'Oh Lydia, you're brilliant. I was scared you'd be tempted, but you aren't.'

'You thought I'd be tempted?' she said indignantly. 'Haven't I made my intentions clear?'

'You have done, but remember I don't have a family, so I can only imagine how hard it is to lose their approval but then have the chance to regain it.'

'Harry, I don't want their approval, or anything else from them. I don't even want you, not forever. I want my freedom, and they're trying to take it away from me.'

'But what about your family heirlooms? I haven't a single thing that belonged to my parents, other than my Invisibility Cloak, and it means the world to me.'

'If my family heirlooms included a Deathly Hallow I might feel differently, but these are items like silver wall sconces shaped like talons and a hand-carved tea set made from house-elf skulls. Believe me, I won't miss them.'

Harry laughed and kissed her. 'How should I reply? I get the impression they're waiting. And no, I'm not sending my Patronus.'

'You'll have to use your appalling stationery, which they'll notice of course.' He Summoned it from the table, along with a quill, and he used her lower back as a writing desk.

_Dear Mr Travers,_

_Although I appreciate the generous terms you've offered, and Lydia is touched that you appealed to your father on her behalf, we both have to refuse your proposal. I have a prior commitment not to propose marriage before my twenty-first birthday, which falls well outside your four-week deadline. Furthermore, I would never give up my parents' surname—I'm the last of the Potters and feel a responsibility to carry the name forward._

_Lydia adds that she too cannot accept your offer. She has no wish to marry the person you described and would probably abandon him in due course, which would leave us all where we started. She also notes that by the time you receive this reply, we'll have broken requirement #4, regarding further premarital intimacy._

_Although I'm sure we'd have got on swimmingly as in-laws, particularly given our long history of shared values, we must remain as we are, allied only by our deep wish for your daughter's happiness._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

'Say goodbye to that tea set,' said Harry as he sealed and addressed the letter. 'Whose house-elf should deliver it?'

'Yours. He's not bound to my family, so he can just Disapparate if they start throwing things at him.'

Harry called Kreacher and sent him to deliver the letter. They spent a good long time keeping their word regarding item number four, and then Harry took her to dinner.

'I can't believe you've never had fish and chips,' he said. 'Are you certain you're English?'

'Yes, I'm English, and I can't see what that has to do with eating greasy food out of paper,' she said as they left the shop he'd Apparated them to. 'And the restaurant is ghastly, if you can even call it a restaurant.'

'You can't,' said Harry. 'It's a chip shop, or a chippy. And that one's downright posh compared to the one in my neighbourhood.' He led her to a nearby park bench and watched as she tasted the food he'd bought her. At first her brows drew together, as if she were unsure what to think, but then her eyes lit with pleasure and he knew his experiment had been a success.

'This is good,' she admitted. 'And I can see why the paper is useful.'

They mostly ate in silence, and he was amused to watch her struggle to eat it daintily. 'I can't believe how far you've fallen,' he said as they finished. 'Leaving out the whole ruination thing, you started the day with brunch at Dunnings, and then probably a pumpkin pasty at the Leaky Cauldron, and now you've just eaten fish and chips on a bench in a nondescript part of Muggle London.'

'Yes, and with the perfectly brilliant son of a Mudblood and a middle-class blood traitor, who won't marry me,' she said cheerfully.

'What's the opposite of proposing to someone?' he mused.

'I don't know. Surprise me.'

Harry, still holding the grease-soaked paper from his meal, wadded it into a ball and bent down on one knee. 'Lydia Travers,' he said solemnly, holding up the greasy ball, 'would you do me the great honour of never marrying me, no matter how much your parents try to bribe us?'

She took the ball and lifted it to her nose before holding it over her ring finger like a huge gem. 'Oh, Harry, yes! Yes, I won't marry you! Even if my father offers us the gravy boat made from a Nundu scapula, which is currently destined for my brother Jacob.'

'You've made me the happiest man on Earth,' he said, rising and brushing the dirt from his trousers. He kissed her, and they laughed while walking hand in hand to an alley, from which he Apparated them home.


	56. Chapter 56

Not wanting a repeat of his sleep-deprived night from the week before, Harry insisted they go to bed early. Lydia protested and used some of her new skills to keep him awake, with considerable success, but at half past eleven he pointed out that the sooner she went to sleep, the sooner she'd see Rita Skeeter's article about her in the _Prophet_.

'You're right,' she said, curling into his arms. 'And it's lovely just lying next to you. This is how Esme and I used to sleep before she changed.'

Lydia awoke the next morning before he did, and she startled him awake by summoning Kammy into the room. 'Kammy, I want my usual breakfast, and the _Prophet_ as soon as it arrives,' she ordered.

'Yes, Miss Lydia,' replied the elf with a curtsey. 'And what would Mr Harry Potter like for breakfast?'

He rubbed his eyes. 'You're very kind to offer, but I'll have Kreacher prepare something,' he said, not wanting to start the day with unnecessary drama. He wordlessly asked Kreacher for breakfast in bed and spent several minutes consoling him over Kammy's presence, with a promise to make it up to him later.

Lydia's meal arrived first, on a polished silver tray Kammy must have borrowed from Lydia's parents' house, and with flowers of unknown origin. Harry's arrived moments later on the usual pewter with a flower arrangement resembling Lydia's, only larger and more elaborate. They each had a copy of the _Daily Prophet_, which they unrolled simultaneously.

'I'm on the cover and you aren't!' she cried triumphantly, before pausing to examine the photograph. 'What do you think?' she asked, sounding less confident than before.

It was a remarkable picture, he thought. _In the space of ten seconds she alternates between girlish innocence and womanly allure_. 'It'll win you heaps of admirers,' he said sincerely. 'You'll have no trouble replacing me when the time comes.'

She didn't reply and was soon engrossed in the article, which was titled, _'Lydia Travers: Portrait of a Free Spirit.'_

The article described Lydia's background as a pedigreed young pure-blood who'd already rejected two marriage proposals. At the time she thought she simply didn't fancy the young men, but later she realised the problem ran deeper. The article said:

'_I didn't want that life,' explained Lydia. 'I dislike the Dark Arts, and I don't care to practice them. The wizarding world is so much larger than the one I grew up in, and I wanted to join it.'_

_To the cloistered Miss Travers, one wizard in particular embodied this forbidden world: Harry Potter. 'He does whatever he likes and wears whatever catches his eye, and it's perfect. All my life I'd been told he was thick and just Dumbledore's puppet, but now I realise he's brilliant. Brave and brilliant.'_

_In a plan worthy of Salazar Slytherin, Lydia masterminded her escape. 'I needed a clean break, something that couldn't be ignored or covered up. Obviously I could have found some other wizard to deflower me, but I was raised to demand the best, and clearly that was Harry.'_

The article went on to describe how Harry had required her to answer questions under Veritaserum:

'_I was thrilled when he suggested it, and I wouldn't have respected him otherwise. He offered to show me his questions in advance, so I could approve them, but I was ready to surrender.'_

_And surrender she did, just two nights later, 'I wanted him that first night, but he insisted we wait. Really, he was a complete gentleman—he never tried to get me drunk, and he insisted we go slowly. He kept asking whether it was what I wanted, and he did everything to ensure the experience was perfect.'_

_Our readers are undoubtedly eager to learn the details of Lydia's perfect initiation into womanhood, but she refused to reveal them. 'It was everything I could have hoped, and nobody's business but our own. It would be the height of vulgarity to talk to a reporter about it.'_

Harry chuckled at Lydia's preemptive strike against Vera, whose story was likely to be published soon. The article continued:

_But what of Lydia's family, and her future? 'I don't need their gold,' she said defiantly. Already in possession of a significant fortune, Lydia is free to live independently and choose a husband only for love. 'I was raised to be someone's wife, but I want to learn who I am first. I want to attend parties—and throw them—and mingle with people I'd never have met otherwise. I no longer believe what I've been taught about blood purity, and I'm keen to explore the wider world.'_

_Wizarding society will surely benefit from such a vibrant young hostess. Lydia's beauty alone will draw acolytes, but her refined wit and engaging personality ensure that admission to her 'salon' will be a prized invitation indeed. _

'_I want to bring people together, just as Harry does. I'll ward my flat against harmful curses and invite anyone who's interesting, regardless of their affiliation. Naturally I'll insist on elegant dress, either wizard or Muggle, and only the best conversation. I've already endured a lifetime of tedious conversations about ancestry and how much gold someone has—if anyone talks like that at my salon they'll be Silenced, myself included.'_

_Lydia plans to issue a standing invitation to Harry, even after their affair ends. 'He's simply fascinating, and everyone should meet him, people from Dark families in particular. They'll discover the same thing I did: that they've heard mostly lies about him, and that he's actually remarkably clever. And I want witches to get to know him as well—to discover what they've probably been missing.'_

_Although she won't miss her family's gold, Lydia expressed sadness that her bid for freedom might affect her familial relationships. 'I love my family, and it breaks my heart that we might be estranged from now on. But I'd have been ever so unhappy in my assigned role, and I only hope they'll accept me as I am. My door will always be open to them, and my heart as well.' _

In her concluding statement, Rita wrote:

_Lydia Travers is, above all, a passionate young woman. Is her passion a gift of nature, or was it the product of her upbringing and her milieu? In either case, what right do we or her family have to condemn her for following it? She would have been wrong—cruel even—to accept the marriage proposal of a sincere young wizard, knowing her heart compelled her elsewhere. We therefore congratulate Lydia for knowing herself so well at such a young age, and for decisively taking control of her own destiny._

Harry was impressed. 'I take it back,' he told her, after reading the article. 'You're a Slytherin through and through.'

She smiled mischievously. 'I remembered what Andromeda said about burning bridges with her family ... now they'll be the ones who look bad if they won't receive me.'

'Will you invite Esme and Charles to your salon?'

'Of course. I'll be curious to see how long it takes for them to give in, because they will. I hope you'll be there when it happens.'

He rose from bed and started getting dressed. 'What are your plans for the day?'

'I need to find a flat. I'm picturing something very specific, so it won't be easy, but I'll use the same estate agent Esme and Charles used.' She got out of bed and draped herself around him. 'When will you be home?'

'It depends on how long this afternoon's practice match lasts, or whether we even have one without Owen. And then tonight at eight I'll attend Seeker's night out, with all the other league Seekers.'

'May I come?'

'I don't think so—nobody brought a partner last time.' She scowled, and he added, 'But we can have dinner together first, and I'll be back by ten.'

She kissed him goodbye, and he Apparated to the Cannons facility. He'd decided to make a habit of arriving a half-hour early when he was known to have an overnight guest, to reassure both Tuttle and the mysterious team observers that he wasn't shirking.

'Good morning, Harry,' said Lara. 'You're looking surprisingly well rested.'

"The team is my first priority,' he replied, and then he noticed her sign indicating how many days since he'd been on the cover of the _Prophet_. 'One? Not zero?' he asked, disappointed.

'You weren't in the headline or the photograph,' replied Lara firmly.

'But I was all over the article.'

'That's neither here nor there. You'll just have to try to be more newsworthy—do you have anything planned this week?'

'No, just the radio broadcast and perhaps a night or two out with Lydia. She's staying at my house until she can find a flat.'

'That doesn't sound like front page material. But perhaps it's for the best—you don't want to become overexposed. People will grow tired of you.'

'I'm amazed they aren't already. Merlin knows I am,' he replied. 'I should drop in on Mrs Thwip—please make sure Tuttle knows I'm here and not shirking.'

He walked down the corridor to Mrs Thwip's office, and she greeted him with her usual stony glare. 'Good morning, Mr Potter.'

'Good morning, Mrs Thwip. I've a stack of new letters and signed photographs,' he said, handing them to her.

'I'm pleased you found the time. You may be interested to learn you have a new category of hate mail.'

'Oh dear. About Lydia, I assume?'

'Correct. Apparently you set a team one-day record for Howlers—fortunately they were destroyed by the wards. I should note that you also have a new category of fan mail.'

'Also about Lydia?' he asked.

'Correct. Would you like to see an example?'

'No, that's quite all right.' He paused and then added, 'I certainly don't expect you to approve of my behaviour, but am I at risk of being sacked, on moral grounds?'

It night have been Harry's imagination, but Mrs Thwip's expression seemed to soften momentarily. 'Not yet. From what I understand, you didn't deceive or coerce the young witch. You didn't lead her down the garden path, as it were.'

'No, I would never do that.'

'Then it's not my concern, nor should it affect my willingness to work for you. But if I ever hear something to the contrary, and you can't refute it to my satisfaction, I will tender my resignation.'

'And hopefully curse me while you're at it,' he said.

She nodded. 'That's a promise, Mr Potter.'

When he returned to the front room he was hailed by Owen. 'Oh good, you're here—I was hoping to talk to you before the trials start.'

'Those are today?' asked Harry.

'Yes. We invited a dozen Seekers to try out, and you'll meet the final two or three tomorrow afternoon. But let's find a place to talk—I want to hear more about Saturday's match.'

They walked to the benches outside and sat down. 'I can hardly describe it,' began Harry. 'Just after the match started, I felt a new kind of powerful energy. At first I thought it was accidental Light magic, but I wasn't glowing. And then I was acting almost entirely on instinct.'

'Is that why you didn't follow Wither's feints?' asked Owen.

'Yeah, I just knew the Snitch wasn't there. But Merlin, the things I said to him! Will you be at Seekers' night out tonight? I'm afraid he'll repeat some of them, and I could use an ally.'

'I hadn't planned to attend, since I'm not technically a Seeker anymore, but several of them insisted. It's at the Lost Legion, by the way—in a private room.'

'Oh, that's much nicer than last time—I could even wear robes.'

'You could,' chuckled Owen. 'Flowers even. What sort of things did you say, during the match?'

'I was unbelievably arrogant,' confessed Harry. 'Far worse than I've been in practice with you. And I wasn't even saying it on purpose—it all just flew out of my mouth automatically.'

'Interesting,' replied Owen. 'And what happened when you caught the Snitch?'

'I hadn't decided to feint, and if I had done, that's not the direction I'd have flown.'

'Interesting. I assumed you'd spotted the Snitch, but I couldn't see it. Admittedly the visibility wasn't the best, but I saw it right before you caught it.'

'And that's when I saw it as well.' He paused a moment. 'And there's more ... everything slowed down as I was feinting. I remember Janet in particular—it was like she was in slow motion.'

Owen nodded. 'Everything you're describing is consistent with a powerful state of concentration, combined with broad awareness. I assume it didn't feel like Omnioculars?'

'No, not at all. So that was just concentration and not magic?'

'The line gets blurry at a certain point, but yes. I think it was just concentration.'

'That's a relief,' admitted Harry. 'I'd hate to be accused of cheating.'

'I don't see how you could be. Do you know whether you can repeat it?'

'I have no idea. Like I said, it wasn't anything I was doing—it just happened.'

'It was probably a convergence of factors. The stadium full of fans, for example, and maybe what was happening in your personal life.'

'You mean that I was about to deflower a pure-blood princess?'

'Well, yes,' replied Owen. 'There had to be something very primal about ... conquering someone who represents the forces that tried to destroy you.'

'I can't say I like the word "conquer"—it makes me sound like a rapist or something. Believe me, it was her choice.'

'Of course, I know that. But I'm speaking metaphorically.'

'You're right, and I get it. I just wanted to make sure there wasn't any misunderstanding.' He sighed and said, 'So there's probably no way to repeat it. At least not the exact same way.'

'Probably not,' said Owen. 'But if it happened after only six matches, I'm sure it'll happen again. Have you found a Light magic teacher yet?'

'Yes, Alistair did, but I won't meet her until Sunday, and it's up to her whether she wants to teach me. Who knows—she might not approve of my private life. I don't think we can blame it all on accidental Light magic.'

'No, probably not,' said Owen, chuckling.

Harry wished him luck with the Seeker trials, and Owen returned to the building. Tuttle, however, emerged to deliver her Monday morning lecture.

'We've won our last six matches, which you should be proud of, but don't think for a minute that means we're guaranteed to win the next one. You need to work harder than ever and ignore the distractions,' she said, eyeing Harry. 'We're playing the Tornados, in Tutshill, and they're a quirky opponent. Their Chasers are inconsistent but their Beaters are fantastic. And Wainwright, their Seeker, is nearly as good a spotter as Barrowmaker was.'

'And Potter,' interjected Janet. 'I saw him up close on Saturday—that was completely mental.'

'You should have heard the fans at the Spyglass,' added Darren. 'Some of them insisted the Snitch didn't appear until about a second before Harry grabbed it.'

'Maybe so,' said Tuttle, 'but that was Saturday, and we've a new match ahead of us. So forget about it and get to work—ten laps.'

Everyone started running, and Tuttle left to attend the Seeker trials. Instead of sprinting ahead, Harry joined Darren.

'I completely forgot to visit the Spyglass on Saturday,' he admitted. 'Were the fans upset?'

'Not at all, Snitchbottom—everyone knew why you were missing and they thought it was hilarious. In fact, they made a lot of toasts in your honour.'

'About Lydia you mean?'

'Yeah. Mostly involving your cannon ... they got a bit repetitive, to be honest.'

'And how are you? Are you still seeing Romilda?'

'Sweet Merlin, yes. I'm counting the seconds until she boards the Hogwarts Express ... usually I'd have changed the wards on my flat by now, but there didn't seem any point with an obvious end date in sight.'

'Don't tell me this is your longest relationship!'

'Let me think,' replied Darren. 'I met her at your party—that was the thirty-first, right? Yes, my longest ever.'

'Impressive. By the way, I'm throwing another party on Saturday, which means you can end things where they began.'

'Are you serious? That's fantastic! Who are you inviting this time?'

'That's a good question ... Isla Preston wanted me to invite all the teams, but if I invite reserves and allow everyone to bring a guest, that's nearly twice as many people as I invited last time.'

'And you're worried it'll be too expensive?' asked Darren. 'All the portkeys?'

'I'm skipping the portkeys. I'll just get everyone's names and add them to the Floo wards for the night. But I'm concerned I won't have enough space.'

'Nonsense! By the end of your last party, everyone was either on the roof or in one of your guest rooms, which we've determined are infinite, right? And you still have the library, which is also huge.'

'Kreacher could shrink the table,' Harry mused. 'And I suppose he could block off the bookcases. Mind you, I won't have an army of house-elves this time—just Kreacher and Lydia's house-elf, Kammy.'

'Of course she has a house-elf,' sniggered Darren. 'Are you certain you won't marry her? She sounds like a good fit.'

'Yes, I'm certain. Her family tried to bribe us, but we turned them down.' He described what happened, which resulted in Darren laughing so hard that he got a cramp and had to stop running briefly.

'I want to know more about this Ministry post they had in mind for you,' he said once he'd caught his breath and was able to run again. 'Something with the Department of Magical Games and Sports, you think?'

'I don't know, our negotiations didn't get that far. Lydia's brother-in-law is the Deputy Director of the Department of Magical Equipment Control, which sounds impressive but apparently it's not much work. He has a secretary, though, and an expense account.'

'An expense account?' exclaimed Darren. 'That's a bloody scandal!'

'It's not large, according to Lydia. He mostly uses it at the newsagent's, to buy magazines and mints.'

'I see. Do you suppose you'd get a similar job?'

'I couldn't say,' replied Harry. 'I never sat my N.E.W.T.s, so my post might not be so prestigious. And my in-laws would probably still hate me, so I'm certain they'd line up something embarrassing, like Assistant Undersecretary of the Ghoul Task Force.'

'Yes, that sounds like a good match for your experience. Do ghouls ever need Disarming?'

'Good question. Do they even have arms?'

'You might never find out, now that you've rejected their offer,' observed Darren. 'I hope you won't come to regret it.'

'You mean in ten years when I'm driving the Knight Bus?'

'Is that your plan?'

'It is. Owen and I have spent hours discussing it. Merlin, I'll miss flying against him every day!'

The morning proceeded as usual, and at lunch Harry's teammates agreed with Darren that Grimmauld Place could accommodate all the Quidditch teams and their guests.

'But how will you handle the gender imbalance?' asked Suresh. 'I won't complain, certainly, but the other blokes might.'

'I've given this some thought,' began Harry, which prompted laughter. 'No, not for my own benefit—I'll have Lydia, remember? But I can ask everyone to bring either their own partner or someone of whichever gender they fancy. That should balance out the numbers pretty well.'

'Good thinking,' said Ryan. 'Is Hermione my plus one, or is she a friend of the house?'

'Friend of the house. Same with Ron.'

Ryan offered to bring his stereo, but Harry refused and instead asked for help choosing a stereo system. 'But I'd love if you could take charge of the music.'

'Done,' said Ryan. 'And will you hold court again?'

'Not if I can help it. I'd like to actually dance this time, now that I'll have a partner who's willing to be seen with me.'

'Just lay off the firewhisky,' said Gary, 'and if anyone starts asking you nosy questions, kick them out.'

That afternoon Harry flew the practice match against a trainer named Bruce, who was a particularly aggressive flyer. Nobody was surprised when Harry caught the Snitch, but he was more tired than usual after so many wild feints. 'That was brilliant,' he told Bruce. 'I loved playing against Owen, but I hope they pick a first-rate flyer this time around.'

'Believe me, that's what Tuttle wants,' said Bruce. 'And you'll get a vote as well.'

After showering, Harry returned home, and he was disappointed to find that Lydia hadn't yet returned. But he took the opportunity to talk to Kreacher, who was still upset about Kammy's presence.

'It shouldn't be for more than a week,' said Harry. 'And you'll be in charge of the party this weekend, just like last time.'

'Kreacher won't allow the Kammy to help,' he said defiantly.

'Yes you will,' insisted Harry. 'We'll have nearly twice as many guests as last time, and I won't permit you to do it all by yourself.'

'Is Master punishing Kreacher?'

'I don't know,' said Harry cautiously. 'Am I?'

'It would be a grave punishment indeed, to have to work with the Kammy all week.'

'I suppose we'll just have to see how you behave,' said Harry. 'You may need to allow Kammy to cook dinner sometimes, particularly if that's what Lydia wants. But I'll definitely have you make pizza one night, since I'm certain she's never eaten it before.'

Kreacher grudgingly assented and said, 'Master's werewolf brought Master a present this afternoon.'

'A present?' replied Harry. 'Oh, was it a pile of books and records?'

'Yes, Master. Does Master require the record player?'

'Yes, please.'

_Crack! _Kreacher Disapparated and returned seconds later with a record player that could only have belonged to Sirius. It was covered with stickers, and Harry had trouble believing that Walburga or even Regulus had ever been a Sex Pistols fan.

'Are there any records in the attic?' asked Harry. 'I hadn't thought so, but perhaps I missed them.'

'Yes, Master. Kreacher will fetch them.' _Crack!_

He returned with a wooden box, covered with more band stickers, but when Harry removed the lid his face fell. 'These records are broken.'

'Yes, Master,' said Kreacher brightly. 'Mistress broke them.'

Harry sighed. 'You can't repair them, can you? They're in bits—I doubt any wizard could fix them.'

Kreacher concentrated a moment, and Harry was impressed to see the small black shards reassemble into unbroken discs. 'Well done!' he exclaimed, and he placed one onto the turntable.

The result was unfortunate—a cacophony of pops and scratches drowned out what might originally have been good music. 'Thanks anyway,' said Harry. 'It was a good effort. You can just Vanish them, or I can.'

Kreacher Vanished them, leaving Harry with the pile of records Simon had delivered. _A lot of these band names are familiar_, he thought. He decided to start with a David Bowie album, which had a photograph of the singer lounging on a chaise wearing an outfit that looked like a cross between wizarding robes and a woman's dress.

Harry was in the sitting room, so he lay down on his favourite sofa and listened to the music as he relaxed. _This is good_, he thought._ I wonder if my parents liked this kind of music._

Because the record player was magical, it automatically turned the album over when it reached the end of the first side, and further experimentation revealed that Harry could stack multiple records for uninterrupted play. _Thanks, Sirius!_ he thought fondly.

Eventually Lydia returned home and found him there. 'What music is this?' she asked, looking at the records. 'I don't recognise any of these bands.'

'They're Muggle records. My tutor Simon sent them over—I want to learn more about popular culture.'

'Muggle records?' she exclaimed. 'I don't think I've heard any Muggle music, at least not on purpose.'

'I'm certain you'll love it—it's much better than wizarding popular music. They've a much larger talent pool than we do.'

'All right,' she said. 'I suppose what you're listening to now isn't bad. Who is this?'

'Squeeze. I vaguely remember them, from before I went to Hogwarts.'

'It's catchy,' she said. 'I like it.'

'How was your day?' he asked. 'Did you talk to the estate agent?'

'Yes, but I didn't see anything I liked. Everything was either too bland or too dreary.'

'My house is dreary,' he countered, but she shook her head.

'Your house suits you. Not because you're dreary, of course—because you have dark hair.'

'I fail to see the connection.'

'I have fair hair,' she said. 'My bedroom at home is light and cheerful, which flatters my complexion. But here I look sallow.'

'Trust me, you look lovely. But if you'll be happier somewhere with more natural light, you should wait for something better. Does the estate agent have more places to show you.'

'Yes, but they're not in London.'

'Why does it need to be in London? Location doesn't matter, as long as you're on a primary Floo path.'

'Who ever heard of a salon in Birmingham?' she countered. 'The very idea!'

'But surely there are other cities. What about that factory complex in Manchester?'

'Manchester?' she exclaimed. 'I'm a Travers!'

'You're a disgraced Travers,' he said, and she swatted him. 'But what's wrong with Manchester? I liked it there.'

'I suppose it's not bad. But people might think I couldn't do any better than that.'

'And so what if they do? You said you admire how I do what I want without worrying what people think.'

'But that's you. You haven't been disinherited—you're Lord Black.'

'Lordships are bollocks. And besides, whatever you choose would automatically become fashionable.'

She lit up. 'You're right, it would be! Oh Harry, you're brilliant.'

'No, I'm not—Hermione is. You'll meet her tomorrow night, you know.'

'Hermione Granger?'

'Yes, we seem to have got into the habit of eating dinner together before my radio broadcast.'

'And she won't mind if I'm here?'

'No, of course not,' said Harry, not at all certain whether that were true. 'And I want you to meet her—she's like a sister to me, and she's saved my life more times than I can count.'

'Will Ryan Bellamy come over as well?'

'Not normally, but we can invite him if you like.'

'Yes, I don't want her to feel like a third wheel.'

Harry started laughing. 'There's no risk of that with Hermione. And besides, I was a third wheel with her and Ron for ages.'

'So that's true? I was certain you and she had a history, or that she at least fancied you.'

'No, there's never been anything between us, and I'm sure she's never fancied me. It was always Ron, and then she and Ryan fell head over heels for each other.'

'I can certainly understand Ryan Bellamy's appeal, but why on earth did she prefer Ron Weasley to you? Was she a blood purist back then?'

Harry laughed again and said, 'Not at all. I don't know, we've just always felt like brother and sister, ever since we first became friends. You'll see when you meet her.'

Kammy prepared dinner that night, while Kreacher worked on applying more wallpaper throughout the house. Lydia had concurred with Hermione's opinions on the wallpaper, although she too liked the peacock feather pattern in the bedroom. 'Of course it's sybaritic,' she said, 'but why shouldn't it be?'

'Thank you! I think I deserve at least some aspects of the portkey brothel experience.'

The meal Kammy prepared was more fussy than Kreacher's usual fare, but Harry had to admit it was good. Lydia was appalled, however, that he didn't own the appropriate cutlery.

'How can you entertain without fish forks, or salad knives? And your pudding spoons are just tea spoons!'

'Everything valuable was stolen during the war,' he explained. 'And it doesn't matter—I have more than enough cutlery for the way I entertain, and none of my friends care.'

'Really? Your friends don't mind?'

'We fought a war together—they definitely don't mind. And my Quidditch mates don't care either. We just have a lot of fun ... you'll see.'

She pouted again when he said she couldn't accompany him to Seekers' night out, but he suspected she was only doing it for attention. _And why not?_ he thought. He was unable to resist her pouts, and he always consoled her with a long kiss.

'I'll miss you,' she said, 'but I'll look through the books your tutor left, and listen to music. I should probably learn about Muggle culture as well, for shock value if nothing else.'

He travelled by Floo to the Lost Legion and was once again dazzled by the classical Roman architecture. The host directed him to the private room where the Seekers were gathered, and Harry entered. Roughly a half-dozen had already arrived, and he laughed when he saw that Phil Routledge was wearing his Cannons jersey.

'I was listening to the broadcast that night—to gather ammunition of course—and I split a side when they described what you were wearing,' said Phil. 'What the hell possessed you to do it?'

'I have no idea,' admitted Harry. 'I was at the Quidditch shop buying a toy broom for my godson, and a mad urge seized me. And they were out of Gilstrap's jersey, so what choice did I have?'

'You could have just worn robes like usual,' said Allie Hobbs, the Harpies Seeker. 'Flowers even.'

'You're just sore because he supported Routledge after you trounced him,' countered Isla Preston.

'Believe me, I don't need Potter's support. The Harpies are tied for first place now.'

'Yeah, because the Cannons beat Puddlemere and the Magpies,' said Preston. 'And everyone else lately ... bloody hell, Potter!'

'And sit down for heaven's sake,' exclaimed Phil. 'You're just looming over us.'

'Nobody's accused me of looming before,' said Harry, taking a seat next to Phil.

It turned out Phil wasn't the only Seeker to follow Harry's lead: Trevor Underhill had worn Carl Wainwright's jersey at a recent press conference, Selden Puttick had worn Sarah Trent's number at an autograph session, and Julian Barnwistle surprised his own fans by wearing his opponent's jersey immediately after defeating him.

'But only Routledge was willing to wear your jersey, Potter,' said Preston. 'It's bright orange, after all.'

Friendly conversation flowed, and more Seekers arrived, including Jerome Wither and Owen.

'Wither, I'm glad you're here—I wanted to apologise again for the match on Saturday.'

Underhill laughed. 'Potter, you don't need to apologise for winning.'

'Maybe he should,' suggested Phil. Imitating Harry, he said, 'Voldemort, I'm glad you're here—I wanted to apologise again for completely destroying you.'

'He's not apologising for winning,' said Wither. 'He's apologising for being the most egotistical prat ever to fly above a pitch.'

'Worse than when I played you?' asked Preston.

'Much worse,' admitted Harry. 'I have no idea what happened—it was some kind of fugue state.'

'You caught the Snitch,' said Phil. 'Say whatever you like ... all's fair.'

'That depends,' said Sheppard. 'Wither, did you want to punch Potter?'

'No, but I'm tempted to save it as a Pensieve memory so I can blackmail him after I retire.'

'You have to tell us what he said,' said one of the Seekers Harry hadn't previously met. _That must be Ekantika Singh from the Wigtown Wanderers_, he thought.

Wither looked at Harry, who shook his head and sighed. 'Go ahead. Might as well get it over with before Gilstrap arrives.'

'Now you've done it,' said Owen. 'He's bound to walk in any second now,' and the door opened.

'Gilstrap, have a seat,' said Hobbs. 'You've arrived just in time to hear Wither's recap of Potter's taunts on Saturday.'

'Perfect,' replied Gilstrap, sitting far from Harry and filling his glass. 'What did the Chosen One have to say?'

'I didn't claim my father had been tortured,' muttered Harry.

'All's fair above the pitch,' said Gilstrap coolly. 'And you had your revenge.'

'So did Barrowmaker,' added Underhill. 'Speaking of which, congratulations on your new coaching position. You're an inspiration to all of us.'

'You mean finding a job that doesn't involve a desk?' replied Owen.

'Exactly.' Underhill raised his glass and said, 'To Owen Barrowmaker ... the worst best Seeker in the league. Or maybe the best worst Seeker—I'm not sure.' Everyone drank and cheered.

'All right, Wither,' said Hobbs. 'Spill it.'

Wither looked at Harry again, who shrugged. Wither took a swig from his pint glass and said, 'Where do I even begin? He covered so many subjects. There was a whole prophecy theme, and everything you'd want to know about slaying a Basilisk. Did you know Potter was only twelve when he slew the Basilisk? He mentioned that more than once.'

Harry turned beet red and held his head in his palm. 'I was in a fugue state. I wasn't saying any of it consciously.'

'So this was uncensored Potter?' said Singh. 'Fantastic, continue.'

'Do you want to hear the sex stuff first?' asked Wither, and everyone assented loudly. 'Of course you do ... _"So Wither, is your girlfriend in the stands? If so, which one of the banners propositioning me is she holding?"'_

'That's nothing,' scoffed Wainwright. 'I use that one every week.'

'He was just getting started,' said Wither, before imitating Harry again. _'"I'm certain she's thought about shagging me—every other witch in England has. And the funny part is they don't know the half of it ... all my partners have told me I'm the best they've ever had, which makes me wonder just what the other wizards are offering. Are you sure you're satisfying her? I'm guessing not."'_

There were hoots, and Owen actually spit out his beer from laughing. 'I can't say Harry's gone quite that far in practice, but it's still within an order of magnitude of what I've heard. What else have you got?'

Wither said, 'Sticking with the procreation theme, he said, _"I'm expected to have at least two sons, but Merlin help them—it won't be easy growing up in my shadow. The good news is I won't have trouble fathering them."'_

Mortified, Harry wanted to crawl under the table, but he stayed where he was. 'I'm sorry,' he began, but Isla Preston interrupted him.

'He has a point. He's a starting Seeker, and he defeated Voldemort.'

'And a Basilisk,' interjected Barnwistle.

'When he was twelve,' said three people simultaneously.

'I'm sorry, son,' said Phil, imitating Harry again and addressing an invisible child. 'I understand you're having trouble with your Charms homework, and your crush doesn't fancy you back, but when I was your age I had to fight a Basilisk. Can't you just man up like I did?'

'Kids, stop that fighting right now!' scolded Owen. 'Don't make me put the Elder Wand back together!'

'Are you implying I'd curse my children?' asked Harry.

'No, it's just a fantastic threat. You should really use it someday.'

'So Wither, what else do you have?' asked Wainwright.

'Here's a particular favourite: "_What's it like not to be me? I suppose you're a starting Seeker, so that's something at least, but you've none of the rest of it._"'

'Fugue state!' protested Harry. 'How would you like it if your most appalling inner thoughts popped out of your mouth?'

'For six wins in a row, I'd take it,' said Sheppard. 'Potter, I heard the Snitch didn't even appear until a second before you caught it.'

'No comment,' replied Harry.

Everyone was silent for a moment, until Puttick blurted, 'Bloody hell, how do we compete with that?'

'He's not invincible,' said Hobbs. 'Just because you lot haven't beaten him, it doesn't mean it can't be done.'

'I was just lucky against Preston,' admitted Harry. 'But can we change the topic?'

'I thought you were your favourite topic, Potter,' said Gilstrap. 'Wither, surely you have more tidbits to share. Wasn't there anything about his Death Eater girlfriend?'

'She's not a Death Eater,' snapped Harry.

'She came up,' said Wither, 'but I reckon I've shared enough. This is turning into a bloodbath, and that wasn't my intention. I'm sorry, Potter.'

'Don't worry about it,' he replied, and the conversation moved to other subjects. Harry took another long swig of beer and was quiet for a while. _What would it be like to be normal?_ he wondered sadly.

'Did you ever hear back from Viktor Krum?' asked Preston. 'About changing the Quidditch rules?'

'Yeah, I ran into him in Paris. He thinks it's a good idea, and so do all the other Seekers he's talked to. Admittedly he's not optimistic, but that's Krum for you.'

'So what's next?' asked Sheppard.

'He said he'd owl me a list of all the supporters once he's gathered it, and we can go from there. He suggested publishing a joint statement in various Quidditch journals and seeing whether there's wider support.'

'That sounds promising,' said Preston.

'For a pipe dream,' scoffed Gilstrap.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to speak directly with Carl Wainwright, whom Cho Chang had expressed interest in at Harry's party. 'I know someone who wants to meet you ... are you interested?'

'Can you be more specific?' replied Wainwright.

'Yes, sorry. I saw an old friend last month, and I reckon she fancies you. Should I invite her to the match and introduce you? And before you ask: yes, she's pretty.'

'She's not one of your cast-offs, is she?'

'Only in the loosest possible sense. Back in school I had a crush on her for about a year, and we finally clicked when I was fifteen, but it crashed and burned before we got things off the ground. And no, I never shagged her—not even close.'

'That's fortunate,' interjected Phil, 'because apparently Harry's the world's greatest lover. I'm certain he'd be a hard act to follow.'

'Your pure-blood sounded satisfied,' said Preston. 'Do you care to comment on her "perfect initiation into womanhood?"'

'No, that would be the height of vulgarity,' said Owen, smirking. 'I'm sorry, Harry, but your life is too funny sometimes. It was painful not flying against you this afternoon, with all this new material.'

'In answer to your question, Potter—yes, invite her to the match. Just make sure she's not wearing Cannons orange.'

'No risk of that—she's a lifelong Tornados fan.'

Harry was quiet again after that, still brooding over the exchange with Gilstrap. He knew he should mention the party, but he was reluctant to make himself the centre of attention. Owen, however, kept looking at him questioningly and even mouthed the word _party_ at one point. Harry just took another long sip of beer and motioned to Owen to announce it.

'Harry seems reluctant to make an announcement, so I'll make it for him,' began Owen.

'Please start it with "_I, Harry James Potter_,"' said Barnwistle.

'If you insist,' said Owen. '_I, Harry James Potter, wish to announce that I'm hosting a party this Saturday night for the entire Quidditch league, even though the Seekers incessantly take the piss out of me_.'

'No way!' exclaimed Wither. 'Is he serious?'

'Yes,' replied Harry. 'Preston suggested it, and even though it'll be twice as many people as my last party I've decided to do it anyway.'

'Twice as many people?' asked Preston. 'Does that mean we can bring guests?'

Harry explained that everyone could bring one guest as long as they owled him their name by noon on Friday, in care of the Cannons. 'That way I can just add everyone to the Floo wards temporarily instead of mucking about with portkeys. And if you don't bring a partner, bring someone of the gender you fancy, to balance out the numbers.'

The reaction was colossal, and Routledge said, 'Nobody should miss this party. Cancel your previous engagements—the last party was truly epic. Harry, will there be music again?'

'Yes, but only two house-elves, so you'll need to fetch your own drinks. And for the love of Merlin, don't bring any gifts.'

'Am I invited?' asked Gilstrap.

'You're in the Quidditch league, aren't you?' said Harry dryly. 'Yes, you're invited. I'm not that petty.'

'I'm glad to hear it. Will Miss Travers be present as well?'

'Yes, although I don't think you're her type.'

'No, I don't require my dates to take Veritaserum,' said Gilstrap.

'That seems wise,' retorted Harry. 'You wouldn't want to find out what they really think of you.'

'Harry,' admonished Owen, 'you're not above the pitch.'

Harry was glaring at Gilstrap. 'Owen's right. Would you care to go flying sometime?'

'That's enough,' said Owen. 'Maybe it's time to check on your houseguest.'

'Good idea,' said Harry, rising from his chair and leaving a few coins to cover his share of the beer. 'I'll send a group invitation to all your teams tomorrow. Sorry to be a moody bastard, but I promise Saturday will be fun. See you then.'

Owen followed him out. 'Are you all right?' he asked.

'Bloody Gilstrap,' grumbled Harry. 'I thought I could handle him, but he pushes my buttons somehow. And it was mortifying hearing what I'd said to Wither.'

'I suppose it's a bit late to suggest you expand into awareness.'

'Oh right. That would have been clever—maybe next time.'

'Go home, Snitchbottom. Shag your pure-blood and get some sleep.'

'Yes, sir. What do I call you anyway, now that you're my coach?'

'Sir is good. Let's try that.'

'Whatever you say, gramps. See you tomorrow.'

Harry travelled home by Floo and emerged in the formal reception hall, not knowing where he'd find Lydia. But there was music playing in the next room, and his bad mood vanished when he saw her.

She was dancing wildly to a song he actually remembered—'Like a Prayer' by Madonna—and Padfoot was leaping in time with the music. 'You're home!' she cried gleefully, and she immediately pulled him into a kiss. 'You have to dance with me, right now!'

'Oh god yes,' he said, wrapping himself around her.

'Not like that,' she insisted. 'We have to dance like Muggles, all over the place.'

'Trust me, Muggles dance this way too,' he replied, putting one leg between hers.

'Oh!' she exclaimed. 'Surely not in public.'

'Yes, at nightclubs. And at my last party, but Helena kept hiding from me until the end.' He pulled her close and added, 'You won't hide from me, right?'

'No, I already told you I wouldn't. We can dance all night if you like.'

'Not all night, but yes, I would love that,' he said. 'Oh, Lydia ... you're brilliant. I can't tell you how glad I am you're here.'

'Are you drunk?' she asked, laughing.

'No, I just had two pints, which I admit is a lot for me. But Seekers' night out was a bit dreadful, and I'm awfully glad to be home. I missed you.'

'I missed you too,' she said. 'But I love this record! You were right—Muggle music is much better than wizarding music. I can't believe the lyrics, though!'

Harry laughed and told her what he remembered about Madonna. 'You should see pictures of her. Or music videos, although I have no idea how we'd watch them. I saw a few growing up, and they were ... memorable.'

Lydia was simultaneously horrified and fascinated. 'Did her family cast her out? Is that why she has to dance in her undergarments, to make up for her lost inheritance?'

Harry did his best to explain how much money Muggle pop stars earned, translating the amounts into Galleons, and Lydia's jaw dropped. 'That's even more lucrative than piracy!' she exclaimed. 'But we should dance, and then go upstairs. Or bring the record player to your bedroom and listen in there. Or both ... let's do both!'

He obliged Lydia by dancing with her for a while, which he realised was exactly what he needed after his tense evening. And upstairs she introduced him to another album she'd discovered. 'I think he's also American,' she said, 'and the lyrics are even more shocking than Madonna's, but it's brilliant. His name's Prince and the album's called "Purple Rain."'

They listened to it twice in a row._ I can't think of a more enjoyable way to learn about Muggle culture_, he thought during a brief moment of distraction. And afterwards he curled around her as she fell asleep, and fortunately his bright glow didn't disturb her.


	57. Chapter 57

When Harry opened his eyes the next morning, Lydia was quietly studying him. 'You look so vulnerable when you're asleep,' she said tenderly. 'Your face relaxes, which makes you look younger—like a little boy. And your hair looks perfect on a pillow, sticking out in all directions. I've decided it suits you, even if it is appalling.'

Still groggy, he wrapped an arm around her and said, 'It's nice waking up next to you. I'll never marry you, but I like having you around.'

'I feel the same way,' she said, 'including the part about not marrying you. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you ruined me ... that I'm free.'

'You don't need to thank me. It wasn't exactly a hardship.'

'Perhaps not, but you made it perfect. And letting me stay here, and even throwing a party when I asked ... you're terribly kind.'

He propped himself up and said, 'You're certainly affectionate this morning. I gather you slept well?'

'I did,' she replied, and Harry admired her as she sat up and stretched her arms. 'And I had the loveliest dream. I can't quite remember it, but you were there, and Esme as well, only she was sweet like when we were girls. And we were in the joke shop, and we were flying unassisted.'

'Like Voldemort?'

'No, nothing like that! How can you say such a thing? It was beautiful.'

'I'm sorry,' he said sincerely. 'You were telling me about your dream and I ruined it.'

She smiled. 'You're awfully good at ruining things. They should put that on your Chocolate Frog Card.'

'That seems inappropriate for children,' he said, getting up and walking to the bathroom.

'Shall I order breakfast from Kammy?' she asked. 'Or do you want yours from Kreacher again?'

'We're eating downstairs—or at least I am. I'm an able-bodied nineteen year-old and I don't need breakfast in bed.'

'Fine,' she said, rising. 'Are you going to insist on cooking it as well?'

'No, I don't want to disappoint Kreacher. And mind you, we're eating in the kitchen.'

'In the kitchen, with the elves? My mother would be horrified to learn how far you're dragging me down.'

'Yes, she'd probably demand you leave at once, on pain of being disinherited.'

Lydia survived eating breakfast in the kitchen, and afterwards Harry left for the Cannons training grounds. He asked Mrs Thwip to send letters to all the Quidditch teams inviting the players to his party, and he dictated invitations to Neville and Luna. He also dictated letters to Cho Chang and three other friends from Ravenclaw, offering them Cannons tickets. _I know I should owl them myself_, he thought guiltily, _but this is so much easier._

Practice that morning was uneventful, and Harry was impatient to join Owen at the Seeker trials. He was finally summoned to the stadium after lunch, with instructions to bring his broomstick and wear practice robes. When he flew to the skybenches he saw Owen, Tuttle, and a witch and wizard roughly his own age. They both looked startled when he arrived, but they quickly regained their composure.

Owen introduced them. The wizard was named Stuart, with a height and build identical to Harry's, but the witch, Gemma, was surprisingly short. _That could be a disadvantage—particularly her arm length_, he thought. _She must be a hell of a flyer to have made it this far._

She was, and so was Stuart. Owen started by pitting them against each other, in search of a modified Snitch, and Harry was impressed by their aggressive flying. Without other players over the pitch, Gemma and Stuart couldn't dive into Chasers as Harry normally did, but it was obvious they'd be willing to.

'Gemma's a former Chaser,' explained Owen, 'but she switched to Seeker when her height became a hindrance.'

'Why isn't it a problem now?' asked Harry.

'She's nimble. You can't see it with only one other flyer, but when Tuttle ran them through drills she was like a needle through fabric.'

'How's her spotting?' Harry asked. 'Stuart seems stronger in that regard.'

'He is, but I asked them about their experience and she's relatively untrained. So she might improve.'

'But it's a risk,' said Harry.

'Yes. It all depends on how she trains up.'

Tuttle was watching though Omnioculars and occasionally took notes on a clipboard. 'Potter, you should talk to them next,' she said. 'Get a feel for them, and I don't mean that literally.'

'Is that an accusation?'

'No, I just wanted to get a rise out of you.'

Tuttle blew her whistle and the two recruits joined them on the skybenches. Gemma had caught the Snitch less often than Stuart had, but she didn't look resigned. Quite the opposite—she had a determined expression that reminded Harry of Ginny.

Unfortunately the interviews weren't very informative. Both recruits were plainly star-struck around Harry, and they were reluctant to banter with him. They'd both done their homework and asked him good questions about his flying strategy, and they were clearly enthusiastic about Quidditch, but he didn't get a good feel for either recruit's personality.

Tuttle sent them away and raised a privacy ward. 'What do you think?' she asked.

'Honestly, I have no idea which one is more suited to league Quidditch, or who I'd rather fly against every afternoon. They were a bit too deferential, but that's not uncommon for me with strangers.'

'I was worried that might happen,' said Owen. 'I had a chance to observe them in the larger group, and I'm not ashamed to admit I used Spying Charms to see how they interacted. They both have the raw material, but I was hoping you'd feel a spark with one or the other.'

'Nothing so far. Sorry about that.'

'Not to worry, we're not done yet,' said Tuttle. 'Next you're going to fly drills with them. No Snitch, just flying. And you should disrupt them—throw them off balance and see how they handle it. Owen and I will have our wands out in case they need a Cushioning Charm.'

Harry smiled mischievously and grabbed his broom. 'That sounds like fun.'

Tuttle cancelled the privacy ward and called the recruits back over. 'You're to fly drills with Potter—I want to see how well you fly in formation.' Stuart and Gemma nodded crisply, and the three of them launched into the air.

_They're good_, thought Harry as they flew together. _I could happily spar with either of them._ At first he performed the drills smoothly, but after a few minutes he started flying more erratically. Stuart and Gemma were both able to compensate, with some added effort, and Harry remained impressed. _Let's make things really interesting_, he thought, and he deliberately began pivoting at the waist to make his broomstick more twitchy.

Tuttle called a more complicated drill, and Harry continued to disrupt them. They hadn't spoken yet, even though they were flying in close formation, but Harry heard both of them swear under their breath when he did a particularly obnoxious move.

'Congratulations on making it this far,' he said. 'You're both terrific flyers.'

'Cheers,' replied Stuart. 'I assume you're flying this way on purpose?'

'Tuttle's orders,' said Harry. 'But I'm about to step things up—watch out.'

He started bumping into them, and Tuttle made things harder by requiring them to fly faster. Gemma and Stuart were both visibly irritated, but Harry was having a ball. 'Both of you deserve the job,' he said cheerfully. 'You should feel proud, no matter who gets hired.'

'Easy for you to say, you great bloody toff!' snapped Gemma, before inhaling sharply and clamping her mouth shut. Stuart was silent, but Harry saw his eyes flash with triumph. Harry tried to remain impassive, even though he was laughing internally.

A short while later, Tuttle whistled them to the ground and had each of the recruits go one on one against Harry with a Snitch. Neither of them tracked him, which would have been bad form during a trial, and he caught the Snitch nearly every time. _I'm definitely the better spotter_, he thought, _but they're both near my equal on a broom._

Both recruits looked dispirited after the Snitch trials, and Gemma looked almost resigned. But she stood up straight, which made her appear taller than her actual height. He had the impression she wanted to apologise, but Tuttle was talking and Harry was off to the side.

'You can wait here,' she finally told the two recruits. 'I'm going to talk with Barrowmaker and Potter, and we'll see if we can make a decision, or whether we need you to fly some more.'

The three of them walked a long distance from the two recruits and sat down. After raising a privacy ward, Tuttle asked for their opinion.

Harry smirked and said, 'Gemma called me a great bloody toff. She was mortified as soon as it came out. But I deserved it—I said some rubbish about how they should both feel proud regardless of whether they get the job.'

'I wondered what happened,' said Owen. 'I was watching them through Omnioculars and saw her expression change. How did you react?'

'I didn't. I hid my laughter, and I think she's afraid she blew it.'

'Interesting,' said Tuttle. 'It didn't affect her flying—she was just as good afterwards.'

'Does that mean you're leaning towards her?' Owen asked.

'Yes,' said Tuttle. 'And you?'

'Same.'

They both looked at Harry. 'I feel the same way. She's got a spark.' Tuttle narrowed her eyes and he immediately added, 'Not that kind of spark! And when have I ever been unprofessional with a teammate?'

She laughed and said, 'You're just too easy to provoke. I know you're professional.'

'Do we have a decision?' asked Owen.

'Looks like it,' said Tuttle. 'You should tell them, Barrowmaker. You can be her mate, and I'll be the one she's scared of.'

The three of them walked back to the skybenches, and Owen announced their decision. 'You're both great flyers, and definitely league material, but unfortunately we can only hire one of you. Gemma, congratulations—you're the Chudley Cannons' new reserve Seeker.'

Gemma looked astonished. 'Er, thank you,' she stammered. 'Oh my god, I can't believe it. Thank you,' she repeated, this time to Harry and Tuttle.

'It was a hard decision,' Tuttle told Stuart. 'The recruiters will hear you made it to the final stage, so I reckon you'll be invited to more trials.'

Stuart thanked them, and Harry told him again how well he'd flown and wished him luck. After he left, Tuttle excused herself and left Owen and Harry with Gemma.

'I'm still in shock,' she admitted. 'After what I said ...'

Both wizards laughed, and Owen said, 'The first thing you'll discover as a Cannon is that slagging Harry is a team pastime.'

'You mean you weren't upset?' she asked Harry.

'No, I had to hide my laughter. Don't worry, I've heard every possible insult.'

'So you just let me swing in the wind like that, thinking I'd blown it?' she asked indignantly.

'I'm glad he did,' said Owen. 'This way we were able to see whether you lost your confidence and started making mistakes, which you didn't.'

'But Stuart caught the Snitch more than I did, and then ... Harry caught it every single time.' She still seemed hesitant to use his given name.

'Harry's probably the best spotter in the league,' replied Owen. 'And Stuart had better training than you did. My hope is that you'll improve with proper instruction.'

'I'll do my best, make no mistake,' she said with determination.

'By the way,' said Harry, 'I'm throwing a party on Saturday night for the entire league, and you can bring a friend if you like.'

Her jaw dropped. 'You're throwing another party and I'm invited? This is unbelievable. Should I bring anything?'

'No Firewhisky,' said Owen.

'Please don't bring anything,' said Harry. 'There'll be dancing, though, so make sure you have comfortable shoes.'

'Oh my god, yes ... and thanks again!'

They went together to the training grounds so Gemma could talk to Darius about her contract, and Harry was free to shower and leave. But instead of going home he went to Diagon Alley to run errands. First he stopped at his florist, to order flowers for the party.

A young witch was leaving just as he entered, and her eyes widened when she recognised him. Harry thought nothing of it, but when he left the shop she was still there. 'I can't believe I'm doing this,' she said as she handed him a slip of paper. 'But call me ... anytime.'

Before Harry could reply she dashed off, and he saw that she'd written down her name and Floo address. He tucked it into his pocket, mainly because it would be impolite to Vanish it on the spot. Not that there was anything wrong with the witch—she was perfectly attractive—but he found blatant propositions a bit overwhelming.

Next he went to Benedict Thimble's shop, and the tailor greeted him warmly. Harry showed him the photographs Eric had taken at the Musée d'Orsay of the portrait of Robert de Montesquiou. 'Could you make robes like this?' he asked.

Thimble examined the photos. 'What a find!' he exclaimed. 'I'd be delighted to. How formal should I make them?'

'How do you mean?'

'I can make them more or less formal, depending on which fabrics I use. If you look at the lapel, for example, you can see there's a border which follows the placket below. I can use a satin finish, like the lapel of a Muggle tuxedo, but that would strictly be for the most formal occasions. Or I could keep the texture the same as the rest of the jacket, which would work equally for daytime or less-formal evenings.'

'They both sound good,' admitted Harry. 'But I'm reluctant to get both ... I purchased robes elsewhere this weekend and should be well-stocked.'

Thimble took the bait and said, 'You must allow me to make both. I can give you them at cost, if you'll permit me to use the same pattern with other customers. Not the same colours, of course.'

'That's more than fair,' replied Harry. 'Yes, let's do that.'

'Can you come back tomorrow to look at fabrics?' asked Thimble. 'I want to visit my supplier and make sure I offer you the best options.'

'Yes, gladly. And I'll bring a friend to advise me.'

If Thimble knew who Harry was referring to, he didn't reveal it. 'Excellent. And will you want gloves for the formal robes?'

'No gloves,' replied Harry. 'And don't ever sell me them, except for cold weather.'

When Harry left the shop, another witch handed him a slip of paper before blushing and Disapparating. _That's odd_, he thought, and he decided to Disillusion himself before walking to Gringotts.

At the bank Harry spoke with Tarnog, the goblin who'd handled his previous party, and they made all the arrangements. Gringotts would once again allow him to hire the electronics-powering device, and they would provide wards and hundreds of charmed goblets. The price was significant, but nowhere near as much as his first party had cost, and considerably less than he earned in a single week. _I can easily throw a party like this every month_, he thought with satisfaction.

A third witch handed him a slip of paper as he left the bank, and Harry hastily shoved it in his pocket before Apparating home. _Is this because of Lydia's perfect initiation into womanhood?_ he wondered, when he finally realised what must have happened.

'There you are!' exclaimed Lydia, rising from the sofa in the sitting room. The record player was on, and she was listening to music he recognised as the Beatles. 'Are you familiar with this band? They're awfully good.'

'Yes, they're probably the most famous band in England, or maybe the world.'

He kissed her, and when they separated she was smiling slyly at him. 'There's a new article about you,' she said, handing him a magazine.

'Oh dear, I suspected as much. I was propositioned three times in Diagon Alley just now.'

Lydia was aghast. 'Even though everyone knows we're together?'

'These were open-ended propositions,' he replied, looking at the magazine.

It was called _Sorceress_, which he dimly recalled Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown giggling behind in the Gryffindor common room, and the cover featured a photograph of a man and woman in a passionate embrace. Neither of their faces were visible, but the man, who was photographed from behind, had untidy black hair. The woman was pulling off his bright orange Quidditch robes, uncovering a tattoo on his exposed shoulder, and a closer look at the tattoo revealed the Gryffindor crest, complete with a roaring lion.

'_My Night of Ecstasy with Harry Potter,'_ read the headline, and the subheading said, _'Our anonymous source tells all!'_

'Six times!' cried Lydia indignantly. 'You and she did it six times in one night! That's twice our record ... I don't know whether I should feel insulted.'

'I was going slowly with you,' argued Harry. 'I couldn't have just plowed in when it was your first time.'

'Yes, but what about the nights since then?'

'I had Quidditch practice in the morning—I couldn't stay up late. And besides, it was exhausting.' She pouted, and he said, 'Remember, you and I did lots more than just intercourse.'

'True, but you did the same with her.'

_Ginny trained me,_ he thought helplessly. 'Are you saying I left you unsatisfied?

'No,' she admitted. 'I just want the best.'

'You're getting the best,' he assured her. 'Just not six bloody times in a row. I hardly got any sleep that night.'

'Yes, that's what the article said,' replied Lydia, opening the magazine. 'And then there's the photograph you signed for her.'

With dawning horror, Harry remembered what he'd written. 'It was a joke!' he explained. 'We deliberately made it as salacious as possible, with the idea that her great-grandchildren would find it one day. I had no idea she was going to sell it to a magazine that afternoon!'

The first page of the article featured Harry's signed photograph, with Vera's name and the date blacked out. _'To XXXX, in appreciation for a long and intensely gratifying night. Yours in sweet exhaustion, Harry Potter.'_

Mortified, he ran a hand through his hair and began reading. The article faithfully recounted the night he'd spent with Vera, and he was relieved they'd talked so little. _At least I didn't refer to myself as 'The Boy Who Goes Down on Witches,'_ he thought, although surely someone else would start calling him that. The only omission was his nightmare—the article just said he'd awakened her for more sex.

The magazine layout included photographs of an imagined version of Harry's bedroom, including a Silver Arrow broomstick leaning against the wall and his Cannons robes in a heap on the floor, next to a pair of stockings. His bedside table had a discarded boutonnière and an Order of Merlin, First Class medal, along with a photograph of his parents.

'They ran a photograph of my mother in an article about my all-night sex marathon?' he said, outraged. 'And I don't wear my Cannons robes home, or leave my Order of Merlin lying around!'

Just then, Ron's dog Patronus burst into the room. 'Harry, heads-up ... one of your witches talked to _Sorceress_ magazine and they printed a tell-all. I'm warning you in case Lee and George spring it on you tonight.'

'Oh bugger! I have the radio broadcast! And Hermione and Ryan will be here soon.' He turned to Lydia and said, 'I haven't even asked how your day went. How are you?'

'Aren't you going to answer him?' she asked, indicating Ron's fading Patronus. 'I haven't seen your Patronus up close yet—I only saw it in the joke shop a fortnight ago, and I was in the back.'

'All right. I suppose I should practice casting it sitting down.' He extended his wand and cried, '_Expecto Patronum_.'

Prongs leapt forth and turned towards them. 'First, I'd like to introduce Lydia,' Harry told him, and Prongs looked at her appraisingly and lowered his head. 'Next, please deliver Ron the following message: Thanks for the warning. Lydia told me, but otherwise I wouldn't have known. Remind Janet that I'll jinx her again if she crosses the line.'

After Prongs had gone, Harry turned to Lydia and saw she was crying. 'What's wrong?' he asked, concerned. 'Are you all right?'

'It's just so beautiful,' she said. 'I'd never seen one up close before.'

He stroked her hair tenderly. 'They are beautiful. And you can't imagine what it's like, when they chase away Dementors. I reckon the Patronus Charm is my absolute favourite spell.'

She was still enraptured, even though Prongs was gone. 'Can you teach me?' she asked.

'I can try, but it's not an easy charm. You'll need to practice by focussing on a particularly happy memory—the stronger the better.'

'I can think of some,' she said, smiling. 'Recent ones.'

'Let's create more,' he said, leaning towards her, and before long they were horizontal on the sofa, and the record player advanced to a band Harry didn't recognise. They continued that way for a while until someone loudly cleared their throat.

'Hermione!' said Harry, sitting up and hastily pulling his shirt back on. 'And Ryan, welcome. Er, this is Lydia.'

Lydia had fortunately kept her clothes on, but she was tucking her top back into her skirt. 'Pleased to meet you,' she said politely, her cheeks red.

Hermione, looking highly amused, smiled warmly and said, 'It's very nice to meet you, Lydia,' and they shook hands. _I wonder if Lydia's ever shaken the hand of a Muggle-born_, thought Harry, and he was relieved she hadn't hesitated.

Ryan introduced himself and Lydia shook his hand as well. He looked at the record player and said, 'Marvin Gaye?'

'Is that who it is?' asked Harry. 'My tutor loaned me a stack of records and we've been listening to them.' Ryan started looking through the pile and Harry added, 'I'm afraid I lost track of time, but Kreacher could still make pizza if you like.'

'That sounds perfect,' said Hermione, and Harry wordlessly requested it. Everyone sat down, with Hermione and Ryan next to each other on an armchair and ottoman. 'I was impressed by Rita Skeeter's article,' she said to Lydia, 'and I admire your plan to bring wizards together in your salon.'

'Thank you,' she replied. 'I was raised to be a hostess, amongst other things, and there's no reason for those skills to go to waste. But do you think you'd be willing to attend a gathering that included Dark wizards?'

'How Dark?' asked Hermione. 'If it's just people from Dark families, then of course I'd go. But if they still actively practice and advocate Dark magic, I don't imagine they'd be fond of me, or Ryan for that matter.' Lydia looked puzzled, and Hermione added, 'Ryan's father is a Muggle.'

'And your mother married him?' exclaimed Lydia.

'Yes,' replied Ryan. 'And they've been happily married for twenty-five years, without a marriage bond.'

Lydia's eyes widened. 'Wasn't she afraid to have children? I mean, you turned out all right, but do you have siblings?'

'No, I'm an only child, but that's only because they were afraid they'd have another magical child.' He explained to Lydia that his parents had never cut ties with his Muggle relations, and that Ryan's accidental magic had been too great a challenge.

'This is all very new to me,' admitted Lydia. 'I've never spoken to any Muggles before, except for shop clerks and the like.'

'Hermione and Ryan aren't Muggles,' Harry pointed out.

'Of course not,' she said. 'But they were both raised by Muggles.'

'So was I,' Harry reminded her.

'Yes, but your parents were both magical.'

'And I can't remember them. I didn't know I was magical until I received my Hogwarts letter, same as Hermione.'

'How could you not have known?' asked Lydia. 'Surely you experienced accidental magic. That article said you did.'

'I think you're underestimating the human tendency to rationalise things we don't understand,' said Hermione. 'I had any number of strange experiences before I learnt I was a witch, but people always explained them away. They said it was the wind, or a coincidence, or that I'd imagined it.'

'Or they just pretended it didn't happen,' added Harry. 'Like the time I appeared on the school roof after running away from Dudley and his mates. The principal wanted to know how I'd got up there, and when I didn't know she said I must have forgotten.'

'And you believed that?' persisted Lydia.

'What choice did we have?' said Hermione. 'If I'd insisted it was real and that it was magic, they would have taken me to a mental hospital, and even at that age I knew that wasn't a good thing.'

'This is why Muggle-born children should be taken from their parents and raised by wizarding families, as soon as they show accidental magic,' proclaimed Lydia.

Hermione dropped her polite veneer. 'You're saying I should have been taken from my own parents and sent to live with strangers?'

'Wouldn't that have been easier? You could have just been yourself and not had to pretend you were something you weren't.'

'Lydia,' said Harry, 'I don't think you realise what you're suggesting. Muggle parents love their children just as much as any other parents do.'

'I know that,' replied Lydia. 'But there's the risk to secrecy. And when there's a war, the Muggle relations are vulnerable.'

'That doesn't mean–' Harry began, but Hermione interrupted him.

'She's right, it's a problem,' blurted Hermione. 'I lied to my parents for years—as soon as Harry and I became friends and started fighting Voldemort. And before we went into hiding I modified their memories and sent them to Australia.'

'And Death Eaters killed my grandparents,' said Ryan. 'My Muggle grandparents. But I don't think separating families is the right solution.'

Harry was relieved when Kreacher entered the room and said, 'Master, dinner is ready. Should Kreacher serve dinner in the kitchen or the dining room?'

'In the dining room, please. And thank you.' Harry chose the more distant location in the hope that the conversation topic would be dropped by the time they were seated.

'We hired a new Seeker,' he said when they arrived.

'Harry, I know what you're doing,' said Hermione dryly. 'You're trying to change the subject.'

'Are you afraid I'll say something wrong?' asked Lydia. 'Are you trying to protect me?'

'No ... I just don't see how you'll come to an agreement, and I can't see any point in arguing.'

'We weren't arguing,' said Hermione. 'We were actually agreeing about the problem, which is the first step to finding a solution.' She turned to Lydia and said, 'I think this would be an excellent discussion topic for your salon, if everyone can at least agree that Muggles are human and love their children as much as wizards do.'

'That rules out a few potential guests,' she admitted. 'But you're right, it would be a good topic. Hermione, would you be willing to participate? And you too, Ryan.'

Hermione smiled and said, 'I'd be glad to, and I think we need more conversations like that, and not just among people who already agree with one other.'

'Hermione, do you think I should introduce Lydia to my parents?' asked Ryan. 'And, Lydia, would you like that? You might find it informative.'

'I'm willing,' said Lydia. 'I need to broaden my horizons.'

'But Lucinda Spoonwocket?' exclaimed Hermione. 'She's not for beginners.'

'Is your mother a Spoonwocket?' asked Lydia.

'She's a Bellamy now, but yes. Although she's from the half-blood side of the family.'

'I probably have a Spoonwocket ancestor or two,' she admitted. 'But Harry told me it's tiresome to talk about ancestors, so I'll stop.'

Hermione stifled another smirk and said, 'Are you prepared to meet Ryan's father?'

Lydia took a deep breath. 'Yes. He fathered a wizard.'

'That doesn't matter,' said Harry. 'Prince never fathered a wizard, as far as we know, and you think he's brilliant.'

'You listened to Prince?' asked Ryan.

'"Purple Rain,"' replied Lydia. 'It's surprisingly good. And Harry's right—I need to break the habit of thinking of Muggles as inferior. But do you think your father would want to meet me? I'd probably say something appalling.'

'The biggest mistake you can make around my father is to act like he isn't there and talk only to my mother.'

'I'm certain I wouldn't do that,' said Lydia. 'But I might treat him like a goblin or a house-elf. Not on purpose, but out of habit.'

'Maybe you need to learn to treat goblins and house-elves better,' muttered Hermione.

'Whatever for?' asked Lydia.

'They're people too,' said Harry. 'I get along brilliantly with goblins now, even though they've every reason to hate me.'

'It's true,' said Hermione. 'He's literally their favourite wizard—I've seen it.'

'But you order Kreacher around!' protested Lydia.

'You've hardly heard me talk to Kreacher,' argued Harry. 'I mainly communicate with him wordlessly.'

'That is impressive,' she said. 'Very few wizards can do that—I've only seen it once before.'

'Maybe it's because I treat him with respect. I always say please and thank you.'

'Yes, and lock him in cupboards,' said Hermione.

'He wanted it,' said Harry pointedly. 'He's been much happier since I started punishing him regularly. And it's better than letting him punish himself.'

'Harry, we're never going to agree on this,' said Hermione.

'Fine,' he said. 'Ryan, what night do you think your parents could come to dinner? We're available Wednesday and Thursday, but after that I'm not free until Monday.'

'This week should work, but I think they'd prefer to have you at the house—my father dislikes magical transport.'

'You have to see their house,' insisted Hermione. 'It's an absolute marvel.'

The conversation drifted to less controversial topics, and eventually Harry turned to Lydia and said, 'You still haven't told me about your day. Did you find a flat?'

'Not yet, but my estate agent is certain she knows the perfect place. I couldn't see it today because the current tenants are still moving out, and they haven't a house-elf to assist them, so it's taking longer. But my agent said that's no reason to reject it, and that it's more than suitable for someone of my station.'

Harry saw Hermione and Ryan stifle sniggers, and he had to do the same, but he asked, 'Where is it?'

'Manchester—in that complex we visited. It's on an upper storey, so there's plenty of light, and there's a lift of course.'

'That sounds terrific,' said Harry. 'I love Grimmauld Place, but it would be nice to live in a wizarding district instead of a dodgy Muggle neighbourhood.'

'You'd hate that!' exclaimed Hermione. 'If you lived in a wizarding district, you'd have fans and protestors camped on your front doorstep, no matter what wards you had. And you'd be overrun by reporters.'

'Ugh, you're right,' said Harry. 'But why don't they hassle you? Both of you are famous.'

'Sometimes we're photographed together,' said Ryan, 'but there's a limited market for pictures of us—we're old news. You, on the other hand ... I understand there's a new magazine article about you.'

'I was hoping you hadn't seen that,' grumbled Harry. 'How did you find out?'

'Everyone was talking about it this afternoon at the Ministry,' replied Hermione. 'Apparently it hit the newsagent's after lunch. Did you really sign that photograph, or did they forge it?' She tried to look serious but she couldn't help laughing.

'It was real,' he groaned. 'I wrote it as a joke, of course. The idea was to shock her great-grandchildren one day.'

'When will you ever learn?' asked Hermione indulgently. 'If you're going to run around, you have to be more careful.'

'It's true,' said Lydia. 'He has no discretion—that's why I chose him.'

'I'd be discreet if they'd let me!' He glanced at his wristwatch. 'Bugger, I need to leave for my radio broadcast.'

Hermione and Ryan burst out laughing. 'Talking about your conquests on the radio every week isn't exactly discreet,' she observed.

'It's the only way I can set the record straight! At least I can tell people the signed photograph was a joke, and that I'm not actually that smarmy.' He turned to Lydia and asked, 'Will you accompany me to the shop? I know you don't want to participate in the broadcast, but I'm certain they'd make room for you in the front row.'

'No, I'd rather avoid the crowd. But we can go out together on Wednesday or Thursday—you'll have your new robes by then.'

Hermione raised one eyebrow. 'You bought more robes?'

'Yes, all the tailors offered me robes at cost. Lydia helped me select them.'

'You've certainly embraced your dandy persona. But don't let us keep you—you should change and pick out your flowers. We'll see ourselves out.'

With Lydia's guidance, Harry changed into his pinstriped robes and selected a cornflower boutonnière. 'It seems your florist has a sense of irony,' she observed.

'I've noticed that. Will you listen to the broadcast? I'll send you my Patronus.'

'Yes, of course,' she said. They walked down to the fireplace and she kissed him before he left. 'You'll be brilliant as always.'

'I can't wait to see you afterwards,' he said, before travelling to the Leaky Cauldron.

When Harry emerged from the tavern fireplace, the bar patrons broke into applause. 'Six times!' shouted an older wizard approvingly. 'I'm glad the younger generation still has it in them.'

'It bodes well for post-war repopulation,' observed an elderly witch, who was smoking a pipe. 'Don't use too many Contraception Charms, mind you.'

'I need to get married first,' said Harry, 'and not before I'm twenty-one.'

'Well don't use yourself up. You don't want to run out.'

_I'm fairly certain that's not how it works_, thought Harry, but he just excused himself and walked towards the joke shop.

There was a large knot of witches waiting for him, in spite of the cool weather, but George pulled him inside and escorted him to the booth. 'Potter, you've outdone yourself. Thanks to you, Weasley's Wizard Wireless is the most popular show in Britain, and store traffic and sales are way up. Are you sure we can't repay you?'

'You're giving me a platform—that's more than enough,' said Harry. 'Other than that, promise to invite me to dinner every now and then, in twenty years when I'm washed up and driving the Knight Bus to pay for my three divorces.'

'Consider it done.'

They entered the booth, and Lee nodded in admiration. 'Six times ... you're an inspiration to us all,' he said. 'You've set the bar higher. And you certainly make the show entertaining, although we might receive more Howlers from outraged parents.'

'Has that happened yet? I'm sorry.'

'Not to worry,' said George. 'If a Howler arrives during store hours, we make an announcement and let everyone listen to it—not that they've much choice. Customers love it! And if the shop's closed, we just toss it into Walburga's booth and open it remotely.'

Lee pointed to his wristwatch and said, 'Tick tock. Harry, are any topics off limits?'

'Draco Malfoy. And changing my name.'

'Is that it? Can we ask about your pure-blood princess?'

'Yes, but I mightn't answer everything.'

'Fine. And today's article?'

'Yes, I need to set the record straight.'

Lee's expression turned serious. 'Don't tell me it wasn't true.'

'No, it was true, but I need to explain the signed photograph.'

'_Yours in sweet exhaustion_?' quoted George. 'That was fantastic—that's how we're going to sign off the show from now on.'

'Yes, we await your explanation,' said Lee. 'Do you want to talk about the new Cannons Seeker? I understand they selected one today.'

'Has it been announced?' asked Harry. 'I didn't want to steal her thunder.'

'Yes, Gemma Rees, from some school I've never heard of.'

'I'll congratulate her, but otherwise I don't want to talk about her without her permission. Speaking of Quidditch, I'm having another party this weekend and you're both invited. But not our other Hogwarts friends, unfortunately, because I'm inviting the entire league.'

'You're stuffing the entire Quidditch league into your house?' asked George. 'Bloody marvellous!'

'You can each bring a guest—just tell me their names by Friday so I can add them to the Floo wards.'

'Are you prepared for Rita Skeeter?' asked Lee. 'She might make another attempt.'

'She and I have come to an agreement,' replied Harry. 'In fact, don't mention her tonight either.'

Lee was looking at his wristwatch again. 'Thirty seconds.'

Harry took a sip from the glass of water George had provided, and Lee counted down as usual. 'Good evening, and welcome to Weasley's Wizard Wireless, the number-one magical broadcast in all Great Britain!'

'And that's even after Harry leaves, and half the audience switches off their radios,' said George. 'But stick around until the end! You won't be disappointed!'

'I'm Lee Jordan, and my co-host George Weasley and I are thrilled as always to present our illustrious guest. Please put your hands together for everyone's favourite loose Cannon ... Harry Potter!'

'Loose Cannon?' exclaimed Harry. 'That's a new one.'

'Not so fast, we need to confirm your identity,' cautioned Lee. 'With today's revelations, every lovelorn wizard in Britain is going to want a snip of your hair so they can impersonate you.' In a more serious voice he added, 'Witches, if someone claiming to be Harry Potter tries to seduce you, demand he prove his identity! Either he needs to take you to his threadbare townhouse and introduce you to his godfather's Animagus, or he needs to produce his famous Patronus. Harry, let's see it.'

'Of course,' replied Harry, raising his wand. _'Expecto Patronum!'_

Prongs sprang into being, and Harry said, 'Good evening, Prongs. Please go to the house and deliver this message to Lydia: Hi, Lydia! I'm thinking of you and can't wait to see you after the broadcast.'

The crowd cheered as Prongs leapt and vanished. 'Listeners, I'm pleased to announce that Harry has once again proven he's the genuine article,' said Lee. 'But as you heard, he's going straight home to his pure-blood paramour, so if you're waiting for your turn on his enormous bed, you'll have to try some other night.'

'Now you've done it,' said George. 'Half the witches in the shop are going to leave now. And look, about a dozen are doing just that! Ladies, I can assure you that Harry's not the only wizard who knows how to please a girl. And now that the editors of _Sorceress_ magazine have provided a detailed manual, I'm certain his techniques will become commonplace. Speaking of which, we have a number of things to discuss tonight—I hardly know where to begin.'

'I do,' said Lee. 'One word: Parseltongue.'

The audience exploded with laughter, and Harry felt his face turn red. 'What about it? I can't speak it anymore. Not since Voldemort died.'

'Really?' exclaimed George. 'That's another revelation! Would you care to say more?'

'There's not much to say. My past ability to speak to snakes was directly linked to why I was able to defeat Voldemort. Once Voldemort died, the ability disappeared as well. I can't speak to snakes any longer.'

'And yet you've found a whole other use for your tongue,' said Lee. 'That was very resourceful of you.'

'You realise this opens a whole new category of nicknames for you,' added George. 'All of which start with _"The Boy Who."'_

'Yes, I'm aware of that,' replied Harry. 'But I doubt you want to enumerate them right now, unless you want to spend all day opening Howlers.'

'That's true,' acknowledged George. 'We'll just leave them as an exercise for our listeners, and of course all of Harry's Quidditch rivals. And speaking of Quidditch, we're wondering whether you want to change your player number from three to six. Six seems more appropriate now.'

'That was Owen's number,' laughed Harry. 'And I'm starting to wonder how he came up with it. The fun way, I hope.'

'That might explain his injuries,' remarked Lee. 'But some Quidditch observers have theorised that your "night of sweet exhaustion" was last Monday, and that you turned up at practice completely knackered.'

'It was, and I did, and I'm very sorry. It hasn't happened since, and it won't happen again. The team comes first.'

'Not according to that article,' said George. 'Apparently the witch comes first, and then the team. But did you really wake her from a sound sleep for more? That was awfully churlish of you!'

'I did no such thing! We were both awakened by a disturbance, and things progressed naturally from there.'

'And we're glad they did, otherwise you mightn't have reached your staggering total of six times,' noted Lee, 'which according to your signed photograph were _"intensely gratifying."'_

'Ugh, that photograph,' groaned Harry. 'I swear, I'm not that smarmy. She and I conspired to make the inscription as salacious as possible, to shock her great-grandchildren.'

'Hang on,' said George, 'she's a great-grandmother? Just how old was she?'

'Her future great-grandchildren,' corrected Harry, who could see that the audience was howling with laughter. 'She was approximately my age.'

'But you don't know for sure,' persisted George. 'Are you certain she wasn't using Polyjuice Potion.'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'She definitely went more than an hour at a time without drinking from a flask.'

'Did you hear that, ladies?' said Lee. 'Harry's keeping an eye on what you're drinking. So if any matrons are crafting plans, you'll need to settle for no more than an hour of sweet Potter love. Which according to the article is the highly abridged experience.'

'It was exhausting,' admitted Harry. 'It was great at the time, but I paid for it afterwards. Better to pace yourself.'

'Yes, you required entire days to recover before your next conquest,' observed Lee. 'Did you do a lot of soul-searching?'

'I appeared on this show, actually.'

'You're right! And then you made your appearance at the Wizengamot, where you were rebuked by ten lords, including one named Travers. Would you care to comment on your revenge?'

'Lydia wasn't revenge. She approached me prior to the Wizengamot hearing.'

'Yes, we read all about it,' said Lee. 'And we consulted a calendar ... does that make three witches in a single week? That's assuming you and the French witch did more than just snog in a portkey terminal.'

'Really, Harry, three witches in a single week is a bit much,' admonished George. 'I'm sure my mother is shocked.'

'I have an extenuating circumstance!' blurted Harry, before immediately pressing his finger to the delay rune.

'I'm sorry?' choked Lee. 'An extenuating circumstance?'

'Yes, but I shouldn't talk about it yet. It'll come out eventually though.'

'The mind reels!' said George. 'Can we resume the broadcast?'

'Yes, go ahead.'

Lee used his wand to recommence the broadcast. 'We've had to edit Harry's last remark, but I'd like to remind our listeners that our in-shop audience hears everything. So come early next time to get your spot, and you won't miss a single moment. But Harry, tell us more about how you and Miss Travers are doing.'

'Hold that thought,' interjected George. 'I think Walburga should be part of this conversation. On Sunday I had the pleasure of introducing her to Miss Travers, and she approved heartily of the match. Harry, would you be willing to give her an update?'

'I'd be glad to.'

George tapped the portrait with his wand. 'Good evening, Walburga. I've got Harry here tonight.'

Walburga opened her eyes and looked at Harry with an expression bordering on approval. '_The vile half-blood returns_,' she said warmly. _'Have you sired an heir yet?'_

'No, I don't think so. We've been careful.'

'_Careful? What do you mean? Don't tell me you're trying to prevent it!'_

'I'm afraid so, Walburga. I should have made things clearer on Sunday—I don't actually intend to marry Miss Travers.'

'_You unscrupulous rake!'_ howled Walburga._ 'Are you saying you've ruined her?'_

'Thoroughly. No proper pure-blood will have her now.'

'_And you're proud of it, you disgusting beast! Her life is destroyed, for your sport!'_

'It was her choice,' argued Harry. 'She wanted to be ruined—I never misled her. And her life is looking pretty good. She'll have her own flat soon.'

'_Like a French actress!'_ spat Walburga. _'Is that how you're squandering the Black fortune?'_

'You and your fathers squandered most of it,' retorted Harry. 'I haven't even touched it, except for what I gave to one of the cousins you scorched off the tapestry.'

Walburga shrieked inarticulately and threw the Hand of Glory at the front of the canvas, and Lee tapped the portrait with his wand. 'I suppose I can cross my next question off the list, which was whether you're planning to marry Miss Travers.'

'No, and it's by mutual consent. But for now we're enjoying each other's company.'

'I'm certain you are,' said George. 'Have you invited her family to dinner yet?'

'I don't anticipate that happening. And we shouldn't discuss her family, as they didn't sign up for any of this.'

'No, except for that uncle who took the Dark Mark,' replied George. 'Do you think they listen to Weasley's Wizard Wireless in Azkaban?'

'What an alarming thought,' said Harry. 'I suppose it's possible the minimum security prisoners are listening right now, which I don't have a problem with. But I can't say I like the idea of Death Eaters gathered around the radio jeering at me and plotting revenge.'

'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' boomed Lee.

'To quote a Death Eater,' said George. 'But Lee's right, you can't let your guard down, even now. You snapped the Elder Wand in half, after all.'

'Damn right I did. Every aspiring Dark Lord would be chasing me if I hadn't. But don't worry, I haven't forgotten my Auror training.'

'Yes,' replied Lee. 'I was impressed that you subjected Miss Travers to Veritaserum. Is that how you start all your dates?'

'No,' replied George, 'he starts most dates by asking the witch if she prefers Side-Along or Floo. Trust me, I witnessed it once.'

'I'm efficient,' argued Harry. 'That has to be a virtue.'

'Is that what tonight's flower means?' asked Lee. 'What are you even wearing?'

Harry looked down at his boutonnière. 'Oh dear. Lydia selected it. I'm wearing a cornflower, which is sometimes called a bachelor's button.'

He could see that several audience members were laughing already, but George started leafing through a small book. 'Let's see ... Lee bought a guide to flower meanings. Here we are, bachelor's button.' George looked at Harry with amusement. 'You cheeky bastard. Lee, tell our listeners what it means.'

Lee took the book and read, _'Bachelor's button: Celibacy.'_

The rest of the audience exploded with laughter, and George asked, 'Do you think Miss Travers is trying to tell you something?'

'I'm certain she's not. But we agreed my florist has a well-developed sense of irony—they send me a selection of boutonnières every few days, as part of my endorsement contract.'

'And which florist would that be?' asked Lee.

'Livingston's, in Diagon Alley.'

'You despicable sell-out. Whoring the good Potter name for a few flowers.'

'I'm the only Potter left,' replied Harry. 'There's no one to stop me.'

'Speaking of unstoppable Potters,' said George, 'you've now won six matches in a row, which is truly remarkable. And look, our in-store audience seems to agree. Would you care to comment on this remarkable streak?'

'Yes. I couldn't have done it without Owen Barrowmaker.'

'And there it is!' announced Lee. 'Harry just unlocked this week's special: to receive a ten percent discount, tell the clerk you couldn't have done it without Owen Barrowmaker. Through Sunday.'

'Harry, I understand he's now the Cannons Seeker coach, and that you have a new teammate.'

'That's correct—we hired her today. Her name's Gemma Rees and I'm looking forward to working with her.' Harry pressed the delay rune preemptively and said, 'Don't even think about making insinuations about her.'

'Understood,' said Lee, and he resumed the broadcast. 'And Miss Rees, as longtime friends of Harry Potter, George and I would like to welcome you to the club of individuals who will, for the rest of our lives, be asked the following question. George, let's say it together. On three.'

Lee counted on his fingers and they both said, 'So what's Harry Potter really like?'

'Ugh, I'm sorry,' groaned Harry.

'Don't be,' replied Lee. 'I've met more than one witch that way, and it's been a steady source of store traffic.'

'Do you have a stock answer?'

'It's evolved over the years,' said George. 'For a long time, it was always some variant of _"Decent bloke, clueless git."_ Then during the Umbridge year I added, _"Tetchy bastard."_ During the final year of the war it was, _"Dumbledore said he's our only hope, which means we're probably doomed, but at least Hermione's with him."_ And now it's, _"Thank Merlin he's no longer dating my sister."'_

Once Harry stopped laughing, he said, 'Honestly, I can't argue with any of those descriptions. Except for the last one, of course.'

'Yes, the long-anticipated Potter-Weasley Alliance shall never come to pass. Unless my mother starts practising the Dark Arts to make it happen, which we can't rule out.'

'You're just addicted to Howlers, aren't you?' observed Harry. 'Because you know she'll send you one for that.'

'The problem is that she bought Howler stationery in bulk once, when she'd had a little too much Firewhisky on market day, and she's too thrifty to Vanish it,' George explained. 'So she uses it for most of our correspondence. For example, last week she sent me one that said, "_George, when you come to dinner on Sunday, bring another bezoar. We had to use the last one on your father after he ate that stew your Aunt Muriel sent over_."'

'Did your aunt really try to poison your father?' exclaimed Harry.

'Apparently there was a mixup, and she gave the stew to her gardener to get rid of slugs. Or so she claims.'

'Speaking of owl post,' interjected Lee, 'we have another letter for Harry tonight.' He opened a folder and pulled out a parchment. _'Dear Harry, How do you get your hair to stick up like that? I tried using Muggle hair gel but it's very stiff and I can't run my fingers through it like I saw you do in a photograph once. Do you use a special charm, and if so, what is it? Sincerely, Peter M.'_

'Hi, Peter,' began Harry. 'Thanks for writing, but I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you. This is literally the only thing my hair does. I can't get it to lie flat, no matter what I do. Even if I cut it short, it grows back by morning.'

'Are you serious?' asked George. 'If we were to shave your head right now, it would grow back by morning?'

'That's right.'

'Please, can we? It won't take long, I know a charm.'

'I'm not sure how Lydia would feel about that,' replied Harry. 'She said my hair suits me, even though it's appalling.'

'Come on, Lydia, it's just for one night!' persisted George.

Harry narrowed his eyes. 'Hang on a moment ... are you just trying to get my hair so you can sell it in Knockturn Alley somewhere?'

George put a hand to his chest and widened his eyes innocently. 'How can you accuse me of such a thing? I literally sacrificed an ear to protect you, and you're suggesting I'd sell your hair on the black market. Though I should mention that's a brilliant idea, and if the shop ever goes under I'll definitely look into it.'

'Mate, I think you answered your own question about why Harry would doubt your motives,' observed Lee. 'But Harry, you can trust us to Vanish your hair properly ... will you do it?'

'I reckon you can pull it off,' added George. 'You have dark eyebrows and lashes, so you won't look like my dad—in case that's what you're worried about.'

'Right, but I'm not certain what I'm getting out of this,' replied Harry. 'So far all I get is a disappointed girlfriend.'

'That's an excellent point,' said Lee. 'I understand Muggles do this sort of thing to raise money for charity. Would you be willing to endure one night of baldness for a good cause?'

Harry thought for a moment. 'Yes, I can do that. And actually I have a specific cause, which fits with the hair theme: werewolf rights.' He touched the delay rune to silence the broadcast and asked, 'Are you willing to hire a FLOOF-certified werewolf? Next time you need to hire someone that is.'

'Yes, definitely,' replied George. 'They already approached us and we agreed to it.'

Lee recommenced the broadcast and Harry continued. 'I'll allow George to shave my head under two conditions, both of which involve an organisation called FLOOF, which stands for Facing Lycanthropy and Overcoming Old Fears. My first condition is that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes commit to hiring a FLOOF-certified werewolf. Second, we make a donation in support of FLOOF tonight.' He opened his pouch and performed a charm to pull out all the Galleons. 'I'll donate forty-two Galleons. Is the shop willing to match that?'

'We'll double-match it,' said George. 'And we can circulate a tin around the shop so audience members can donate. And yes, we'll commit to hiring at least one FLOOF-certified staff member.' He motioned to the shop assistant, who pulled a Niffler-shaped piggy bank from a display and began passing it through the crowd.

'Harry, I think our audience would like to hear more about why this is important to you,' prompted Lee.

Harry chuckled and said, 'This would be a perfect time to announce that I'm a werewolf, but I'm not, so that's off the table. However, one of my father's best friends was a werewolf, and his son is my godson. And like the vast majority of werewolves, he only wanted the opportunity to live a normal life. Medically that's possible, thanks to Wolfsbane Potion, but there are still two problems: one is that Wolfsbane is expensive, and the other is that it's hard for werewolves to find jobs. FLOOF helps by providing Wolfsbane for free, or at a reduced price. And they also help werewolves find employment, as long as they adhere to certain safety protocols, like monitored Wolfsbane use, proper containment at the full moon, and short fingernails. I think it's a tremendous organisation, and it protects all of us.'

'Hear hear!' said George. 'Let's just ask our in-store audience: should Harry shave his head for the night in support of werewolf rights, even though it means his celibacy boutonnière might take effect?'

Harry could see that the audience was cheering wildly, and he felt the floor vibrate from their stomping feet.

'I think we have our answer,' announced Lee. 'That's a resounding yes! George, would you like to do the honours? If you do the shaving, I'll Vanish his hair, and Harry can do the same afterwards to make sure I didn't miss anything.'

'That sounds perfect,' replied George. 'Harry, please turn so I can stand behind you.'

Harry rotated his chair and said, 'I'm taking it as a good sign that Lydia hasn't sent her house-elf to stop me.'

'Yes,' said Lee, 'either she's keen to see what you'll look like, or she needs a break. Sweet exhaustion, you know.'

George incanted the shaving charm and slowly moved his wand over Harry's head. 'And off it comes ... Lee, are you getting it all?'

'Yes, every strand. Keep going.'

After clearing the top of Harry's head, George suddenly jerked back. 'Sweet bloody Merlin, he has another scar up here. It's shaped like a skull and crossbones.'

'What?!' gasped Harry.

'Just kidding,' said George, and the room shook with laughter.

Harry could see that audience members were craning their heads to watch, and more than one person took pictures. 'Are you done yet?' asked Harry.

'I just need to tidy around your ears,' replied George. 'The last thing you want are stray tufts.'

After another minute, Lee did a final Vanishing Charm and said, 'Harry, you are completely bald. Do you want to make sure I Vanished everything?'

Harry ran one hand over his head, which felt very strange, and he pulled out his wand and looked around the booth. 'I don't think you missed anything. But what about my shoulders, or into my collar?'

'I cleaned off your robes, but you might need to take off your shirt to confirm we didn't miss anything.'

George surveyed the crowd and said, 'I think the witches in the audience like that idea! And of course we're all dying to see your Gryffindor tattoo.'

'I don't have a tattoo,' said Harry, loosening his necktie and unbuttoning his shirt. 'The magazine invented that. Nor do I wear my Cannons robes home, or leave my Order of Merlin medal on the bedside table.'

As Harry disrobed, Lee carefully moved his wand and Vanished several stray hairs. 'You did a good job, George. Almost nothing fell down his collar. Although there's a long blond hair—I wonder where that came from.'

'You should Vanish that as well,' suggested George. 'And Harry, please turn around to prove that you don't have a tattoo.'

Harry showed the audience his back before getting dressed again. 'Tattoo-free since 1980,' he said.

'And we're finally getting an unobstructed view of your scar,' remarked Lee. 'Am I mistaken, or is it lighter than it used to be?'

'It's definitely fading,' confirmed Harry. 'Ever since Voldemort died.'

"You may need to darken it with a tattoo,' advised George. 'In twenty years, when you're all washed up and want attention.'

'"I used to be somebody!"' cried Lee drunkenly. '"I was Harry bloody Potter! I killed Voldemort, and won six matches for the Cannons before losing the next seventy."'

Laughing, Harry said, 'I hope for Gemma's sake that the Cannons sack me before I lose seventy matches.'

'Let's have a look at you, now that you're dressed again,' said George. 'Yes, you're definitely bald. And I was right—you can pull it off. You might get lucky tonight after all.'

'There's one way to find out,' replied Harry. 'Thanks again for having me on your broadcast, and thanks also for the werewolf thing.'

'You're very welcome,' said George. 'And thanks as always for joining us.'

'Good night, Harry, and best of luck!' added Lee.

Harry and George exited the booth to loud applause, and more photos were taken. 'Cheers, mate,' said George. 'For a clueless git, you always manage to keep things interesting.'

When Harry left the shop, several reporters and photographers were waiting for him. 'Yes, it was to promote werewolf rights ... It'll grow back tomorrow ... I have no idea what she'll think, but I'll find out in a minute.'

He Apparated home and found Lydia in the sitting room next to the radio. 'Surprise!' he said, pointing to his head.

She looked at him and gasped. 'I can't believe how different you look! Come here,' she said, rising from her chair.

'What do you think?' he asked uncertainly. 'Am I doomed to celibacy tonight?'

'I ought to punish you for doing something so outrageous,' she said, running her hand over his bare head. 'And for werewolves!'

'Are you prejudiced against werewolves?'

'No ... I'm frightened of them,' she said, looking down.

'Did you ever see one?'

'Yes. Fenrir Greyback once quarrelled with my great-uncle, and he ran outside our house at the full moon. I saw him through my window. The house was warded, so he couldn't get in, but he kept scraping against it.'

Harry wrapped his arms around her. 'No wonder you're frightened. I once saw a werewolf at the full moon, and it was terrifying.'

She rested her head on his shoulder and said, 'You still feel like you, even with your hair gone. And it'll really grow back overnight?'

'Yes. I don't know what time, or if it happens gradually or suddenly, but it'll definitely be back.'

'I can't believe how fearless you were! You didn't ask anyone whether you should publicly support werewolves, or even whether I'd mind if you shaved your head. You just did it.'

'It's not a big risk—my hair will grow right back.'

'But werewolves ... you just decide what you believe in, and you do it.'

'You're like that too,' he said, stroking her hair. 'I'm used to people criticising me, but you aren't, and still you ran away and rejected blood purity and made sure you can't undo it.'

'I'm going to meet a Muggle,' she said unexpectedly. 'Hermione sent her Patronus and said we can meet Ryan's parents on Thursday. They'll have us to dinner.'

He kissed her and said, 'You're amazing. I don't think I've met anyone so committed to expanding their horizons.'

'Can we go upstairs?' she asked. 'I don't mind your bald head—for one night, anyway. And George was right about your eyebrows and lashes.'

'I'd love that,' he said. 'And we should bring the record player.'

'I'll have Kammy transport it,' she said. 'Kammy! Come here.'

_Pop! _'Yes, Miss Lydia.'

'We want to listen to music in the master bedroom. Transport the record player and all the records there. Please.'

'Yes, Miss Lydia.' _Pop! _The record player and albums vanished along with the elf.

Harry beamed at her. 'You said please!'

'Yes, I want to see if that makes a difference. I'd like to be able to command her silently, as you do with Kreacher.'

Harry suspected it might require an attitude shift and not just words, but perhaps this was how the process started. _That's how I started,_ he recalled. _I was furious with Kreacher for betraying Sirius, but Hermione made me treat him kindly. And now he's like family, sort of._

He laughed when he saw his bald head in the bathroom mirror. 'For all I know I'm looking at my future,' he said. 'I probably shouldn't complain about my hair anymore—I don't want to offend it into leaving prematurely.'

They put 'Purple Rain' on the turntable and queued up several more albums, and then climbed into bed. Hours later, Lydia insisted she'd observe him overnight to see whether his hair returned quickly or not, but they both fell asleep before midnight, and when he awoke the next morning she was quietly studying him again.

'You were right,' she said. 'It grew back.'

He reached and felt his head. 'Did you see when it happened?'

'No, you were still bald last night, but now it's just like before.'

'Potter hair,' he muttered. 'I wonder if my dad's was the same way.'

'Is there no one you can ask?'

'No, nearly everyone who knew my parents is gone now.'

'Because of Death Eaters,' she said sadly. 'Because of the Dark Lord.'

He nodded.

'How could they think he was right?' she asked, starting to cry. 'My parents love me—I know that—but they supported someone who made you an orphan. How could they think that was right?'

'I don't know. I suspect it has to do with Dark magic. I think practicing Dark magic hurts a person, changes their sense of right and wrong.'

'So they can't be fixed? They're just broken now?'

'I don't know,' he said honestly. 'Maybe people can change. Severus Snape took the Dark Mark, but he ended up protecting me because he loved my mother. He could even cast a Patronus. He gave his life for me.'

'Maybe love can fix it,' she said, sniffling.

He just held her until it was time to get out of bed, and during breakfast they laughed at his photograph in the gossip column. 'I'm glad someone took pictures,' she said. 'I'll have to save them in my diary.'

'Do you save things like that? Should we see if I still have your freesia?'

'My innocence, you mean? I don't want it. I'd much rather have knowledge.'

He felt a tickle of Light magic—just a hint of it—and he placed his hand over hers on the table.

'So would I,' he agreed, and she smiled back at him.


	58. Chapter 58

Harry arrived at practice early and saw Gemma jogging around the pitch. He caught up with her and said, 'We always start practice with laps.'

'Oh?' she replied, stopping.

'Yeah, usually ten, but sometimes fifteen.'

'I've already done six,' she confessed. 'I was too antsy at home.'

'I was the same on my first day. I was too nervous to wait at home, but reluctant to go inside—at first, anyway.'

'You were nervous?'

'Was I ever! I'd just quit my job at the Ministry and completely upended my life. I hadn't met anyone except Darius or Lara, and I had no idea what to expect.'

'Didn't you meet Tuttle and Owen during your trial? I mean, I know you didn't go through trials like I did, but surely they tested you first.'

'Er, no,' he said sheepishly. 'Darius watched me fly a bit, and he had me catch a few Snitches from the Launcher, but the whole thing took less than ten minutes.'

'Blimey! And that was after the _Prophet_ ran the article saying you'd joined the team?'

'Yeah. That article was pure speculation on their part, based on an offhand comment I'd made. I hadn't even considered quitting the Ministry until I read it.'

She shook her head in astonishment. 'That's the polar opposite to my experience. I had to go through trials with recruiters before they even sent me to a team trial.'

'Didn't they recruit you from your school? My friend's elder brother was invited to team trials that way.'

'I'm guessing your friend's brother went to Hogwarts. Recruiters don't usually bother with East Kettleton.'

'He did go to Hogwarts,' admitted Harry. 'Hang on, I met someone from East Kettleton—she even played Quidditch.'

'Yes, I know. Elizabeth and I were Chasers together when I was in my fifth year, before I switched to Seeker.' Harry reddened slightly and Gemma laughed. 'Don't worry, she only had good things to say about you.'

'So you had to attend a trial just to get a team trial?' he asked, in an attempt to change the subject.

'Yeah, that's the only way commoners get noticed by recruiters. Recruiters are mostly interested in the older schools—Blockhurst, Stodgings, Widgington, and Hogwarts of course. But once a year they have an open trial, which anyone can attend.'

'How many people show up?'

'There were at least a hundred at mine,' she replied.

'More than a hundred? Owen said there were only a dozen flyers at your trial on Monday.'

'That's right. And I think I was the only one from the open trial.'

'You mean the rest were from big-name schools?' asked Harry. She nodded, and he said, 'That's really appallingly unequal!'

Gemma rolled her eyes and said, 'Welcome to wizarding Britain. Home of Hogwarts and ... Beauxbatons. Or somewhere in North America.'

'I'm hoping that will start changing now,' he said. 'And I'll certainly do my best to promote the lesser-known schools.'

'Good luck changing the recruiters' minds. They tend to dismiss us because most of us don't have fast brooms.'

Harry shook his head disapprovingly. 'That's a bloody shame. But, you're a hell of a flyer—I can see why you impressed the recruiters, even amongst a hundred people.'

'A lot of them weren't very good,' she admitted. 'I mean, they were decent, but the other Seekers at the open trial were a bit timid.'

'That's the problem with Seekers,' he said. 'Delicate flowers.'

'Says the man who flogs flowers,' she scoffed, before immediately covering her mouth. 'Ugh, there I go again!'

Harry laughed. 'Really, don't worry about it. That was what convinced us to hire you, actually.'

'What, my inability to keep my mouth shut?'

''I wouldn't phrase it like that, but yes. A big part of league Quidditch is knowing how to take the piss.'

She snorted and said, 'Then I'm your girl. I've had nineteen years practice, if you count the time before I could talk.'

'We're the same age?'

'Yes, almost exactly. My birthday's just a day after yours.'

They were strolling around the pitch and had completed a lap. 'Have you been inside yet this morning? Or do you need Lara to show you your locker and give you robes?'

'I haven't been inside this morning, but she showed me around yesterday, so I'm all set.'

'I should probably go in, to save Tuttle the trouble of preparing a tirade.'

'Is that a common occurrence?' she asked.

'I only deserved it once, last Tuesday.'

'Oh right, after your "night of sweet exhaustion." By the way, thanks for the shout-out on the radio.'

'Were you listening?'

'Of course I was listening—everyone does. I was with my mates and they started screaming when you said my name.'

'Well, let me know if it's ever a problem,' said Harry. 'I don't want to violate your privacy.'

'I'm not worried but I'll keep you posted.'

They entered the building and Lara exclaimed, 'It grew back!'

'I said it would,' he replied. 'Was there a wager?'

'No, but there's been considerable speculation about whether Lydia would forgive you.'

'I'm not certain I should answer that. Normally I try for discretion, but of course that went out the window last week. Still, my answer is "No comment."'

'Whatever, Snitchbottom,' said Darren, who had emerged from the locker room. 'Is this the new Seeker?' he asked, indicating Gemma.

'Yes ... Gemma, this is Darren. He's one of the starting Chasers.'

'Snitchbottom?' she asked.

'Have I got a story for you!' cried Darren, before explaining Harry's nickname to her. 'We also call him Lord Snitchbottom, on formal occasions, but he usually tells us lordships are bollocks.'

Harry dashed into the locker room to drop off his change of clothes and returned to find a group of his teammates talking with Gemma. 'Is it true you hired her because of her ability to take the piss?' asked Suresh.

'Yes, she called me a great bloody toff.'

'Brilliant,' said Suresh. 'Gemma, you'll fit right in. Janet, do you want to show her the ropes?'

'I don't know ... Harry sent me his Patronus last night to threaten me if I cross the line. Gemma, watch out—he curses his teammates.'

'Lies! I jinxed you once, and that was after I warned you.'

'Snitchbottom's right,' said Suresh. 'Janet's the only person he's jinxed. He just punches everyone else.'

'More lies! I only punched Gilstrap.'

'Gemma, are you sure you want to work with him?' asked Janet. 'He's kind of a loose cannon,' she added with a smirk.

'Very funny,' said Harry. 'Can't you come up with something original?'

'Yes, but they all start with "The Boy Who," and I'm saving those for a special occasion.'

'The Boy Who Has An Extenuating Circumstance,' announced Ryan.

'We still don't know what that is,' grumbled Janet.

'I do,' said Ryan. 'Hermione told me.'

'Why hasn't Ron told me? That ginger bastard!'

'Ron doesn't know,' replied Harry.

'Actually, it's only partially extenuating,' said Ryan. 'Maybe twenty-five percent.'

'What's twenty-five percent of six?' asked Darren.

'One and a half,' said Harry automatically.

'So without your extenuating circumstance, you'd have shagged that witch only four and a half times,' said Darren. 'That definitely doesn't sound as good. I mean four's not bad, but the half just raises questions.'

Gemma was laughing and said, 'I see what Owen meant, when he said slagging Harry is a team pastime. This is unbelievable.'

They walked outside to the benches, and several minutes later Tuttle arrived. 'We have a new player today, Gemma Rees. She's a hell of a flyer, and I expect her to be a good influence during the team drills when the rest of you get sloppy. But be nice to her, because she has the distinct misfortune of having to work with Potter every day.'

'Oi!' cried Harry.

'Yeah, that's not a distinct misfortune,' said Janet. 'We all have to work with him.'

Tuttle glared and said, 'Rees, I expect you to work your arse off every bleeding day. Don't assume Potter's always going to be the starter—he's already been ejected once, and if he comes in knackered again I'll demote him, extenuating circumstance or not. Barrowmaker's going to train you the same as he trained Potter, and I'll play whichever one of you is more likely to win us the match.'

After a pause she added, 'It's three days until we play the Tornados, and you need to be ready. Ten laps.'

Harry sprinted ahead so he could think about what Tuttle had just said. It hadn't occurred to him that he mightn't remain starter—in his mind Gemma was the reserve, full stop.

_But I've won six in a row_, said a voice in his mind.

_No, you got ejected once and the win against Preston was pure luck._

He felt the stirrings of his competitive streak. _I'm the better spotter by far._ That was true, but Gemma was untrained. And less than two months of Owen's guidance had been enough to make Harry the best spotter in the league.

_It wasn't just Owen's training. I've always been a great Seeker, and a natural on a broom, _his mind reassured him.

_But her flying's equal to mine_, he thought uncomfortably. Gemma was clearly a natural on a broom as well.

_I'm a bigger draw_. _Phil Routledge was the best Seeker in the league before I arrived, and he's nowhere near the draw I am. Only Viktor Krum comes close_, he thought. _Darius would never let Tuttle promote Gemma over me, _continued the soothing voice_. _

At the same time, he was mortified by his own thoughts. He'd been appalled when Gemma had described the inequality in the Quidditch recruiting system, and embarrassed that he'd waltzed into Darius's office and been hired after ten minutes. But now he was clinging to his own unfair advantages.

_Gemma's right_, he thought resignedly._ I am a great bloody toff_. In the past he'd been able to ignore the insult because he knew that people like the Malfoys and the Traverses considered him middle class—and he'd certainly been raised that way. Nevertheless, he had an enormous fortune he hadn't earned, not to mention a townhouse and an elf. To someone like Gemma, who was clearly working class, he was probably indistinguishable from a true-born Black.

_I just need to keep winning matches. Then they can't demote me._ But that felt wrong too. Didn't Gemma also deserve to be a starting Seeker, assuming she learned to spot as well as he could? _She won't_, he thought competitively. _I had years of brutal Occlumency training from Voldemort. I sacrificed my life and came back from the dead._

Harry felt physical discomfort from thinking that way. It felt like the opposite of Light magic. The muscles in his back clenched, and nausea began to rise in his throat.

On an impulse, he dropped his train of thought and instead imagined himself on the skybenches, watching a match. In his mind he heard the announcer's voice, _'And now, playing Seeker, I give you ... Gemma Rees!'_

Any disappointment he felt on his own behalf was wiped away by a strong sense of peace and well-being. _I'd love to see her as starting Seeker_, he thought sincerely, and he felt a flood of Light magic. Suddenly his lips longed for Lydia's, and he didn't need to look down to know he was glowing. _Oh god, it feels so good_, he thought ecstatically. _I don't care if people see me._

He kept running, unconcerned about the grey skies. _Let my teammates see. Let the team observers see. I don't care._

'Harry, are you all right?' asked Ryan, running beside him.

He turned towards Ryan, with softly parted lips and his eyes prickling with tears. 'Hermione loves you,' he said affectionately. 'And I love Hermione. And you as well.'

'Harry, you're glowing. I know what it is—Hermione told me.'

'That's fine. It was bound to come out sooner or later. Oh god, everyone should experience this.'

'Do you want to keep running?'

'Yes, always. I love you.'

'I love you too, Harry,' laughed Ryan, sprinting ahead.

Harry could see his teammates staring at him, and suddenly Tuttle was in his path. 'Potter, do you need to come inside?'

He hugged her and said, 'Should I? I can keep running. It doesn't matter, everyone knows. I love you.'

She laughed and said, 'Keep running if you like. Do you even know what lap you're on?'

'No.'

'Just stop running when Janet does. And keep your distance from Gemma until you settle down—we don't need you groping her on her first day.'

'I love Gemma. You should start her as soon as she's ready.'

'Don't let anyone take you to Gringotts when you're like this,' she said, chuckling as she walked away.

_Oh my god, I love running!_ He saw his glowing hands in his peripheral vision, and they were so beautiful that he had to stop and look at them. _I should cast a Patronus like this_, he thought, but a faint voice of reason told him not to. _You're part of a team. You're at practice—you're supposed to be running._

The sensations began to subside, and a small part of him longed for their return, but he mostly felt content. His glow dimmed, and by the time Janet finished her final lap he was back to normal. He joined his teammates at the benches and saw that they were all staring at him.

'What the hell was that?' asked Janet bluntly.

'You mean he doesn't do that every day?' said Gemma.

'Ah, no. We've never had a glowing Snitchbottom before. And I've never seen him hug Tuttle.'

'Er, maybe I should wait until everyone's here,' said Harry, looking at his teammates who were still running.

'I think you're just stalling,' replied Janet. 'But fine, I'll allow it.'

They drank water while the other players finished, and the trainers seemed curious to hear Harry's explanation as well. 'I'd hoped to keep this private longer, but I've been experiencing accidental Light magic. That's what you just saw, when I was glowing.'

'Aren't you a little old for accidental magic?' asked Renée, puzzled.

'It's not ordinary accidental magic,' explained Ryan. 'It's accidental Light magic, which is actually quite rare. The classic early manifestation is uncontrolled glowing.'

'That wasn't just glowing,' observed Suresh. 'You looked like you were having an extended orgasm out there.'

'Er, that's kind of what it feels like,' admitted Harry. 'Only better.'

'Better?' exclaimed Janet.

'Not as intense,' he replied. 'But less fleeting. Sustained, and with strong emotions.'

'Let me guess ... love?' suggested Darren.

'Mainly. But other good ones as well.' Harry felt the sensations return and he closed his eyes.

'Blimey, he's starting to glow again,' exclaimed Janet. 'And you can't control it?'

Harry opened his eyes. 'I can. But Merlin, I don't want to.'

His teammates started laughing, and Gary said, 'Potter, I'd almost managed to forget that you're the Boy Who Lived and all that, but then you go and do something like this.'

'The Boy Who Lived wasn't me,' said Harry. 'That was my mother's sacrifice, and so is this—at least in part. I found a book about it, and I'm meeting with a teacher on Sunday, who I'm hoping can help me control it. I mean, I can stop it if I have to, and I definitely would during a match, but otherwise it's hard.'

'Hang on,' interjected Janet. 'Is this what happened on Saturday, against the Wasps? Is that how you caught the Snitch?'

'No, that was different, but possibly related. And I don't know how to repeat it.'

'How long has this been happening?' asked Renée. 'Did we only see it today because it's cloudy out?'

'It started Saturday before last, when I was in Paris. It's happened a few times in practice, but not this strongly. Owen and Tuttle already knew about it.'

'Wait a minute—this is your extenuating circumstance!' exclaimed Darren. 'It has to be!'

'What, does Light magic make you extra randy?' asked Suresh.

Harry didn't answer and tried to look innocent, and everyone burst out laughing.

'They're strongly correlated,' said Ryan, who was also laughing. 'It doesn't explain everything, but the Light magic is probably exacerbating the issue.'

'So do you glow in the bedroom the whole time?' asked Darren. 'And is it your whole body or just ... parts?'

People were doubled over from laughter by this point. 'It's either just my hands or all of me,' replied Harry. 'And I should probably ask you to keep this private, but I don't know how much hope there is of that, with the team observers.'

Ryan explained the risk associated with people finding out Harry was a burgeoning Light wizard. 'It's not a disaster if this gets out, but it's better if he can get a handle on it first.'

Tuttle, who had arrived a minute earlier, said, 'Susanna and Thaddeus are working on keeping it under wraps. Potter, go talk to them before lunch. But enough chit-chat ... calisthenics, now.'

The trainers led them through their exercises, which thoroughly grounded Harry. He came close to glowing several times during the flying drills, but he set a strong intention not to let it carry him away as it had while running. _This seems to work_, he thought with satisfaction. _Maybe I can get this under control sooner than later._

After they finished their drills, he dashed to the building and showered quickly before visiting Susanna and Thaddeus. 'Tuttle told me I should talk to you,' he said tentatively.

'Yes, sit down,' replied Susanna. 'She said you'd rather keep this from the press, if possible.'

'That would be great, but what about the team observers?'

'Yes, the elusive team observers,' said Thaddeus. 'Unfortunately it's impossible to ward this large an open area from anyone but Muggles, so we've always been vulnerable to wizards with long lenses or distance-viewing charms. But they won't have heard anything, so all they know is that you were glowing for a while.'

'We spoke to Healer MacAlister, to see if he could offer an alternative explanation, and he had a good one,' said Susanna. 'I hope you don't mind, but we circulated a rumour that you might have Glowpox.'

'Glowpox? I thought that lasted several weeks at least. Won't people figure out I don't have it?'

'Yes,' replied Susanna. 'We circulated the rumour unofficially through a third party, to throw people off the scent. Nobody will bother looking for other explanations as long as Glowpox is on the table. And then we'll officially announce that you received the vaccine recently and that this was just a rare side effect. It'll require a press conference, but that'll scotch the rumours that you're actually ill.'

'Can you keep from glowing during the press conference?' asked Thaddeus.

'Yes, I'm certain that won't trigger me. What time will it be?'

'After lunch, ideally. We just wanted your approval before making the announcement.'

'You have it—please, go ahead. Will you also present Gemma to the press?'

'Normally we don't have a press conference for a new reserve, but that's a good suggestion, since it'll distract from what actually happened this morning,' replied Susanna.

'I'll send out those announcements,' said Thaddeus, 'but Harry, let's talk sometime about how to handle things when the truth comes out.'

Harry walked out with Susanna, who ducked into the women's locker room to find Gemma. They emerged a minute later, and Gemma used her wand to perform drying charms on her hair. 'Of course I'll speak to the press,' she said, 'though I don't know how much I'll have to say. I've only been here one morning.'

'That doesn't matter—they'll want to know about your background and your impressions so far,' replied Susanna.

'And they'll ask you about Harry,' interjected Darren. 'That's mostly what they ask me now.'

'Bloody hell,' grumbled Harry. 'Wizarding Britain really needs more celebrities.'

Susanna instructed Gemma on how to respond to the reporters, and particularly how to handle questions about Harry's glowing. 'Healer MacAlister will be there, so just refer any health questions to him.'

Lyle waved Gemma over to the group of reserves, who were ready to leave for lunch, and Harry walked with the other starters to the pub. 'She's a hell of a flyer, Snitchbottom,' said Suresh. 'Are you sure you can handle the competition?'

'It'll be good,' he said. 'I'm looking forward to having a sparring partner—that was the one thing missing with Owen. And if it turns out she's a better Seeker than I am, so be it.'

'You don't really expect Tuttle to play her instead of you?' asked Darren.

'Not yet—her Spotting needs work—but if she picks it up quickly she'll be first rate.'

'Darius won't permit it,' said Gary. 'You're too big a draw.'

Harry had to chuckle, hearing his teammates repeat his own thoughts from that morning. 'If I can keep winning, yeah. But we'll see what happens.'

'Enough Quidditch talk,' declared Janet. 'We need to talk about that article.'

'Ugh, what about it?' groaned Harry. 'The signed photograph was a joke—I'm not actually that smarmy.'

'I know that,' she said. 'But I want to come back to something Doctor Niffler observed about you recently: that you're stuck in the oral phase of development.'

Everyone else burst out laughing, and Harry shrugged. 'What can I say? My first girlfriend trained me, and I've never had a complaint.' Suddenly his expression changed, 'Oh bugger, those reporters this afternoon might ask about the article!'

'Merlin, you're right,' said Renée. 'That'll be memorable.'

Over lunch, Harry's teammates tried to prepare him for the questions he might hear during the press conference. Gary asked, 'Mr Potter, what was your thought process in choosing those particular positions in that exact sequence.'

'It was a mutual decision,' replied Harry. 'Next question.'

Darren was next. 'Harry, our readers are wondering if you plan to return to Penumbra in the near future.'

'I currently have a girlfriend, but I won't rule it out in the future. I've become friends with the owner, and I still consider it wizarding Britain's best pulling venue.'

Renée affected a deep voice and asked, 'Potter, I'm with _Quidditch Statistical Review_, and my question is simple: clockwise, or anti-clockwise?'

Harry furrowed his brow and took a moment to actively consider the question. 'Clockwise. From my vantage point.'

'I should go place a wager with Ludo Bagman,' said Suresh. 'He probably has odds on that.'

'Merlin, he probably does,' replied Harry, shaking his head. 'How exactly did my life turn into this?'

'Janet's prophecy,' said Ryan. 'On your first day, remember?'

'And Light magic,' added Darren. 'Can you teach us that?'

'I'd love to—it's bloody brilliant,' said Harry. 'But ask me about my Glowpox vaccination instead.'

After lunch, Harry jogged ahead to the training facility to warn Gemma about the likely content of the interview. 'I'm really sorry,' he told her. 'I didn't want to overshadow your press conference.'

'It's not my press conference,' she said. 'I wouldn't have even had one normally. But don't worry—the reserves came to the same conclusion you did, and they gave me advice.'

'Still, I'll do my best to bring the questions back around to you.'

'I know you're not a glory-hound,' she said. 'You've given credit to Owen every chance you get.'

They walked to a table Lara had set up near the benches and took their seats, along with Tuttle, Owen, and Healer MacAlister. The Healer briefed Harry on the vaccine he'd allegedly received, and the reporters and photographers arrived soon afterwards. To Harry's surprise, Rita Skeeter was among them.

The first round of questions were all about Harry's health, and MacAlister answered them convincingly. Then came an onslaught of questions directed straight at Harry, covering topics ranging from his relationship with Lydia to werewolf rights. Harry tried to discourage questions about Lydia by always giving the same answer—_We're very happy right now but it's not a long-term relationship_—and eventually the reporters got the hint.

He tried directing attention to Gemma, and she was asked about the team trials and her Quidditch experience in school, but most of the questions directed at her were about Harry.

'Gemma, what was it like to find out you'll be working with Harry Potter every day?'

'First and foremost I was shocked I'd got the job. I was working at a Muggle restaurant until this week, and suddenly I'm a reserve Seeker for the Chudley Cannons. As for working with Harry ... I'm still gobsmacked. He's the most famous wizard in Britain, or even the world, and I'm just some nobody from East Kettleton. But he and all the Cannons have been very welcoming, and I look forward to working with them.'

'Did you ever have a crush on Harry Potter growing up?'

Harry interjected, 'I don't think that's a relevant question.'

'No, I'll answer it,' said Gemma. 'As a Muggle-born witch, I've always been grateful to Harry for his fight against Voldemort. And I'll admit I shared my classmates' fascination with him over the years, although it turned out that a lot of what we read was complete rubbish. But I've never been someone who develops crushes on pop stars and the like—people I haven't met—so I never fancied Harry the way you're describing.'

'What about now that you'll be working together?'

Gemma hesitated, and Harry said, 'It would be completely unprofessional for Gemma and me to have that sort of relationship. I take the team very seriously, and I'd never violate that boundary.'

'Harry, will you comment on yesterday's article in _Sorceress_ magazine?'

'I already said everything I intend to say on Weasley's Wizard Wireless last night.'

'What about the allegation that you planted the story?' asked Rita Skeeter.

'I'm sorry?'

She continued, 'Some are claiming that you made a deal with the _Sorceress_ editors, in order to portray yourself in the best light and attract future partners.'

'That's completely untrue. Why on earth would I violate my own privacy like that? Furthermore, that would be incredibly daft on my part, to lure women into my bedroom with high expectations but then disappoint them. I might as well wear raised shoes while I'm at it.'

'Raised shoes?' asked Rita.

'Yes, shoemakers try to sell me them because I'm only five-foot seven, but imagine how mortifying it would be to take them off in front of a witch and suddenly drop three inches.'

'An apt metaphor,' she said, smiling.

There were a few more questions, and then the photographers took pictures of Harry and Gemma together, and with Owen as well. Everyone dispersed at the end, but Rita managed to pull Harry aside.

'Obviously I knew the _Sorceress_ article was genuine,' she said, 'but I wanted to nip those rumours in the bud.'

'Cheers,' he replied. 'By the way, Lydia was very happy with your story.'

'I'm pleased to hear it, and thanks for putting us in touch.' She leaned closer and said, 'It's also a relief to see you looking so healthy.'

'Yes, I'm sorry I gave everyone a scare like that.'

'Glowpox is a serious illness,' she said. 'But we both know what really happened.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Don't worry, your secret is safe with me, until you choose to reveal it. I'd never dream of jeopardising our agreement.'

Harry wanted to be certain she wasn't trying to trick him into a confession. 'What do you think happened this morning, if it wasn't the Glowpox vaccine?'

'Accidental Light magic, of course.'

'Who else knows?'

'I'm probably the only reporter—I'm far better informed than my colleagues are. But there's been speculation for a while, within Dark enclaves, and I doubt they'll believe the vaccine story either.'

'That's fine. I'm not concerned.'

She narrowed her eyes. 'How's your Occlumency?'

'Rock solid. Alistair tested me.'

'Good. I'd hate to lose you now that we're on the same team. And congratulations ... I'm told it's delightful. And hard to put into words.'

'Without the help of an experienced writer, you mean?'

'Exactly. A topic like that deserves clear communication, and not just a few off-the-cuff comments on the radio.'

'That's a good point,' replied Harry. 'I'll keep you posted.'

His teammates had begun to gather around the benches. 'You should go,' said Rita. 'And once again, congratulations on your clean bill of health.'

'Thanks. Will I see you at my party this weekend?'

She cackled and said, 'As much as I'm tempted to Polyjuice myself and spend the evening with dozens of randy Chasers, I'll skip this one.'

'That's good. Someone really could have tripped over you on that staircase.'

He ran to the locker room and changed into his practice robes, and then joined Owen and Gemma on the pitch. 'Gemma, I'm sorry about all those questions, but you did a great job.'

'So did you,' she replied. 'You didn't mention thestrals even once.'

'I'm never going to live that down, am I?'

'No. Some of my classmates set it to music.'

Owen devoted the Seeker training session to evaluating Gemma's spotting skills, first with the Launcher and then in a contest against Harry. Once again, Harry caught the Snitch every time, which left Gemma frustrated. 'I swear, I wasn't a bad spotter in school! I had a winning record in my sixth year, before I even had a decent broom, and last year when I had a Firebolt Ultra I only lost once.'

'This is just your first day,' said Owen. 'Harry usually spots the Snitch the moment it appears, and until I teach you the same methods you won't have a chance, unless you track him.'

'Ugh, tracking,' she grumbled. 'I admit I've done it, and I've won that way, but it always feels like cheating.'

'It's not cheating,' replied Owen. 'In fact, I want you to track Harry in the practice matches this week. It's not out of the question you'll have to replace him in a match, and tracking is your best strategy right now.'

'My opponents track me all the time,' said Harry.

'Yeah, and you punched one of them.'

'That wasn't because he was tracking me. It's because he's a vicious arsehole and I lost my temper. Which won't happen again, by the way.'

'Are you certain?' asked Owen. 'I nearly had to drag you two apart on Monday night.'

'I've always had one enemy or another,' replied Harry. 'I'll take Gilstrap over the others any day.'

'Over Voldemort?' said Owen. 'I should think so.'

'Actually, I was thinking of Draco Malfoy. But you raise a good point.'

'Gemma, that reminds me ... learn everything you can about Draco Malfoy, and his father as well. Harry has unresolved issues around them that you need to exploit.'

'Is he the one you sent your Patronus to, on the radio?'

'Yes, and it was a huge mistake. I'm still trying to contain the damage.'

Before the practice match, Owen took Harry aside and said, 'Don't taunt her yet. I want you to get to know each other first—you can start abusing her next week.'

'Ugh, I'm not looking forward to that. It was different with you somehow, and with rival Seekers.'

'I understand,' replied Owen. 'But I'll warn her about it in advance—you won't have to blindside her like I did with you.'

Tuttle released the four balls, and the players launched into the air. Harry took a moment to expand into awareness, and he included a strong intention not to start glowing during the match.

Gemma flew alongside him and said, 'So that was pretty bloody weird this morning.'

'Welcome to my life,' replied Harry. 'It's pretty bloody weird.'

'I'd say an extended glowing orgasm qualifies as good weird.'

'Except for the part where Dark wizards come after me. But yeah, it's pretty good,' he admitted. 'How was lunch with the reserves? I was surprised to learn on my first day that the starters eat separately, but Ryan explained it was because the reserves prefer wizarding restaurants.'

'That's what Lyle said. And it makes sense—it would be a bit much for fourteen players to all show up somewhere,' she replied. 'And lunch was fun. They told me all about you.'

'Oh dear, do I even want to know what they said?'

'Mostly good stuff. They all said how great your last party was, and that you're a solid bloke, and not stuck up.'

'That's a relief,' he said. 'Though I'm sorry people assume I might be.'

'Well, you have a reputation for being aloof. For looking right through people in public—unless it's a pretty witch of course.'

'Do I really?' he replied, dismayed. 'Nobody's told me that before.'

'Well you probably don't act like that to anyone who knows you. But everyone I know who's seen you in public said you gave off major vibes of "_Stay away, I'm not interested_."' She smirked and added, 'Except for Elizabeth, of course. She said you walked right up to her, as if she were yours for the taking.'

_She was,_ thought Harry irritably. 'I'm sorry if I give off that impression,' he said sincerely. 'It's nothing personal—I've just developed a habit of wearing what I think of as my "Leave me the fuck alone" wards, because otherwise I can't walk ten feet without being approached. But I don't mean to make anyone feel invisible. I know how that feels, and it's not very nice.'

'I think most people understand,' replied Gemma. 'You come off much better on your radio programme, talking to your mates, and you're always a good sport when they take the piss. Lee and George are brilliant—I always listen for the whole hour.'

'They'll be at the party on Saturday. I'd offer to introduce you, but it'll be wall-to-wall people and I mightn't even see you. Oh, hang on a minute, you should come early. I'll only have two house-elves and not an army of them, but I'm certain we can come up with something to eat.'

'Are you serious?'

'Yes, absolutely. This way you can meet my mates, like Hermione—and Ron too, if they're willing to be in a room together.'

'Hermione Granger!' exclaimed Gemma. 'Unbelievable!'

'Oh, and I should warn you about Lydia. She's still getting used to non-pure-bloods, so she might say something insensitive, but you mustn't take it personally. Honestly, she's quite funny without realising it.'

'Has she even met any Muggle-borns yet?'

'Yes, I introduced her to Hermione last night, and tomorrow she'll meet her first Muggle when we go to dinner at Ryan's parents' house. And I've introduced her to Muggle music, so she at least has respect for Prince and Madonna.'

Gemma laughed, but Harry shot into a precipitous feint, which took him close to one of the opposing Beaters—he couldn't see which. Gemma followed him instantly and stayed glued to his side, matching his turns in near-perfect synchrony.

When he slowed down and resumed his Seeking pattern, Harry expressed admiration. 'The only player to track me like that was Phil Routledge. You're really good.'

'Cheers. This broomstick certainly helps.'

'So you actually like the Firebolt Ultra?' he asked. 'Viktor Krum does as well, but I couldn't stand it.'

'And they gave you one for free, didn't they?'

'Yes, and I felt like a total ingrate for disliking it.'

'That's because you were,' she chided. 'I take it you never flew on crap brooms like the rest of us.'

'No. After my first day flying, my head of house gave me a Nimbus 2000. Merlin, who even paid for it? I hope she took the gold out of my vault.'

'You don't know?' scoffed Gemma. 'I spent months saving up for my Firebolt.'

'I thought we already established that I'm a great bloody toff,' retorted Harry. 'I didn't pay for my original Firebolt either—it was a gift from my godfather, though I didn't know it at the time.'

'Actually, if I'm being honest, I didn't save up for my Firebolt either,' admitted Gemma. 'I'd been saving up to leave England, but then the war ended and I didn't need to leave anymore, so I bought a swish broomstick instead.'

'Right, I meant to ask you about that ... What did you do during the last year of the war?'

She sighed. 'I couldn't go to school. Someone Imperiused our headmistress right after the Ministry fell, and she came to my house and snapped my wand. It was right after my seventeenth birthday, so I only had a week where I was allowed to perform magic without the Trace.'

'That's awful!' exclaimed Harry.

'Yes, but it turned out I was lucky she'd done that, because she kept the pieces as evidence, which meant the Muggle-Born Registration Commission didn't bother hunting me down. Apparently the broken wand proved that I was living as a Muggle—which I was.'

'Really? That entire year?'

'Yeah. My mum wanted me to enrol in school so I might eventually be able to attend university, but I just wanted to move somewhere I could practice magic again. So I took two jobs and started saving up to move to Australia.'

'Why Australia?'

'Because it's the farthest away from England. I was scared Voldemort would head for the Continent next, and then maybe North America.'

'I have no idea what his plans were, but I don't blame you. I assume you took Muggle jobs?'

'Yeah—in a shop and at a restaurant.'

'Were you even able to keep up with wizarding news that year? I assume you didn't take the _Prophet_.'

Gemma snorted and said, 'As if they'd had anything useful to say! No, and I couldn't even listen to Potterwatch, because that required a wand. But some of my mates kept in touch with me—they had to do it in secret, because there were spies among the students, and they kept me posted. Although there wasn't much news until the very end.'

'How did you find out the war had ended?' he asked.

'My mates were at school when word got out that you'd robbed Gringotts and escaped on a dragon. The school went into chaos, and my friend Caroline came to the shop where I was working and told me what had happened. I had to work until three o'clock, and then I only had an hour before my restaurant job started, so I didn't hear more until after midnight.'

Harry knew he should feint again, but he was riveted by Gemma's story, so he merely refreshed his intentions and kept listening.

'Caroline met me after my shift ended and brought me to her house by Side-Along, and we just waited all night for rumours. We heard about the first Battle of Hogwarts, and apparently there were heavy losses but it wasn't anyone we knew. And then there was nothing for a long time, and at dawn we heard you died. I actually went home to get some sleep before my day job, but then Caroline turned up an hour later to tell me you'd lived and that Voldemort was dead and the war was over.'

'Did you at least ring in sick to work?'

'No. I wasn't yet confident England would be safe for Muggle-borns, so I decided to stick with the Australia plan until I was certain. But within a week it was clear I'd be able to go back to school and practice magic again, so I gave up my day job and just worked at the restaurant until the end of the summer, since the pay was better.'

'What did you do about a wand?' asked Harry.

'I didn't have anything during the summer. Two of my mates gave me family wands to try, but they weren't a match. When school started, I was paired with a classmate whose wand worked fairly well for me, and she let me use it for an hour outside class every afternoon, to practice my lessons. But I didn't get my own wand until October, after Ollivander reopened his shop.'

'Do you like your new wand? My original wand was broken for months and I had to use substitutes. They ranged from hostile to pretty good, but none were as good as my old wand.'

'My new wand's all right,' she said. 'After going without a wand for so long, or using someone else's, I was just happy to have something of my own again.'

Harry plunged into another feint, low to the ground and through a knot of Chasers, with Gemma only a foot behind. Normally Owen would have left off the chase as soon as he'd verified that Harry hadn't spotted the Snitch, but Gemma stayed with him and spurred him to fly even faster.

'You're probably a very effective tracker,' he said, after they'd resumed circling. 'I suppose your size and weight are an advantage in a chase.'

'At least it's an advantage somewhere! Where can I get some of those raised shoes? I'd never heard of them until today.'

'I think all the wizarding shoemakers offer them—but hopefully not to me anymore. And really, what's the point? I get nearly two inches from my Doc Martens, and my hair sticks up another couple inches. But I'll never qualify as tall.'

'Boo-hoo,' she said mockingly. 'I'm five-two, so quit whinging.'

'Just wait until Janet sees you in your team robes. She said I looked like a cat dressed up as people ... When will you get your robes anyway?'

'I'm to go to some shop in Diagon Alley today after practice and get measured,' she said.

'Benedict Thimble,' replied Harry. 'He does great work—I'm certain you'll love your robes. Did you pick a player number yet?'

'Yes, five. I have three siblings and a mum, which makes five of us.'

'Are any of your siblings magical?' he asked.

'No, just me.'

'Really? What's that like? I know it was hard for my mum and her sister.'

'It's all right, I think. I have an elder brother, and a younger brother and sister—twins, just a year after me. So I was already a classic middle child. Magic just made me even weirder.'

'And just a mum? No dad? Forgive me if I'm prying.'

'You're not prying,' she said. 'Technically I have a dad too, but my parents divorced when I was little and he's in the navy, so I almost never see him.'

'Does he know you're a witch?'

'Yeah, and he suspects maybe his grandmum was a Squib—she was estranged from her family and used to tell him weird bedtime stories. But she died before I was born.'

He was thoughtful for a moment. 'You must have felt awfully cut off, that year without a wand.'

'Yeah, it was hard. If it hadn't been for my mates and my schoolbooks, I might have thought I'd dreamt the whole thing. Being magical, that is.'

'I had a few summers like that,' admitted Harry. 'The summer after my first year at Hogwarts, a house-elf decided to protect me by intercepting all the post my friends had sent. And then after my fourth year, when Voldemort came back, Dumbledore wouldn't let my friends tell me what was going on.'

'Why not?' asked Gemma.

'The answer's classified, but the short version is that they were afraid Voldemort would find out whatever they told me.'

She looked like she wanted to ask him more, so he launched into another wild feint. The match continued that way, with conversation and the occasional mad feint. _She's definitely a good sparring partner_, he thought, and he knew he'd enjoy flying against her every day.

When the Snitch appeared, Harry accelerated towards it as quickly as possible, extending his torso more than usual to get the last bit of speed from his broomstick. That and his his longer reach ensured that he caught it, and Tuttle cried, 'Potter's got the Snitch. 230-50.'

Owen met them at the benches and said, 'Gemma, that was great work.'

'But I didn't catch the Snitch,' she said, frustrated.

'You were close,' replied Owen. 'If you'd been flying against me you would have got it.'

Tuttle agreed and offered Gemma praise during her notes before berating everyone else. 'I'd think you were all coming down with Glowpox, based on what I saw out there. I expect you to wake up between now and Saturday, or else we may need to find some other way to motivate you—and I can guarantee you won't like it.'

As they walked to the building, Gemma said, 'That seemed unfair, what Tuttle said. From what I could tell, everyone was great.'

Ryan laughed and said, 'That's Tuttle. She'll probably start insulting you tomorrow—don't take it personally.'

'Yeah, she went awfully easy on Gemma, didn't she?' observed Harry. 'She was much rougher on my first day.'

'Yes, I remember something about wand polishing and taking a holiday,' smirked Gary. 'But of course in hindsight she was completely off base.'

'Are you taking out your pure-blood tonight?' asked Janet. 'Please tell me some of your new robes are ready.'

'Yes and yes,' replied Harry. 'But first Ryan and I have to buy a Muggle stereo system for the party.'

'We have a devious plan,' explained Ryan, 'Involving taxicabs and a Deathly Hallow.'

'A Deathly Hallow?' asked Gemma.

'Harry's Invisibility Cloak,' said Janet. 'Because why not?'

After showering, Harry and Ryan went to Gringotts, and Harry withdrew enough Muggle currency to pay for the stereo Ryan had selected. Then they travelled to an Apparition point near the electronics store, and before long they were in a nearby alley with a stack of boxes in Harry's arms.

'Put the Cloak over the boxes,' instructed Harry. 'All right, now Disillusion me.' Once Harry was invisible, he said, 'Are you sure you're all right with this? Hermione told me how much you hate memory charms.'

'I do, but it's a mild one, and I'm more experienced with them than you are.'

They emerged from the alley and Ryan hailed a taxicab. 'Ten Grimmauld Place,' he told the driver, and Harry slid onto the seat next to Ryan. There was some awkwardness around closing the door, but the driver didn't seem to notice, and soon they were off.

'That neighbourhood's really changing,' said the driver. 'Two years ago I'd have warned you against going there, but I read last week it's a real up-and-comer.'

'So I hear,' replied Ryan. 'I'm just visiting a friend, but he says it's improved quite a lot since he first moved in.'

'I've seen some creepy things there, to be honest,' said the cabbie. 'Used to be some scary fellas in long cloaks hanging round. One time I even saw one of 'em disappear into thin air, and I wasn't drinking either. There was a loud noise and everything.'

'That's very odd,' said Ryan. 'I'll have to ask my friend whether he's seen anything like that.'

'And before that I used to see a huge dog wandering around. Not someone's pet kind of dog either. Skinny like a stray, but smart. Real smart. I swear I saw him reading a newspaper once, on a stand. I drove past slowly to watch, and then he turned and looked right at me before running away.'

'Huh, interesting,' said Ryan, his tone noncommittal.

'And then maybe a month or so ago I was there in the morning, at the end of a shift, and I saw flowers just disappear from a corner shop. A whole bunch of 'em—one second they was there, and then they was gone.'

'I suspect there's a lot we don't understand,' said Ryan.

'Them's true words,' replied the cabbie. 'Yes indeed.'

They drove a while longer, and finally they arrived on Harry's street. 'Ten Grimmauld Place,' said the driver. Ryan paid the fare, and the driver said, 'Normally I'd wait to see someone safe inside on a street like this, but I expect you can take care of yourself.'

'Yes, please don't wait for me. I need to do a few things outside before ringing the doorbell.'

Ryan exited the taxi but left the door open so Harry could exit. 'Are you going to close the door?' asked the cabbie.

'I'm sorry,' replied Ryan. 'Moment of distraction.'

'I'm out,' whispered Harry, carefully walking away from the taxicab, and Ryan closed the door.

Ryan's right hand was concealed inside a carrier bag containing his wand. '_Confundo_,' he muttered, and then he silently Disillusioned himself. The cabbie relaxed slightly into his seat before driving away.

'I'm invisible too,' whispered Ryan. 'Are you still nearby?'

'Over here,' came a whisper. 'I'll open the door and you can follow me.'

Number Twelve revealed itself to the two wizards, and a minute later they were visible again in the entrance hall. 'Mischief managed,' said Harry. 'Thanks again.'

'That was quite an observant taxi driver,' said Ryan. 'Either that, or there are a lot of sloppy wizards in your neighbourhood.'

'The flowers had to have been Kreacher—that was before I made arrangements with my florist. And the dog was almost certainly Sirius. Was that you, Padfoot? Was it?' Harry tossed the portrait a treat.

'You're home!' exclaimed Lydia, running up the stairs. 'I've found a flat!'

She threw her arms around Harry and started kissing him, and Ryan said, 'I'll be going now. Unless you want me to put Marvin Gaye on for you again ... he'd go well with the glowing.'

Harry extricated himself and said, 'Very funny—see you tomorrow.'

After Ryan had gone, Lydia said, 'It's the flat in Manchester, the one I mentioned last night. But what's this about glowing? I heard you had a reaction to a vaccine—are you all right? You're not still glowing, are you?'

Harry led her down to the sitting room and said, 'Actually, it wasn't a vaccine.'

'What do you mean? Obviously you're not sick, or else you'd be in St Mungo's.'

'Sit down,' he said, and he turned to her on the sofa. 'And don't be scared ... you're perfectly safe.' She looked more frightened after his reassuring words, but she didn't say anything and just held his hand.

Harry closed his eyes and set a wordless intention for love and Light magic to arise. The familiar wave of pleasure washed through him, and he instinctively took Lydia's other hand, to close the circuit.

'Do you feel it?' he asked. 'Can you see it?'

She suddenly dropped his hands and backed away. 'Sweet Circe, you're a Light wizard! Don't hurt me!'

'I won't hurt you,' he said, gazing at her affectionately. 'Oh god no, I could never hurt you.'

Lydia relaxed slightly and touched his cheek. 'You're glowing. And I'm not dead.'

'No, you're not dead,' he repeated, leaning towards her. 'I've held you like this before, only you were asleep. Oh Lydia, may I kiss you?'

'Yes,' she exhaled, and soon they were in a blissful tangle on the sofa.

'I love you,' he murmured. 'I love you, and your parents, and your uncle, and your grandfather. And Esme, and Charles. And those gloves he was wearing, but I'll never wear them myself. Oh bugger, we were supposed to go see Thimble this afternoon and look at fabric.'

She could only squeak in reply, and they didn't speak for a while longer. He had the presence of mind to cast a Contraception Charm, but otherwise he was lost entirely to the glowing sensation and their activity. He was still glowing afterwards, and he held up some of her hair and admired how it shone.

'I thought Light magic was dangerous,' she finally said. 'I was always warned to run away—or call Kammy—and when I was older I was told to Disapparate. But this is lovely.'

'Isn't it? No, it would only hurt someone who was performing Dark magic, and you're not. Thank Merlin you don't practise Dark magic.'

'But how?' she asked simply. 'How are you doing it?'

'I don't know,' he said, momentarily suppressing the desire to kiss her again. 'It's still mostly accidental. But when I saw you this afternoon, I knew I had to show you, and that I'd be able to.'

'And it happened in practice? Is that why you had to claim it was the Glowpox vaccine, so people wouldn't find out?' She gasped and sat up. 'You're not safe! They'll target you now!'

'It's all right,' he murmured soothingly. 'I'll be fine. I'm a master Occlumens, shockingly enough. I'm a middling wizard but I'm a master Occlumens.'

'You're a middling wizard?'

'Yes, Hermione found that potion in the Grimoire and we all tried it. I'm barely above average strength.'

'No wonder they banned it,' she said harshly. 'Clearly it's not measuring the right thing.'

He chuckled, and the Light magic began to subside. Looking at his wristwatch he said, 'It's too late to go pick out that fabric. I suppose we could go tomorrow before eating dinner with the Bellamys, but I'd hoped he could start making those robes sooner than later.'

'Shall I choose for you?' she suggested.

'Would you? I trust your judgment. But no gloves.'

They pulled their clothes back on and she asked, 'Are we going to dinner tonight? We haven't been seen together since Sunday.'

'Yes, if you like. It sounds like you want to go to a wizarding restaurant?'

'I do. Can we go to Thistlerod?' she asked

'I don't know. Is it like Dunnings?'

'No, I've never been there. But it's supposed to be romantic—I wouldn't have been allowed to go there without a chaperone.'

'Should we find one for tonight?' he asked, and she swatted him. 'Will we need a reservation?'

'No, I'm certain they'll just expand for you. Most restaurants have extra space on reserve, just in case.'

They went upstairs to change, and she looked through his wardrobe. 'Why do you have a woman's shirt?' she asked.

'Do I? Which one?' She showed him, and he laughed. 'No, I bought that in Paris and wore it to a nightclub.'

'But it has flowers on it!'

'They're tiny flowers,' he argued. 'But that wasn't the most shocking part.' Harry told her about the Muggle makeup Sophie had applied.

'You wore makeup in public? You might have been photographed!'

'I wore my Invisibility Cloak until we were far from the wizarding district. Yes, it was a risk, but it wouldn't have been the end of the world.'

'My grandfather would have called you an irredeemable degenerate,' she said, giggling.

Harry shrugged. 'Walburga calls me that all the time. And really, it's absurd how arbitrary these rules are. If I walked through Muggle London in some of the robes you picked out for me, I'd be beaten up for wearing a dress. But your grandfather would say I was a properly-clad wizard.'

'No, he'd call your outfit "outré" and sneer at it, but Charles would be mad with envy.'

After selecting robes for Harry, Lydia changed into a very elegant dress that was almost too mature for her. He raised one eyebrow and said, 'Don't tell me you wore that on one of your pure-blood dates.'

'No, I've never worn it before, and my mother never saw it. But Esme urged me to buy it, to wear after I was married. I think she was trying to tempt me into accepting a proposal, but of course it didn't work.'

Without consulting Lydia, Harry slid a red rose into his lapel. 'Everyone knows we're not getting married, but I want them to see my passion,' he said. 'I can't stop thinking about you ... It was all I could do at practice this morning not to Apparate and come find you.'

'A red rose is perfect,' she said, sliding one into her hair. 'You were never this demonstrative in public with Ginny Weasley.'

'I still thought I had privacy back then. But now that I haven't any, it turns out I'm shameless.'

They travelled to the restaurant by Floo, and the host greeted them enthusiastically. 'Mr Potter, Miss Travers, what a splendid surprise. You don't have a reservation, do you?'

'No, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.' said Harry. 'Will you be able to accommodate us, or should we make a reservation for another night?'

'Of course we can accommodate you,' replied the host. 'Just give me a moment.'

He pulled out his wand and walked to a spot between two tables. 'I'm so sorry,' he told the customers seated there. 'This will only take a moment.'

The couples were too romantically engrossed to notice what the host was doing, and soon enough the restaurant had expanded to accommodate another table. The host took a small table from a shelf and magically enlarged it, and a waiter rushed in to lay the place settings.

_This is what Madam Puddifoot's wishes it could be_, thought Harry approvingly as he sat down. The gaslight sconces and chandeliers reminded him of Grimmauld Place, and the votive candle on their table illuminated Lydia to perfection.

'Are you trying to make me glow?' he whispered to her. 'This will be a good test of my self-control.'

'Blame the vaccine,' she whispered back.

Harry found their conversation pleasantly relaxing. Lydia pointed out several couples she recognised but she didn't gossip as she had at Dunnings. Instead she told him about her flat, which she said was perfect for entertaining. 'I can't move in yet,' she said. 'I need to furnish it, but I'm hoping it'll be ready early next week. Is it all right if I stay with you until then?'

'Of course. I'd offer you a troll leg umbrella stand as a housewarming gift, but we Vanished it after the war.'

'Really? Those are quite valuable.'

'Are you joking? It was horrible, and Tonks kept tripping on it.'

'They have magical properties,' she explained. 'They impart troll-like strength onto umbrellas. I've heard of people blocking Dark curses using troll-imbued umbrellas.'

'But then you'd have to open an umbrella in the middle of a battle. It only makes sense if you're always duelling in the rain, which I suppose is possible in Britain But the thing was ghastly.'

'I agree, I don't think the benefit justifies the cost. But I'm not surprised the Blacks had one.'

'Still, I should offer you some kind of housewarming gift. Maybe we can choose something together at the home decor shop I've endorsed.'

'You don't need to get me anything,' she insisted. 'You've already given me so much. And thanks to Uncle Ursinus I'm fully provided for. My great-grandfather left him a surprising amount of gold for a younger son ... I suspect he had Death Eater sympathies as well.'

Harry grinned and said, 'I have a confession.'

Lydia's eyes lit up. 'Tell me!'

He used his wand to cast a privacy charm. 'Remember how you said your great-uncle somehow failed to transfer his inheritance from your grandfather's vault that morning at Gringotts?'

'Yes. We have no idea why he didn't do it.'

'I Imperiused him.'

Her jaw dropped. 'What? How?'

'When we broke into Gringotts that morning, Hermione was Polyjuiced as Bellatrix Lestrange, and Ron was disguised as some foreign wizard, and I was hiding behind them under my Invisibility Cloak. But your great-uncle saw us there and started questioning Hermione, because he thought she was Bellatrix. He was a little too persistent, so I Imperiused him and told him to hide.'

Lydia's eyes widened. 'I can't believe it—it was you! You're the reason I have an inheritance! You're the reason I'm free.' She reached for his hand across the table, but then started to laugh. 'I daresay my grandfather would let me marry you—no strings attached—if he knew what you'd done. But I don't want to marry you, and of course I'd never tell him.'

'I'd never even performed the Imperius Curse before that morning,' he admitted. 'I still can't believe it worked.'

'And you think you're not a powerful wizard?' she said.

'Really, I'm not. All I can guess is that my motivation was so strong—I was doing it because we needed to stop Voldemort. I wasn't doing it for myself.'

'Yes, curses like that are all about intent,' she observed. 'That would explain it, but I still don't believe what that potion said about strong you were.'

'Believe it,' he said. 'I certainly do, and it hindsight it makes perfect sense. I was never the first to master a new charm in school—tomorrow you can ask Hermione how long it took me to master the Summoning Charm. The only charms I'm really good at involve intention, like protection spells and the Patronus Charm.'

'But you defeated the Dark Lord! And don't tell me he wasn't powerful.'

'No, he was massively powerful. Same with Dumbledore. But I won with Light magic ... it's so obvious now.'

'But that's magical power too,' she argued. 'Maybe the potion doesn't account for Light magic.'

'Maybe, but I don't think so. I think anyone who's capable of love is capable of Light magic. And Muggles are just as capable of love as wizards are.'

'Are you saying Muggles can glow?' scoffed Lydia. 'I doubt it.'

'No ... but maybe that's just how love reacts with magic.' He shook his head and added, 'But that doesn't make sense either, or else every new parent would glow. I saw Remus right after he became a father, when my godson Teddy was born. He was bursting with love and pride, but he wasn't glowing. So it must be something else.'

'Is there someone you can ask?'

'Yes, I'm meeting a Light master on Sunday night. Alistair found her for me—that's the whole reason I went to Penumbra last Monday night, to ask Alistair about Light magic.'

'I don't think that was the entire reason,' she said archly.

He smiled. 'That was the reason I went there, not the reason I stayed. But I like you much better than Vera.'

After dinner they decided to go outside instead of just Flooing home, and they were met by a photographer. 'I see you've recovered from your Glowpox vaccine,' he said to Harry.

'Yes, thank Merlin. I scared the hell out of my teammates this morning.'

Harry and Lydia posed for a minute, but instead of kissing they just held hands and alternated between looking at the camera and turning affectionately towards one another.

After taking pictures, the photographer said to Harry, 'None of us could have predicted how photogenic you'd become.'

'I couldn't have predicted it either. But I couldn't have predicted a lot of things, including surviving the war and falling for a Travers.'

'I shan't marry you!' she said playfully.

'I know you won't. That's the best part,' he said, smoothly turning on his heel and Apparating her home.

-––—––—––-

_Author's note: Glowpox is a reference to the incomparable _Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality. _My story also contains nods to _The Arithmancer, A Black Comedy, _and heaps of other fics._


	59. Chapter 59

_Author's note:_

_Thanks so much for the kind reviews! It makes me very happy to know that people are enjoying my fic, particularly during such a stressful time. _

-––—––—––-

Hermione's favourite part of her early-morning Spinning class was the walk home afterwards. She felt energy running through her body and also the satisfaction of having exercised while others were still hunched over their morning tea. _And now I'm free to pore over books all day at work and not worry I'm just another sedentary wizard._

She drifted into the house and went straight upstairs to shower, bypassing her parents in the kitchen. She'd talk to them soon enough, but this was her time to bask in mental silence, before her verbal mind regained control.

'How was class today?' asked Emily when Hermione came down for breakfast.

'It was good. The instructor actually referred to me as a regular—can you believe it?'

'You've attended three classes a week for the past three weeks,' observed Daniel. 'That sounds pretty regular to me.'

'And your father's gone swimming twice now,' said Emily.

'That's hardly impressive,' argued Daniel, 'but I'm hoping to establish a habit now that I have my range of motion back.'

'How many more doses of that potion do you have to take?' asked Hermione.

'I'm done, thank Merlin! And yes, I'll drop a pound into the swear jar, even though I was using the phrase deliberately. Good lord, that stuff was foul—I'm certain there's a market niche for an additive that makes potions more palatable.'

'There probably is,' said Hermione, 'but I can't be bothered to pursue it.'

When she finished preparing her breakfast, she sat at the table and unrolled the _Daily Prophet_. 'Harry's not on the front page,' she said with relief.

'That's only first hurdle,' said Emily. 'What about the gossip column?'

'I'll save that for last, since it's usually the most infuriating,' said Hermione, opening to the sport news. 'Oh, there's a photograph of him with Gemma, the new Cannons Seeker. Goodness, she's tiny.'

'She looks like she can hardly believe she's there,' said Emily.

'You're right,' said Hermione, examining the photo more closely. 'I can see flashes of something resembling doubt that all this is happening. But that makes sense—she's just been whisked from obscurity and is having her picture taken with Britain's most famous wizard.'

'And sex symbol,' added Emily.

Hermione ignored her and continued reading the article. 'Look at that! It says she attended East Kettleton School of Magic! Ryan said when he was promoted to starter, the _Prophet_ omitted his schooling altogether.'

'At least they didn't accuse him of truancy,' said Daniel.

Hermione nodded with satisfaction after finishing the article. 'The _Prophet_ clearly accepted the Glowpox story. And fortunately they didn't make insinuations about Harry and Gemma.'

Next she turned to the gossip column and inhaled sharply. 'There's another photo of him, this time with Lydia. And an item ... oh for heaven's sake!'

The text was short and to the point:

_Harry Potter might not have Glowpox, but he clearly has a bad case of the Travers—Lydia Travers! Last night the illicit lovebirds fogged the windows at Thistlerod, and they practically melted our photographer's camera with their white-hot alchemy. _

_When asked about Miss Travers at the Cannons training grounds on Wednesday, Potter repeatedly said, 'We're very happy right now but it's not a long-term relationship.' And yet that evening he admitted he's no Seer: 'I couldn't have predicted a lot of things, including surviving the war and falling for a Travers.' Has Cupid's Arrow struck this quickly? Or will his wandering eye soon fall upon yet another aspirant to the Light Lothario's legendary bed? _

'The Light Lothario?' said Emily. 'Is that what they're calling him now?'

'Apparently,' grumbled Hermione. 'I can't keep up.'

'Well, they certainly make a striking couple, with her so fair and Harry so dark. Dark-haired, that is.'

'Ugh, but she's completely wrong for him!'

'How do you mean?' asked Emily.

'She's like a spoilt child! I suppose it's admirable she rejected blood purity and all the rest, but she's never had to work for a single thing in her life—it's all been handed to her. Even Harry ... all she had to do was crook her finger and he came running.'

'You said she rejected Dark magic,' said Emily. 'Surely that counts for something.'

'Yes, because it's bad for her complexion,' scoffed Hermione, and Emily gave her a sceptical look. 'Well, not exactly ... the way she explained it was that her sister developed a sneer when she started practising the Dark Arts, and Lydia didn't fancy developing one as well.'

'That was very observant of her,' said Emily. 'It sounds like she has good instincts.'

'Are you deliberately provoking me? You don't seem to trust my impression of her.'

'I'm sure your impression is accurate. But there are multiple ways of interpreting the same data.'

'You mean there's a version where she's not just using Harry?'

'Her affection seems genuine,' said Emily, looking at the photo. 'Her attraction, anyway.'

Hermione recalled that her mother hadn't seen the article in _Sorceress_ magazine, and she had no desire to tell her about it. 'I'm certain she's getting plenty out of the arrangement. And I'll give her credit for showing gratitude, and for admiring him. But she acts like his qualities are a reflection of her own good taste, rather than an indication of his character.'

'You've clearly given Lydia a lot of thought. Are you certain you can be civil to her at dinner tonight?'

'Of course I can,' snapped Hermione. 'She's very engaging, and I can't deny she's trying to improve herself. But mercy, it'll be something to watch her interact with Lucinda!'

Hermione would have preferred not to think about Lydia Travers until evening, but unfortunately her Ministry colleagues were fascinated by Harry's latest love affair and kept asking for her opinion. 'Neither of them wants to marry,' she said. 'Lydia is moving out next week.'

'I'd never have thought Harry Potter would date someone from a Death Eater family. You'd think he'd know better than that,' said one colleague.

'Yes, you would think that,' said Hermione. 'But apparently long blond hair makes it all right.'

'She's awfully brazen,' said one of the secretaries disapprovingly. 'Chasing after him like that, and then flaunting their intimacy. A witch's reputation is her most precious possession, you know.'

'Her most precious possession? Really?' said Hermione. 'More precious than her intellect, or her magic? More precious than her wand?'

'Wands can be replaced,' replied the secretary. 'Virtue, on the other hand ...'

'So it would have been more virtuous for her to marry someone she didn't love and keep espousing blood purity?'

'Well, no. But she needn't have put herself on display like that.'

'What about Harry?' persisted Hermione. 'He's on the radio every week talking about his latest conquest.'

'Potter's a wizard, and he defeated You-Know-Who,' said the secretary primly. 'He's entitled to sow his wild oats before settling down.'

'That's a double standard!' said Hermione. She squared her shoulders and asked, 'What if I told you I'm in an intimate relationship with Ryan Bellamy?'

'First thing, you should keep that to yourself,' said the secretary. 'And if you're clever you'll find out what his intentions are.'

'What about my intentions? Maybe I'm the one who's toying with him.'

'That's a dangerous game,' warned the secretary. 'You're nearly twenty, after all.'

Hermione rolled her eyes and went to the Ministry library to continue her research. Octavia had tasked her with researching wizard-goblin relations overseas and building a case for revoking the more severe restrictions on goblin freedoms. But they'd have to convince the Wizengamot, which would be an uphill battle. She'd told Hermione, 'We'll have to prove it would benefit wizards as well, otherwise they'll never agree to it.'

Octavia's assignment was growing into a Masters-level research project, which suited Hermione perfectly. She was able to flex her critical thinking skills, and she'd already filled several notebooks with colour-coded citations. Time passed quickly as she worked, and only the rumbling of her stomach told her it was time for lunch.

Her quickest option was to eat in the Ministry cafeteria, but several more people asked her about Harry and Lydia while she was in line, and she knew she'd be stuck answering questions all through lunch if she stayed. So she took her food back to the library, knowing the librarian would turn a blind eye.

She decided to engage in some leisure reading over lunch and went to the card catalogue in search of books about Light magic. There were several promising-looking titles, but unfortunately none of them were on the shelves.

_This isn't a lending library_, thought Hermione, frowning. She decided to ask the librarian what had happened to them. 'Madam Flyleaf? Do you know what might have happened to these books, and when they might be available?' she asked, showing her the list.

'Let's have a look,' said the librarian. _Mysteries of Light Magic ... A Beginner's Guide to the Light Arts ... _hmm,' she muttered. 'I'll have to consult the register of interdepartmental loans.'

Madam Flyleaf pulled a large volume from the shelf behind her desk and cast a charm to find the appropriate listings. 'Aha, they were borrowed by the Department of Mysteries several years ago.'

'Several years ago!' exclaimed Hermione. 'Is that permitted, taking books from the library for so long?'

'Not normally, but the DOM has a special exemption.'

Following a hunch, Hermione asked, 'Does it say who borrowed them?'

'Yes,' began Madam Flyleaf, peering through the magnifying glass she wore on a chain. 'Oh dear. Rookwood.'

Augustus Rookwood was a Death Eater who had worked for the Department of Mysteries during the First Wizarding War, and again during the year Voldemort had controlled the Ministry. Hermione could only speculate as to why he'd wanted those books—perhaps to research ways of defeating Light wizards, or to hide the books from someone who hoped to oppose Voldemort using Light magic.

'Can we get them back?' asked Hermione. 'Surely they belong here in the library.'

'They certainly do!' said Madam Flyleaf, with the vehemence of her profession. 'I'll send a request right away—with any luck we'll have them back within a fortnight.'

'Thank you,' replied Hermione, but she couldn't hide her disappointment about needing to wait.

'Are you interested in the Light Arts?Of course you are ... perhaps this book will get you started,' said Madam Flyleaf, walking towards the stacks.

Hermione followed her eagerly, and the librarian pulled a fat tome from the shelves. '_A Survey of Magical Methods, Second Edition_,' murmured Hermione.

'Obviously it's not exclusively about the Light Arts, but it has an entire chapter about them. I'm sorry I can't offer you more, but hopefully you'll find something useful.'

'I'm certain I will,' replied Hermione, before taking the book and returning to her table.

She propped it on a stand and opened it to the appropriate chapter, which was simply called _'The Light Arts.'_ Carefully eating her lunch, she began reading:

_This arcane branch of magic is little known or practised in modern times, but the Light Arts were once considered the crowning achievement of a wizard's education. In past centuries, Light magic was taught to a witch or wizard after coming of age, after they'd gained proficiency in the foundational subjects. However, it fell out of favour due to several converging factors: (1) The difficulty of mastering even the basics of Light magic, particularly compared with the more easily apprehended Dark Arts; (2) Changing philosophical currents in the eighteenth century, coinciding with the so-called Age of Enlightenment amongst Muggle philosophers; and (3) The untimely death of more than two dozen European Light Masters in the Dragon Pox epidemic of 1793._

_Although some Light practices are commonplace, like the Patronus Charm, and the Light Arts live on in family magic—most often in the form of protection spells—contemporary adherents of Light magic are largely isolated from the larger wizarding community. The apparent reasons for this sequestration are Light magic's reputation for being hard to learn and a societal lack of appreciation for the qualities that define the Light wizard. Light wizards are often derided as weak for eschewing violent curses and other traditional battle methods, when in fact true Light magic is a far more powerful weapon than even the Darkest curses._

_At the heart of Light magic is an unorthodox and difficult-to-grasp view of the individual. Much of Western philosophy is founded on dualism: the idea that mind and matter are separate. This extends to the notion that subject and object are separate—that the perceiver is distinct from that which is perceived. Although this may sound like a mere academic detail, it has huge ramifications in human behaviour and perception. Furthermore, the person who grasps its opposite in a moment of gnosis will thenceforth be primed for Light practices._

_And what is the opposite of dualism? Mere words are insufficient to describe it. In fact, words are by their very nature distinct from the concept they represent, which imposes further duality. It is perhaps easier to describe the fruits of non-dual understanding, which include but are not restricted to a deep sense of impersonal love; a recognition that all phenomena—including the self—are mere elaborations; and ultimately a profound sense of equanimity towards all elaborations._

_How, then, does this relate to the practice of magic? This is best answered using the analogy of the Dark Arts. It is well known that Dark curses rely on more than just the caster's magical strength—they rely also on intent. This is often summarised by the instruction, 'You have to mean it,' signifying that the caster must deeply wish to inflict harm on their opponent. Recalling our earlier definition of dualism, the Dark Arts rely heavily on the notion that our opponent is in no way connected to ourselves. In Light magic, however, the caster recognises that they are only nominally separate from others, and that hatred is incompatible with that understanding. Even a nascent grasp of non-duality is sufficient to unlock the practice of Light magic, which will only serve to reinforce and strengthen the underlying realisations._

Hermione recalled the extraordinary conversation she'd had with Luna Lovegood nearly two months earlier. _'Who are you?'_ Luna had asked repeatedly. And when Hermione attempted to answer, Luna persisted with, _'And what is that?'_ Eventually Hermione had felt a small catch in her mind, a momentary blip that defied description, and she knew that all she had ever been was an elaboration. She also recalled overwhelming sensations of love, transcending mere personal attachment.

_That's when my life changed,_ she thought. The changes hadn't manifested immediately, but right from the start she felt more connected with her own body. _It's as if my head was attached to my torso for the first time_, she recalled. The next day she was desperate to fly on a broom, which led to the start of her relationship with Ryan. And it was a far more physical relationship than she'd shared with Ron. An outsider might assume that Hermione was more physical with Ryan because he was so good-looking, but Hermione knew the difference was deeper than that. She felt more alive than she'd felt before, resulting in more powerful biological urges.

She paused to chuckle. _Typical Hermione_, she thought, _over-analysing my primal urges_. But then she realised, _Oh my god, I'm experiencing Light magic too! I may not be glowing, but clearly something has changed._

She scanned through the chapter, searching for familiar experiences, and soon found one:

_While most practitioners of Light magic report a decreased motivation to engage in so-called virtuous habits such as climbing stairs to stay fit, a small minority describe the opposite. Previously over-cerebral, these practitioners became much more physical upon their initiation into the Light Arts, and even became athletic in spite of a previous aversion. Practitioners also report increased appreciation of art, music, or other forms of human creativity._

_Ha! _she thought triumphantly. _My morning Spinning class is a Light Arts practice, including the music they're playing at top volume._

But her familiar self-doubt returned. _Why don't I glow? My magic is far more powerful than Harry's, but I've never lit up once_, she thought, looking at her frustratingly non-illuminated hands. She supposed she'd have to ask the instructor on Sunday, assuming she was willing to take Hermione on as a pupil.

She'd long since finished eating and knew she ought to return to her research, but she had to finish at least skimming the chapter. The last paragraph was particularly intriguing:

_Although Light magic is of unparalleled value in battle, adherents consider this a secondary application of the practice. Ultimately they consider Light magic a highly personal journey, relying increasingly less on outside instruction and more on well-trained intuition. The apotheosis of the Dark Arts is the terrible and all-powerful Dark Lord, near-immortal and barely human, but the highest embodiment of the Light Arts is a humble but transcendently happy witch or wizard who lives only to serve others and identify opportunities for further self-improvement. We yearn for a future where the Light Arts regain their former preeminence and all society—both magical and Muggle—can benefit._

Hermione closed the book and returned it to its shelf. _Why aren't the Light Arts more popular?_ she wondered. She understood the reasons they'd fallen out of fashion, yet the benefits sounded extraordinary and well worth the effort.

_But back to goblin-wizard relations_, she thought, and she plunged back into her research for the rest of the afternoon.

After work she went straight to Ryan's flat and changed into a Muggle outfit in preparation for dinner that night. She stayed in Cambridge about half the time and he'd graciously provided space in his wardrobe and bureau. 'I can always charm them larger if I need to,' he'd said, 'but until I develop a Potter-sized appetite for wizarding robes it won't be necessary.'

She was renewing the charm on her hair when she heard him Apparate into the lounge. 'I'm in here,' she called from the bedroom, but she walked out to meet him anyway.

'There's nothing like coming home to you,' said Ryan, lifting her from the ground and into his arms.

'What's this all about?' she asked after he kissed her. 'Not that I'm complaining, of course.'

'It's because I love you and couldn't help myself. Can you un-charm your hair?'

'I just charmed it!' she replied. 'And besides, we need to leave in ten minutes for your parents' house. You'll just have to settle for nineties Hermione instead of seventies glamour model Hermione.'

He put her down on the sofa and said, 'Ten minutes isn't bad. We can listen to Pulp again and reenact our first date.'

'Did Harry start glowing again today?' she asked. 'I think it's rubbing off on you.'

'He did, but I don't need an extenuating circumstance when I'm around you.'

'Oh no! Did anyone see him? What happened?'

'It was fine,' said Ryan. 'It was after the practice match—Gemma caught the Snitch and Harry threw his arms around her and started glowing. But the sun was out, so no one would have seen it from a distance.'

'Gemma caught the Snitch already?'

'Owen instructed her to track Harry the entire time, since that's her best bet until her spotting improves. And she's probably the fastest flyer I've ever seen—she managed to catch up with Harry and grab the Snitch out from under him.'

'That sounds dramatic! What's she like?' asked Hermione.

'I've only talked to her a little so far—she eats lunch with the reserves—but she seems thrilled to have the job. Apparently she was working at a Muggle restaurant until this week.' He leaned towards Hermione and said, 'But we're wasting precious time,' and they didn't speak until it was time to leave for dinner.

They Apparated to the shed behind Ryan's parents' house and emerged into the back garden, where Walter was gathering vegetables. 'Hermione, do you like tomatoes?' he asked. 'And what about Harry and Lydia?'

'I'll never turn down a home-grown tomato, and Harry will eat anything, but I have no idea about Lydia. All I can suggest is that if you're serving grapes, you should peel them first.'

'Hermione, don't prejudice my dad like that,' scolded Ryan.

'You're right, I'm sorry.'

Walter was laughing and said, 'Lucinda has been preparing me, but I'm sure I can handle it. I had a few posh classmates at university, so I'm familiar with the type.'

They went inside the house, which was in wizarding mode. 'Are you planning to switch to Muggle mode at some point?' asked Hermione.

'Lucinda wanted to start in Muggle mode, but I suggested we ease our guest into it. She'll probably be more comfortable in a familiar setting.'

'Is that Ryan and Hermione?' called Lucinda from the kitchen. 'Would you gather some flowers for the vase on the table? I don't trust your father to do it.'

'That would be a good task for Harry,' suggested Hermione. 'And Lydia as well.'

'Good point,' said Lucinda, who had entered the dining room. 'In fact, that's a classic psychological tactic for winning over an adversary.'

'Making them gather flowers?' said Walter.

'No, you intolerable beast—asking a small favour,' replied his wife. 'Take these shears,' she told Ryan, 'and wait for them in the lounge.'

Ryan and Hermione bypassed the kitchen and walked directly to the lounge, where they waited opposite the fireplace. A minute later it flared green and Lydia stepped out, followed by Harry.

Hermione was once again struck by how pretty she was, with her long blond hair and graceful bearing. Lydia was very elegantly attired in a flowered dress, with high-heeled shoes and a matching handbag, which made Hermione feel underdressed in a blouse and jeans.

'Hermione, it's lovely to see you again,' she said, air-kissing her, and she extended her hand to Ryan in a manner that made Hermione wonder whether she expected him to kiss it. But Ryan just shook Lydia's hand and welcomed them.

'How's your Glowpox?' Hermione asked Harry, who was smartly dressed in a Muggle shirt and trousers.

'I don't have Glowpox,' he insisted, 'but I'm still having side-effects from the vaccine. I'm consulting an expert on Sunday night.'

'My mother has a task for you,' said Ryan, handing Harry the shears and leading them through the house to the back garden. Lydia seemed unimpressed by the house, but she grabbed Harry's hand when they walked outside.

'Oh, Harry, it's so beautiful! I want a garden like this one day, after I'm married.'

_At least she didn't say, 'After we're married,'_ thought Hermione. 'It takes a lot of work to maintain a garden like this,' she said dryly, anticipating Lydia's reply.

'I'd have a gardener,' she said simply, 'or one of the elves could take care of it.'

'Actually, you might enjoy gardening,' said Harry, who was gathering a bouquet. 'Some of it is unpleasant, like spreading compost and removing slugs, but it can also be very satisfying. I did a lot of gardening as a kid, you know.'

'Yes, for your horrid Muggle relations,' replied Lydia. 'I'm surprised you can even stand flowers.'

'How could I not like flowers?' he said, holding the small bouquet up to her. 'They're alive, but fragile, and so beautiful. I don't understand why everyone isn't mad about flowers.'

Lydia inhaled with visible pleasure. 'They are, now that you've started wearing them,' she said affectionately.

Hermione shot a glance at Ryan, who smiled back at her. Harry and Lydia strolled through the garden together, assembling a bouquet, and a few minutes later they walked back inside.

'Harry, those are lovely,' said Lucinda, taking the flowers from him and placing them into the vase, which was already half-filled with water. 'And you must be Lydia,' she added, extending her hand. 'I'm Lucinda Bellamy.'

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Madam Bellamy,' replied Lydia politely as she shook Lucinda's hand. 'Thank you for inviting us to dinner.'

'I consider it an educational opportunity,' she said, not indicating who she thought was being educated. 'Walter, come and meet Harry and Lydia.'

Walter emerged from the kitchen with a basket full of sliced bread, which he set on the table. 'I'm Walter Bellamy,' he said warmly.

Lydia held out her hand and said, 'I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Bellamy. I'm Lydia Travers.' Walter shook Lydia's hand, and afterwards she looked at Harry, who nodded in approval.

'It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr Bellamy,' said Harry, and Ryan's parents insisted Harry and Lydia call them by their given names. Walter also thanked Harry for ending the war, and as usual Harry praised Hermione, Ron, and everyone else who'd helped him.

Lucinda returned to the kitchen, and everyone else went to the lounge. Before sitting down, Lydia looked at the photographs, taking extra time to examine the pictures of Ryan with his Muggle grandparents. She was mostly quiet during the conversation, which Hermione grudgingly approved. _She's watching how Harry interacts with Walter_, thought Hermione.

Eventually Lucinda called them to the table, and Lydia waited for Harry to pull out her chair. _Oh for mercy's sake_, thought Hermione. _Can't you even pull out your own chair?_

'I understand Walter's the first Muggle you've met, other than shop clerks and the like,' said Lucinda.

'That's correct,' replied Lydia. 'But he seems like a fine person.'

'He's right there,' said Harry, indicating Walter. 'You needn't refer to him as if he weren't present.'

'She started it!' protested Lydia, prompting Lucinda and Walter to laugh.

'Lydia's right,' said Walter. 'Lucinda, where are your manners?'

'I haven't any. Haven't you learnt that yet?'

'Excuse me, Lucinda?' said Lydia tentatively. 'If I might ask, how did your family react when you told them you were marrying a Muggle?'

'They were horrified. My parents kept asking where they'd gone wrong. My sister cried because she was convinced my children wouldn't be magical, which meant her children—who weren't even born yet—would grow up without cousins. I pointed our that our children would be cousins regardless, and she got upset and said, "You know what I meant."

'And that was just the half-bloods,' she continued. 'The pure-bloods refused to attend the wedding, except for my great-uncle, who tried to spoil the ceremony by releasing frogs just before I walked down the aisle.'

'Are you joking?' said Hermione. 'What was he trying to accomplish?'

'There's a wizarding superstition about frogs at a wedding,' said Lydia. 'It's like seeing a Grim, only they're an omen for an unhappy marriage.'

'Exactly,' said Lucinda. 'He was hoping I'd get cold feet, but of course I didn't. We invited all the children in attendance to collect the frogs, and then we had races during the reception. The child who picked the winning frog got the first bite of wedding cake, even before Walter and I had any.' She turned and said, 'Ryan, I hope you'll have frogs at your wedding—it was splendid.'

Ryan confirmed that he would, and Lydia asked another question. 'Walter, did you want your children to be magical or Muggle?'

'I was hoping for magical children,' he said. 'In my ignorance I thought it would be fun watching the little tykes make their toys fly around. But then we had Ryan and he made the nursery look like something out of "The Exorcist." It happened once when my sister was over, and it nearly scared her to death. I had to keep her calm for half an hour until Lucinda came home and could Obliviate her.'

'Ad infinitum,' grumbled Lucinda. 'Thank heaven he was cute, or else we'd have left him at St Mungo's and never looked back.'

'These stories get worse every time I hear them,' said Ryan. 'I'm certain my parents are just exaggerating for effect.'

'No we're not,' said Lucinda. She turned to the others and said, 'He looks innocent now, but it was like having a poltergeist.'

'Why did you insist on raising him in a Muggle environment?' asked Lydia. 'Couldn't you just have moved away for ten years and then returned once your children could control themselves?'

'And raise them without their grandparents and cousins on that side?' countered Lucinda. 'Walter's parents welcomed me into the family just as my own relations were rejecting me. And when Ryan was born they loved him wholeheartedly, unlike my family who were waiting for him to prove whether he deserved their affection. I refused to repay Walter's parents by moving to America for ten years and depriving them of a grandchild they loved, to say nothing of Walter.'

Lydia was nodding slowly. 'Yes, that makes sense. You'd be punishing the wrong party.' She paused and added, 'But why marry a Muggle in the first place? I can understand having a mad love affair—I'm absolutely gaga about Harry. But I'd never marry him!'

'Why not?' asked Lucinda.

'They're too young!' blurted Hermione. 'And Harry won't propose marriage until he's at least twenty-one.'

'So live in sin,' said Lucinda. 'You can't shock the wizarding public more than you've done already.'

'I don't want to live with anyone—not even Harry. I want my own flat, which I'll have next week, and to decorate it however I choose. If I were to stay with Harry it would turn into real life and we'd start quarrelling and I'd hate it. I'd much rather have a torrid love affair and then cry for a week when it's over.'

'You might reconsider that during your week of crying,' said Lucinda, 'but it sounds like you know your own mind. As for why I married Walter, as opposed to just disappearing from his life ... I fell in love. And I knew I'd never meet a wizard with the qualities I admired most about him.'

'Such as?' prompted Lydia.

Lucinda looked fondly at her husband. 'His brilliant mind. There are brilliant wizards of course, but none of them approach a problem the way a well-educated Muggle does. When we were still dating, Walter and I borrowed his friend's car and drove to the seaside, and the car broke down on a deserted road. Obviously I didn't know the first thing about cars, and I hadn't yet revealed I was a witch, so I couldn't help. I assumed the situation was hopeless, but Walter opened the bonnet and simply used logic to diagnose the problem. And then he devised a workaround using nothing but a pair of my stockings—we were back on the road in less than an hour.'

'But a wizard could have just used his wand,' argued Lydia. 'Or you could have just Apparated and skipped the car altogether.'

'It wasn't the car,' said Lucinda. 'It was watching him as he worked out the problem and devised a solution with his own bare hands. No wizard could have done that.'

'Hermione could,' said Harry, and Ryan nodded emphatically.

'She's the exception that proves the rule,' declared Lucinda. 'And her parents are Muggles.'

'But not all Muggles are logical,' said Hermione. 'If they were, the world would be completely different.'

'For one thing, we'd have worked out that magic exists,' said Walter. 'I can't believe I never realised it before Lucinda revealed it to me—it was in plain sight the whole time.'

'How do you mean?' asked Harry.

'Once I turned off the part of my mind that dismissed or rationalised anything I couldn't explain, I started seeing evidence everywhere I looked. People in robes disappearing into solid walls, for example. Or doorways that are visible from the corner of my eye, but not straight on. I reckon I could see the Leaky Cauldron from the outside if I relaxed my conventional perceptions enough.'

'You should go to Paris and see whether you can spot _points Magi,_' suggested Harry.

'He did see one of them,' said Lucinda. 'Spotted it before I did, in fact.'

'Only for a moment,' said Walter. 'And then it disappeared again. If Lucinda hadn't confirmed it was there, I would have thought it was just a trick of the light.'

'Are you certain you're not part magical?' asked Lydia.

'He's definitely not a Squib,' replied Lucinda. 'No, there's no reason to believe he's not a Muggle through and through.'

'She's right,' said Walter. 'I once compared notes with a Squib—one of Lucinda's cousins—and she could easily see things I couldn't.'

'But aren't you jealous?' asked Lydia. 'Don't you wish you were magical too? I was taught that secrecy is important because Muggles would rather wipe out wizards than live with their own envy.'

'Yes, I'm occasionally envious of things Lucinda and Ryan can do—particularly magical transport. And I'd certainly enjoy the enhanced healing ability, and the longer lifespan. But from what I've observed, wizards aren't any happier on average than Muggles are, and I suspect magic is subject to hedonic adaptation just like anything else.'

'What's hedonic adaptation?' asked Harry.

'It's the human tendency to revert to a relatively stable level of happiness in spite of major positive or negative life changes,' explained Walter. 'For example, someone who receives a huge pay rise often experiences a short-term boost in happiness but then returns to their previous set point. It's the same with people who experience negative events, like a life-altering car accident. Admittedly this doesn't hold true for everyone, but that's the general idea.'

Lydia was frowning, 'So even though witches and wizards have the huge advantage of magic, we aren't necessarily happier than Muggles?'

'That's what I've observed,' said Walter. 'Lucinda, would you agree?'

'Absolutely.'

'I'm not sure I agree about hedonic adaptation,' said Harry. 'I'm far happier now that the war is over, or even since I quit working for the Ministry.'

Hermione said, 'Harry, there's an obvious reason you've been happier since the war ended.' She pointed discreetly to the spot on her forehead corresponding to where Harry had his scar.

'Good point. But what about since I left the Ministry?'

'Perhaps because you're on a broomstick all day?' suggested Ryan.

'But so is Andrew Gilstrap, and he's a miserable sod.'

'Is he the one you punched?' asked Lucinda.

'The very same,' said Harry. 'Lydia, what did your family think when I punched him?'

'My father said it proved you were uncouth. A proper wizard would have cursed him.'

Lucinda laughed out loud. 'I never fail to be amused by the wizarding notion that curses are less barbaric than other forms of violence.'

'But they are!' insisted Lydia. 'A curse is far more elegant than Muggle weaponry.'

'She's right about some Muggle weapons,' said Walter. 'Chemical weapons, for example, or firebombing.'

'How is firebombing worse than Fiendfyre?' argued Hermione. 'At least firebombing doesn't happen on a whim, whereas a single unhinged wizard can cast Fiendfyre,' she said, recalling Vincent Crabbe's deadly attack in the Room of Hidden Things.

'And the Cruciatus Curse,' said Ryan. 'What a hideous misuse of magic.'

Everyone was silent, and Harry said, 'We seem to have established that wizards and Muggles are equally horrible.'

'Humans are horrible,' said Lucinda. 'And brilliant. We're all humans, for heaven's sake!'

'My head is spinning,' said Lydia.

'How do you mean?' asked Harry.

'I was prepared to be polite to Walter, and not to speak to him like he's a goblin,' she began.

'You've done admirably,' said Lucinda. 'You haven't once asked him to take you to your vault.'

Lydia frowned and said, 'But I didn't expect to see him as a person.'

'And this is bad why?' asked Harry.

'Because everything I've learnt is false,' she said. 'How would you like it if all the adults in your life had lied to you, and manipulated you to perpetuate their beliefs?'

Hermione was dumbstruck. _For a carefully raised pure-blood, Lydia is remarkably unfiltered._

'I hated it,' said Harry. 'I still do.'

'I was told Muggles are vermin,' said Lydia, who was starting to cry. 'That you're subhuman. If I'd continued studying the Dark Arts, they'd have had me practice Dark curses on Muggles.'

'And you stopped,' said Harry, stroking her hair. 'You rejected the Dark Arts.'

Lydia leaned towards Harry, and he put his arm around her. 'Walter, I'm so sorry,' she sniffled. 'Wizards are horrid. My relations are horrid—they supported Voldemort. For all I know, I'm related to whoever murdered your parents.'

'Perhaps you are,' replied Walter. 'But you've chosen a different path.'

'I did,' she said. 'But I want to go home and scream at my parents!'

'I tried that,' said Lucinda. 'With my parents, that is. I told them how narrow-minded they were for rejecting Walter, and that they were no better than Grindelwald. In hindsight, that wasn't the best way to win them over.'

'So what should I do?' asked Lydia.

'Good question. I can't advise you, not knowing your parents. But there's certainly no use in burning any more bridges.'

'Love,' blurted Harry. 'The antidote is love. Snape turned from the Dark Arts because he loved my mother, even after she was dead.' He paused and said, 'In fact, maybe it worked because she was dead, and he no longer had the ulterior motive of trying to win her.'

Hermione was startled by how certain Harry sounded. _That was how he sounded during the war, when he insisted we needed to break into Gringotts, _she recalled.

'But I'm so angry at them!' insisted Lydia. 'Harry, they convinced me that you were a liar and a terrorist, and that the war was your fault. I can't recall how many times I wished you'd just hurry up and die.' She turned to Hermione. 'And they said the most awful things about you.'

'I'm sure they did,' said Hermione. 'But remember they were products of their upbringing, just like anyone else.'

'And wizards aren't trained in critical thinking,' added Lucinda. 'Lydia, you should thank your lucky stars for the instinct that turned you away from all that.'

Harry was looking at Lydia affectionately. 'My brilliant, beautiful Slytherin,' he murmured, and Hermione could see that his hands were starting to glow.

'Is that what I think it is?' said Lucinda dryly. Harry's eyes were closed but he nodded in reply. 'Why don't I wrap up some cake for you and send you home. I think Lydia could do with some exposure to pure love.'

Harry nodded again and rose from the table. He opened his eyes and gazed longingly at Lydia as she stood from her chair. Lucinda hurried into the kitchen and returned with a plate covered with aluminium foil. 'Your face is glowing as well,' she chided. 'You'll never keep it a secret at this rate.'

'I could control it if I wanted to,' replied Harry, prompting Lucinda and Walter to laugh.

Lydia took the plate and said, 'Thank you, for everything. It's been a pleasure meeting both of you. And Ryan, thanks for suggesting it.'

'Can I Apparate from here?' asked Harry, who was glowing brightly and had wrapped an arm around Lydia.

'From the back garden,' replied Lucinda. 'But be quick about it, so you don't attract attention.' She opened the sliding glass door for them, and in a moment they were outside.

'I love you,' called Harry, and with a loud _crack _they were gone.

'I really shouldn't have let them Apparate,' admitted Lucinda, 'but he clearly didn't want to be apart from her, which Floo travel would have required.' She brought the rest of the pudding to the table, and the four of them finished eating.

'What an extraordinary young woman,' said Walter.

'Were you offended by anything she said?' asked Hermione.

'Not at all. On the contrary, it was refreshing to be addressed so bluntly. Most wizards just dance around those questions, but she blurted them right out.'

Lucinda smirked and said, 'Who could have foreseen you'd appreciate bluntness?'

Hermione was still astonished by everything she'd witnessed, including Harry's accidental Light magic. 'Lucinda, I have to admit I was expecting you to tear her to shreds.'

'Am I such a monster?' she exclaimed.

'No, not at all. But I didn't anticipate Lydia would be so receptive to Walter. I assumed she'd make all the usual mistakes. and then some.'

'You mean because she has no filter?' said Lucinda. 'That's true, but she was remarkably open-minded, and she clearly wants Harry's approval. I don't think I've ever met anyone as charismatic as he is.'

'That's because you've never met yourself,' said Walter.

'You're biased,' she said fondly. 'But Harry has a tremendous opportunity to influence wizarding society, which I think he's doing.'

'By becoming a notorious womaniser?' asked Hermione, sceptical.

'That's just a phase,' said Lucinda. 'As long as he doesn't start mistreating women, or running around with someone who's married, no one will hold it against him.'

Ryan and Hermione helped clean up, and in the kitchen they noticed a letter for him. 'Mum, when did this arrive?'

'Yesterday,' replied Lucinda casually.

'Were you planning to mention it at some point?'

'It wasn't necessary,' she said. 'You found it on your own.'

Frowning, Ryan opened the letter and began reading. 'It's from Professor Hartigan,' he said brightly. 'My old Charms instructor,' he told Hermione. 'I wrote to him several weeks ago asking if he'd be willing to oversee my mastery, and he's said he would.'

'Ryan, that's wonderful!' exclaimed Hermione. 'But I didn't know you wanted to start already. Does this mean you're retiring from the Cannons?'

'Not at all. But I want to engage in independent study until then, and Professor Hartigan says he's willing to meet regularly to direct my research and provide accountability. He's proposing we talk on Sunday evening at Widgington, before the term starts. Would you like to meet him?'

'I'd love to,' said Hermione, 'but that's when Harry and I are meeting Davina Hampton to talk about Light magic.'

'I suppose we'll both have academic pursuits,' he said. 'Which makes sense, considering you're the one who inspired me.'

They finished helping Lucinda and Walter and then returned to Ryan's flat. Curled next to him on the sofa, she said, 'I enjoyed your mother's stories about falling in love with your father. And I love how they handled the frogs at their wedding.'

'Yes, that's one of my favourites,' said Ryan. 'It says so much about my parents. I decided years ago I wanted to have frogs at my own wedding, assuming the bride doesn't mind.'

'She'd have to be crazy to let a few frogs stop her from marrying you,' replied Hermione affectionately, and even though they dropped the subject she knew what they'd left unsaid.

_When we get married_, she thought with pleasure, nestling closer to the man she loved.


	60. Chapter 60

Harry had grown accustomed to waking up with Lydia, and he knew he'd miss her after she moved out. _But not the way she steals the covers_, he thought. _And how is it even possible to hog a bed this large?_

But when he looked at her that morning, her head on his pillow, he was overcome with gratitude. She'd made Grimmauld Place feel more like a home than ever, with small touches he hadn't known were lacking. His bedroom now had decorative pillows that matched the peacock feather wallpaper, and which they had to remove before they used the bed. And she'd draped an impossibly soft blanket over the back of his favourite sofa in the sitting room. She'd also gone to the _Prophet_ and politely demanded all the photographs they had of his parents, which she assembled in a large picture frame and hung over the stairs, in one of the spots formerly occupied by a decapitated house-elf.

_I'll feel her presence even after she's gone_, he thought affectionately, but he resolved not to be too broody when the time came. _She's brilliant, but she's hardly the only witch in England._

Lydia's eyes slowly opened, and her lips curled into a smile when she saw Harry looking at her. 'This is the best possible way to wake up,' she said, snuggling closer to him.

'You mean pushed right up to me, to the point where I'm liable to fall off the bed?'

'Exactly. But you make it sound like I did it maliciously.'

'Of course you did it maliciously—you're a Slytherin.'

'How can you say that?' she said indignantly. 'After I comforted you last night.'

'Did you? I can't remember.'

'Of course I did. You woke us both before dawn, kicking and moaning. You'd had a nightmare, and you told me about it, although it was hard to follow. And I held you for a long time and stroked your hair until you fell asleep again.'

'You did all that for me, and I don't remember it? I feel like such an ingrate.'

'I'm glad you don't remember. Does that mean you slept all right?'

'Yes, I feel great. And I apologise for accusing you of crowding me, though you'll notice you have all the covers.'

'Of course I do,' she said. 'They like me better. I gave them pillow companions, and now they're showing their gratitude.'

To Harry's surprise, Kreacher allowed him to cook breakfast that morning. The two elves were busy preparing hors d'oeuvres for the party, and Kreacher didn't want Kammy to out-produce him, so he permitted Master to prepare his own breakfast in exchange for a good hearty punishment on Monday. Lydia watched in fascination as Harry sliced mushrooms and tomatoes, prepared toast, and fried eggs and sausage without using his wand even once.

'What would your family think if they saw this?' he asked slyly. It had become a running joke for Harry to ask her that.

'They'd say you were no better than a Muggle and deserved to have your wand snapped.'

'Too late—my wand was already snapped,' he said, 'or broken, rather. And I snapped the Elder Wand as well.'

'My grandfather was outraged when he learnt you'd destroyed a Deathly Hallow, although my father grudgingly admitted it meant nobody would try coming after you for it. Do you still have the pieces?'

'Yes, in the Mokeskin pouch I carried during the war. I should probably donate it to the Museum of Broken Wands, to prove I really destroyed it.'

Harry felt triumphant when Lydia proclaimed him a good cook, and she promised to mention it in casual conversation as often as possible. 'I'm meeting with the interior designer again today and she's a terrible gossip, so I'll tell her about it. Is there anything else she should know?'

'That we're going to the cinema tonight with a werewolf,' replied Harry.

'What?' exclaimed Lydia. 'You never told me your tutor was a werewolf!'

'He's FLOOF-compliant, and it's perfectly safe. I promise, he won't hurt you.'

'But last night was the full moon! He might still be wolfish.'

'He'll just be tired,' said Harry. 'I saw Remus loads of times after the full moon and there's nothing to worry about.'

'All right,' said Lydia cautiously. 'But I'll want you next to me the entire time.'

He left for practice early as usual and dropped in on Mrs Thwip. 'All of the teams have sent their guest lists,' she told him.

'Brilliant,' said Harry, taking them from her. 'How's the post been this week?'

'Fewer Howlers than at the beginning of the week, but quadruple the normal amount of non-matrimonial propositions. Are you certain you don't want to review them?'

'Yes, go ahead and Vanish them. Was there any werewolf-related hate mail?'

'Some, but you received far more letters of thanks. Would you care to respond personally to any of them?'

'Only the ones from children.' He paused before asking, 'What about letters regarding abuse?'

'Three new ones,' she said, 'and twelve replies from last week.' She handed him two envelopes.

He looked over the replies and was touched by how people had appreciated the letters he'd written. But the new letters were just as heartbreaking as the previous week's had been. _This is a part of my life now_, he thought sadly, although he was grateful for the opportunity to help.

His teammates were full of excitement about the party, and none more than Gemma. She kept talking about it during their practice match that afternoon. 'I'm bringing my mate Caroline,' she gushed. 'I know I'm supposed to bring a wizard, but she's such a good friend and I knew you wouldn't mind having one more witch instead.'

'Will she be coming early to dinner?' asked Harry.

'She'd love to, but it's her sister's birthday and they're having dinner together, so she'll arrive when the party starts. But I told her to meet me next to your godfather's portrait, like you said.'

'Good, otherwise you mightn't find each other. Is she a Quidditch fan?'

'She's mad for Pride of Portree, but of course she'll start rooting for the Cannons as well. She'll be at the match on Saturday, along with my mum.'

'Do you only get two tickets?'

'Yes—two for away matches and six for home. Unless I become a Starter, but that hardly seems likely.'

'You never know,' said Harry. 'We're even for catching the Snitch in practice.'

'Practice matches maybe, but certainly not with the Launcher or a Snitch. You're a thousand times better at spotting than I am.'

Harry knew that their in-match conversations would change dramatically the following week, and he wasn't looking forward to it. _How will I taunt her?_ he asked himself, and he didn't like any of the ideas he had. She'd already revealed some insecurities, mostly relating to feeling like an outsider in wizarding society.

'I still can't believe I'll be attending your party,' she confessed. 'Between Rita Skeeter's article and what Lee and George said on the radio, it sounded fantastic. I wasn't shocked by the sex, of course—I've been to Muggle parties—but I'm sure I've never seen anything like your townhouse, let alone gone to a party there.'

'Er, I should warn you about the tapestry,' he said.

'The Black family tapestry? I heard you're not on it.'

'I wasn't, but Ryan's mum found a spell to repair it, and now I am.'

'Cool! Though I'm surprised it didn't catch fire when it had to display "Harry Potter."'

'That's the thing ... it doesn't say Potter. It says my name's Harry Black.'

'Blimey! Is that why you've hinted at changing your name?'

'Partly, but mostly to help reinvent the Blacks as a Light family. But I promised Narcissa Malfoy I'd wait until the thing with Lydia blows over.'

'Harry Black,' she repeated. 'I suppose that might sound posh to most wizards, but it sounds pretty ordinary to me.'

'I know, me too. But I don't want to give up my father's name, so I'm planning to change it to Harry Potter-Black. With a hyphen.'

Gemma laughed and said, 'Are you going to start using the title as well? With a name like Lord Potter-Black you could attend the Royal Ascot.'

'Lordships are bollocks,' said Harry. 'And yes, I know it sounds pretentious to anyone with a Muggle background, but it doesn't sound that way to wizards. And my friend Laetitia pointed out that loads of Muggles hyphenate now, and in a generation it won't sound posh anymore.'

'She's probably right,' said Gemma. 'But I'll still take the piss, you great bloody toff. Have you decided which robes you're wearing tomorrow night? I can send Caroline to a bookmaker—we'll make a killing.'

'That's against team rules,' said Harry stiffly. 'And half our teammates already asked me for inside information.'

'Believe me, I'm not going to jeopardise my job by making seedy wagers.'

'I knew you were joking,' he said. 'I'm probably going to wear dark green robes, which Lydia helped pick out last Sunday. The necktie is black, with a faint silver pattern, and a white jasmine boutonnière. And I'm perfectly aware that wartime Harry would have fallen over laughing if he'd heard me talking like this.'

'Wartime Gemma would have thought she was hallucinating,' she replied.

Harry feinted occasionally, and Gemma glued herself to him. But the Snitch hadn't appeared yet, so they kept talking.

'Why were you working at a Muggle restaurant? I understand why you did during the war, but why didn't you find a wizarding job after you finished school.'

'I tried,' she said. "But the Ministry was hopeless—as far as they were concerned I was an uneducated hedge witch.'

'Because you attended East Kettleton?' he asked, and she nodded. 'But hang on, doesn't Elizabeth work in the Floo department?'

'Yes, because her grandfather works there. You have to know someone to get a job at the Ministry, except for the Auror training programme, which I didn't have the N.E.W.T.s for.'

'Neither did I.'

'Right, but I'd say you earned your spot regardless.'

'I was actually a fairly crap Auror, or I would have been if I hadn't quit. I'm starting to realise my strengths were uniquely matched to fighting Voldemort, and not Dark wizards in general.'

'Do you think so? It sounds like you could be really dangerous, with Light magic.'

Harry sighed. 'I don't want to be a soldier my entire life, and I never want to kill anyone again. I'd rather prevent the next war instead.'

He launched into an aggressive feint with Gemma in tow, and he zig-zagged several times to keep things interesting. They disrupted the Chasers and forced a turnover before returning to a circling pattern.

'You're a seriously fun opponent, Snitchbottom,' she said. 'Is it all right if I call you that?'

'Of course, all the Cannons do.'

'Blimey, I'm a Cannon. I still can't believe it.'

'Believe it,' he said. 'But getting back to my earlier question ... I understand why you didn't work for the Ministry, but why not some other wizarding job?'

'Simple—Muggle waitressing pays better. I already had waitressing experience from the final year of the war, but now I could use magic as well.'

'You used magic as a waitress?' asked Harry, surprised.

'In little ways, yeah. For one thing I could Apparate there, which meant I could work at a posh restaurant instead of just somewhere I could get to easily from home. And I used magic to balance my trays, or to Vanish an ingredient from a dish if the kitchen ignored a special request.' Smirking, she added, 'And I may or may not have performed Cheering Charms on pain-in-the-arse customers.'

Harry laughed. 'I'm outraged that you cast charms on unwitting Muggles for personal gain! I'm going to tell Kingsley Shacklebolt as soon as this match is over.'

''You're joking, right?' she asked nervously.

'Of course I'm joking. And Kingsley would probably think it was hilarious. The Auror Department isn't worried about wizards trying to cheer up Muggles.'

Their attention was suddenly grabbed by a loud yell and a commotion, and Tuttle blew her whistle. Harry and Gemma flew to the ground but stayed back, not wanting to get in the way.

'Gary's been injured,' said Owen. 'Bludger strike.'

Healer MacAlister rushed to Gary's side and performed diagnostic charms. He was thorough, and after a minute he said, 'Three cracked ribs, and bruising. He'll miss tomorrow's match but should be fine by Monday.' The Healer immobilised Gary and levitated him to the building.

'On your brooms,' barked Tuttle, and she ordered one of the trainers to take Gary's place.

When they were back in the air, Gemma asked, 'Is that a common occurrence?'

'No. Since I joined the Cannons, the only Bludger strike has been the Snitchbottom incident. And the only substitution was when I was ejected.'

It was another half-hour before the Snitch appeared, and Harry caught it. 'I should have known yesterday was a fluke,' grumbled Gemma.

'It wasn't a fluke,' said Harry. 'It's just I'm never going to fall again for that trick you pulled.' Gemma had flown next to Harry the day before, and just as he was about to win she squawked like a parakeet, which distracted him long enough for her to grab the Snitch. 'I still can't believe that wasn't a foul,' he added.

'Neither can I,' she admitted. 'But it was either that or losing, so I figured it was worth the risk.'

After Tuttle's notes, Harry showered and went to Gringotts, where he gave Tarnog the list of guests to temporarily add to the Floo wards. Several goblins would arrive the following morning to prepare the house for the party, including delivering the charmed goblets and adding wards against harmful curses.

Lydia was still out when Harry got home, so he spent a while responding to fan mail, starting with responses to all the people in abusive situations. He was particularly cheered by the letter from Celia, the sixteen-year-old Squib:

_I'm writing from my new home, which is technically an orphanage but we refer to it as a group home. Most of the other kids are Squibs like me, although there are a few magical orphans as well. I don't have my own room but that's fine because my roommate Portia and I are already great friends—she's fifteen and ran away for the same reason I did._

_Everyone here was massively impressed that I received a long letter from you—I hope you don't mind that I showed the other Squibs what you wrote. I Spellotaped your signed photograph above my desk, and you occasionally wave to Portia's poster of Ryan Bellamy on the opposite wall._

Harry spent the better part of an hour writing letters until Lydia came home. 'I bought you a present,' she said after greeting him with a long kiss.

'Another present? Lydia, you mustn't squander your inheritance.'

'Believe me, there's plenty—and the only reason I have an inheritance is because of you.' She handed him a small wrapped parcel with a ribbon around it. 'It's stationery,' she said, before he finished unwrapping it, 'and I only bought you one box, in case you change your name.'

'Thank you, I love it,' he said sincerely. The note paper was simple and masculine, with the initials 'HJP' printed on top. It was much nicer than Uncle Vernon's stationery, which said _'From the desk of Vernon R. Dursley'_ and had a drawing of a drill.

'Look at the watermark,' she said, and he held the paper to the light.

'It's Prongs!' he exclaimed. 'Thank you, that was incredibly thoughtful.'

'I can assure you, it was entirely selfish. After I move out next week we'll be exchanging more letters, and I can't abide your old stationery.'

'I invited you to our first date by letter,' he reminded her.

'Yes, and I had second thoughts when I saw your stationery. But then I recalled your upbringing and decided not to hold it against you.'

Simon was to arrive shortly for dinner, so they both changed into Muggle clothing, and Harry insisted on wearing his flowered shirt. 'Nobody will give me a second glance,' he assured her.

'That's good,' she said, 'because you're all mine.'

They greeted Simon in the formal reception hall, with Lydia standing nervously to the back. 'Good evening, Harry,' he said, emerging from the fireplace. 'And you must be Miss Travers.'

Lydia squeaked in reply, and Harry laughed. 'You'll have to excuse Lydia—she once had a bad experience with a werewolf.'

'I understand completely, Miss Travers. I too had a bad experience with a werewolf, so I won't be offended if you're more comfortable keeping your distance.'

She nodded appreciatively and took Harry's hand, and they walked together to the dining room. Simon had deep circles under his eyes but seemed all right otherwise. 'What did you think of the records I sent over?' he asked.

'They're fantastic,' replied Harry, and then he told Simon what they'd liked best.

'Interesting,' said Simon. 'Harry, you prefer sixties and seventies rock, including glam and early new wave. And Miss Travers favours the eighties, and pop in general. I'm sorry I couldn't provide more nineties music, but a lot of it's only on cassette and compact disc.'

'That's bad news for wizards,' observed Harry. 'Particularly for those of us in houses without electricity.'

'Yes. Unless someone Confunds the Muggle public into demanding vinyl records again, wizards are going to be out of luck. Muggles certainly won't want them otherwise—not without anti-scratch charms and the like. Did you have a chance to look at any of the books?'

'Unfortunately no,' said Harry. 'But I'll have more free time after Lydia moves out next week.' Internally he added, _I hope that didn't sound like 'Sorry, I've been too busy shagging my girlfriend.'_

Lydia said, 'I've started reading _Pride and Prejudice_. There's even a character called Lydia, but unfortunately she's not the heroine. And there's a dashing soldier named Wickham who reminds me of Harry, since he was ill-treated by the people who were supposed to look after him. I hope Lizzie gets together with him, even though neither of them has any gold. Mr Darcy sounds ghastly though—he reminds me of my brother-in-law Charles.'

'You should keep reading,' said Simon, revealing no more.

Over dinner, which was steak again, Simon told them about the film they were going to see. 'It's called "Rear Window," and it was made by a British director called Alfred Hitchcock, though all the actors are American.' He told them about Hitchcock and the lead actors, and Lydia was astonished that the leading lady eventually married a European prince.

'A prince married an American actress?' she exclaimed. 'His family must have been furious.'

'I'm pretty sure they weren't,' said Simon. 'You'll understand why.'

After eating, they Apparated from Harry's back garden to an alley near the cinema. 'I can't wait to tell Esme about this,' Lydia told Harry after he bought their tickets. 'If we start talking again, that is,' she added sadly.

'I'm sure you'll start talking again. You said she'll want to attend your salon, right?'

'Eventually,' she sighed. 'But I'm afraid Charles will try to talk her out of it.'

'Then invite her over in secret. Won't she want to see your new flat?'

'She'll be terribly envious,' said Lydia wickedly. 'Charles's mother insisted they use old furniture that belonged to the Selwyns, and it's not nearly as smart as what I've ordered.'

Harry was eager to buy popcorn. 'I only went to the cinema once during my whole childhood with the Dursleys—Dudley wanted to see "Home Alone" and nobody was available to mind me. My uncle wouldn't buy me popcorn or any sweets, even though they'd bought nearly all of them for Dudley, and I nearly went mad with craving.'

'But you can't eat popcorn tonight,' said Lydia. 'You're not allowed to eat outside food before a match.'

'Blast! You're right.' He stood there frowning until he thought of a possible solution. _Kreacher! _he called wordlessly.

_Yes, Master! _replied the house-elf in his mind.

_Kreacher, I'm at a Muggle cinema, and I'd like to eat popcorn, but I can't because I've a match tomorrow. If I buy a bag of popcorn here and then go to my seat, can you replace the contents of the bag with popcorn you prepare at home?_

_Yes, Master, with pleasure! What is popcorn?_

Harry briefly considered explaining to Kreacher how to make popcorn, but he'd only seen it done once, when Hermione had cooked it in the tent. _Thanks, Kreacher ... don't worry about it. Forget I asked._

The house-elf began to wail. _Kreacher has failed Master. Kreacher doesn't know what popcorn is. Does Master want to punish Kreacher by forcing him to ask the Kammy how to make popcorn?_

_No, Kreacher. I'm certain Kammy won't know how to make it either. We can ask Hermione to teach us. And I'm very proud of you for asking about popcorn when you didn't know what it was._

_Master is proud of Kreacher! _cried the elf, causing Harry to flinch. _Kreacher is far superior to the Kammy!_

_Good night, Kreacher, _thought Harry. _You may go now. _

Harry felt the familiar _pop_ in his mind when Kreacher vanished. 'Lydia, it turns out Kreacher doesn't know how to make popcorn, so I can't have any, but you should try it.'

'Of course I won't! I'll try one of the sweets instead.' Harry pointed out some of his favourites, and Lydia promised to keep them out of reach.

Harry sat between Simon and Lydia, and he draped his arm over her shoulder. 'I'm glad you've put your arm around me,' she said, 'because the other girls are envious—see how they're looking at you? Their boyfriends are wearing t-shirts and trainers, but you're confident enough to wear flowers.'

'In fairness, their boyfriends are taller than I am and have hair that lies flat. And that bloke over there looks like he could be a model.'

'I don't care,' she replied. 'You're perfect and I wouldn't change anything about you.'

_I could get used to this kind of praise_, he thought contentedly, and the house lights dimmed. 'Now Lydia,' he whispered, 'be sure not to talk out loud during the film. If you have a question you can whisper it to me, but otherwise you should keep quiet.' She nodded gravely.

She was startled when the trailers began, and Harry squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. 'It's so big!' she whispered. 'It's like watching giants!'

'You'll get used to it.'

The film was about a photographer with a broken leg who was stuck in his apartment overlooking a courtyard, and he passed the time watching his neighbours in their apartments. There was a heat wave, so everyone left their windows open, and he even gave them nicknames. The opening shot was of all the neighbours starting their day, and it ended by showing the photographer, Jeff, with his leg in an enormous cast.

'What's on his leg?' asked Lydia.

'It's a plaster cast,' whispered Harry. 'He broke his leg, and without magic it takes weeks or even months for a broken bone to heal.' Lydia turned to Harry in disbelief, but he nodded.

When Grace Kelly's character, a socialite named Lisa, first appeared, Lydia actually gasped. 'Is she the one who married a prince?' she whispered. He nodded again, and she stared at the screen in admiration.

In the story, Jeff becomes convinced that one of his neighbours, a travelling salesman, has murdered his wife, and he and Lisa begin investigating him. Lydia punctuated the film with whispered questions, and during moments of tension or surprise she alternately leaned into Harry or grabbed his leg.

They were both agitated during the scene when Lisa enters the salesman's apartment looking for evidence. Jeff and his visiting nurse, Stella, watch helplessly from across the courtyard, unable to warn Lisa that the salesman has returned. Jeff calls the police to report an assault, and he's forced to watch the salesman grabbing her. Harry knew Lydia was scared because she was unaccustomed to watching films or television, but he was upset because it reminded him of how helpless he'd felt in Malfoy Manor when Hermione was being tortured.

After the film ended, they left the cinema together. 'What did you think?' asked Simon.

'That was brilliant,' began Harry, but Lydia interrupted him.

'I never imagined anything like that was possible,' she exclaimed. 'I knew Muggles stared at screens all day, but I never realised how engrossing it could be. I'd just been told it was because they were dim.'

'A lot of what's on screens is fairly worthless,' admitted Simon, 'but great films like "Rear Window" are absolute treasures.'

'Fancy being stuck in a cast for months, like poor Jeff,' she said. 'I don't know how Muggles can bear it.'

'Me neither,' agreed Harry. 'I probably shouldn't complain about Skele-Gro next time I need it—one night of discomfort is far better than six weeks in a cast.'

They parted company in the alley, with plans to see another film the following Friday, and Harry promised to at least look at the books Simon had sent. He Apparated Lydia back to Grimmauld Place, and they discussed their evening as they prepared for bed.

'I forgot to be frightened of Simon after a while,' she said. 'And I learnt a lot during dinner—he's awfully clever.'

With a match the next day, Harry was careful not to stay up too late. Lydia was still complaining that they hadn't yet broken their record of three times in a night, but she conceded that six times sounded tiring and that she enjoyed cuddling as well. 'At least we can dance tomorrow night,' she said. 'You never danced with that other witch, right?'

'No, never. There's no dance floor at Penumbra, and I didn't have any records then.'

'Good,' she said, snuggling closer to him. 'That means I'm special after all.'


	61. Chapter 61

Harry and Lydia slept until nearly eight o'clock on Saturday morning and ate breakfast in bed, prepared by their respective house-elves. They were still nibbling on fruit and reading the _Prophet_ when someone knocked on the bedroom door.

'Are you in there?' called Ron.

'Oh, crap!' exclaimed Harry. 'I forgot you were coming over, hang on a minute.' He turned to Lydia and said, 'Is it all right if Ron comes in?'

'Ron Weasley? Yes, but Summon my dressing gown first.'

Once Lydia was more fully covered, Harry told Ron to come in. 'I'm sorry, I completely forgot about our routine. But have a seat—do you need breakfast?'

Ron was laughing and said, 'I can't believe you forgot about our standing date. Lydia, on Saturdays Harry normally has breakfast in bed with me. Can you move over?'

Lydia, who seemed uncertain whether to believe him, looked at Harry for guidance. 'Relax, Ron's just taking the piss. Lydia, this is Ron Weasley. Ron, allow me to introduce Miss Lydia Travers.'

She extended her hand as if she were in a formal receiving line and not in bed with a man who was only wearing boxers. 'It's lovely to meet you, Ron. I've heard so much about you.'

'Likewise. Do you need a little privacy? I can wait downstairs.'

'Yeah, I should be ready in twenty minutes. Just stay out of the goblins' way—they're supposed to arrive soon to set up the wards.'

'They're already here, and they scared the hell out of me. Do you want me to start signing photographs for you? I can forge your name pretty well if I use my left hand.'

'Very funny,' said Harry. 'I actually think my penmanship's improving.'

'That's an improvement?' exclaimed Lydia, and Ron laughed and went downstairs.

Ron laughed again when Harry arrived in the sitting room fifteen minutes later. 'I wish there was some way to send Pensieve memories back in time,' he said. 'I can think of at least a dozen past occasions where I'd want to send the memory of you lounging in bed with Lydia Travers.'

'Such as?'

'Any number of times during the war. Definitely while we were dragging that bloody locket around—Voldemort's soul fragment would have exploded from the shock. And maybe during the Umbridge year, when you were such a moody bastard.'

'Sometime when Sirius could have seen it,' added Harry. 'He'd have split a side, particularly if he'd recognised his mother's old bedroom. Although then he'd have realised he was going to die soon, which might have made it less funny.'

'Nah, he'd have been glad to see you've put your life back together,' replied Ron. 'Unless he thought it meant you'd changed sides. If he saw your closet full of robes he'd definitely think that.'

'But I don't have a Dark Mark,' said Harry triumphantly.

'You're right, but I could just paste one into the memory somehow. I can ask Slughorn how he tampered with his memory of Tom Riddle. And I need to show it to Janet, to persuade her to let me spend the night before a match. Speaking of which, you'd better catch the Snitch today, or else you'll have a whole new superstition weighing you down.'

'Merlin, good point! I'd love to be able to entertain on Friday nights. And I don't see why I shouldn't—I was asleep well before midnight.'

'No six times then? I'll tell Janet about that as well, so she'll stop pressuring me. Bloody hell, Potter! You used to have a price on your head, and now magazines are paying bounties to the women you've shagged.'

'I hope that offer's been revoked, now that Vera's told her story.'

'Was that her name? You'd better hope none of the others talk to reporters, because I can't imagine you'll ever top that.'

'No, I probably won't. Honestly, if any night of my life had to get leaked, I'm glad it was that one.'

Chuckling, Ron said, 'Which means we might eventually see headlines like _"Don't believe the hype: My disappointing night with Harry Potter."'_

Harry laughed. 'They could include a photo of the broken Elder Wand. And maybe some wilted orchids.'

Ron looked around and said, 'When do the flowers arrive anyway? So far I only see the usual amount around the house. Oh, and on your breakfast tray. I can't believe what a bloody ponce you've turned into.'

'I like flowers,' said Harry indignantly. 'And so do witches ... did you take my advice and buy some for Janet?'

'Yes, and I saw a whole new side of her. She turned all girly, and for a minute it was like being with Lavender again.'

'Did she call you Won-Won?'

'Don't you dare tell her about that,' scowled Ron.

'Fine,' said Harry. 'I'd extract a similar promise in return, but I don't think I have any secrets left, other than Light magic. And the Horcrux, of course.'

'Believe me, I'll never share that last one. But the Light magic is bound to become public soon. Are you prepared?'

'Yeah, I'm actually good at Occlumency now. Better late than never, I suppose,' he said with a sigh. 'God, my life would be perfect if I just had Sirius in it. I don't really miss my parents—I can't remember them—but I think about Sirius all the time.'

'More than you used to?' asked Ron.

'Yeah, weirdly enough. It doesn't hurt the same way, so there's no reason not to think about him. And the fact that I'm fixing up the house, and probably taking his name.'

'Mate, you realise that if he were still alive, you wouldn't be doing all that. You might not even live here ... you'd just have some flat, and no house-elf to make breakfast in bed. You wouldn't be a lord either—you'd just be middle-class Harry Potter.'

'I'm not sure what you're implying, but believe me, I'd much rather have Sirius.'

'Then where would you host your orgies? Do you reckon Sirius would let you use the house anyway?'

'It wasn't deliberately an orgy!' protested Harry. 'How was I to know that everyone would bring Firewhisky and that the guest rooms were infinite, or that Helena had lined up a threesome?'

'That's true. But what's your excuse tonight? You're packing the house to capacity with a bunch of athletes.' Ron turned pale and said, 'Blimey, how am I going to keep Janet from flirting with them, just to torture me?'

'I have no idea. Can you negotiate terms for the evening?'

'Terms? What do you mean?'

'I don't know,' said Harry. 'Maybe an open relationship until midnight?'

'She'd curse my bollocks off if I suggested that!'

'Do you think so? It might make her jealous, and then she'd try harder to keep you interested.'

'Right, but she'll be surrounded by randy Quidditch players. For all I know she's had her eye on one of the other Keepers.'

'That's just it,' argued Harry. 'Half the guests will be Quidditch players, but you'll be the only Order of Merlin recipient. The only tall one, that is.'

'But she might be over that by now,' said Ron. 'We've been together more than six weeks.'

'Have you milked it lately? Dropped any comments about struggling in secret against the Darkest evil?'

Ron furrowed his brow. 'Come to think of it, not for a while. Do you reckon I should bring it up again?'

'Definitely. And do it in front of other Quidditch players—they still feel guilty about playing for Death Eaters during the final year of the war.'

'I wondered about that,' said Lydia as she entered the room. 'I attended several matches during the war, and the crowds were much smaller. Are you saying the players didn't want to be there?'

'No, they were forced by the Ministry. Owen told me they were threatened with charges of Unwizardlike Behaviour if they didn't comply, and the punishment was having their wands snapped. But most of them felt terrible about it, so Ron can definitely use that to his advantage.'

'They probably thought I was a Death Eater too,' sighed Lydia.

'They don't anymore,' said Ron. 'You probably won't take this as a compliment, but you're definitely a blood traitor now. That took some serious cheek, choosing Harry to do the honours.'

'I thought it was a stroke of genius,' she said brightly. 'If I'd run off with an ordinary wizard I would have just looked like a trollop. And the fact that he's a half-blood makes it even better.'

'My great-aunt Muriel was impressed—she told my mum it was the biggest scandal since Malvina Yaxley ran off with an Italian acrobatics troupe, right after Grindelwald's war.'

'Is your aunt a Weasley?' asked Lydia.

'No, a Prewett.'

'Oh, then we are related! My maternal grandmother was Nettie Prewett.'

'That sounds familiar,' said Ron. 'One of my grandfather's cousins married into a Dark family ... Nightwick?'

'Yes, my mother was a Nightwick.'

'Hang on,' interjected Harry. 'Does this mean you and Ginny are cousins?'

'Of course we are,' said Lydia. 'Third cousins, by the sound of it. But that shouldn't come as a surprise—nearly all Sacred Twenty-Eight families are related. Even the blood traitors.'

'It's true,' said Ron. 'Harry, I never told you this, but Draco Malfoy and I are third cousins as well, by way of Lucius.'

'I'm related to Lucius Malfoy through my father,' added Lydia. 'But not that closely. My mother told me that if I remained single for another year, Draco would probably start courting me.'

'Merlin, what a thought!' said Harry. 'And your family wouldn't have minded if you married a Marked Death Eater?'

'He has a good alibi, that his father forced him to do it,' she said. 'And he didn't go to Azkaban.'

'Yeah, thanks to Harry,' muttered Ron.

They passed the next hour in friendly conversation. Harry signed photographs and replied to fan mail as usual, and Lydia was thrilled when all the flowers arrived. 'Oh, Harry!' she exclaimed. 'These are beautiful—you really have exquisite taste! Ron, has he always been like this?'

'No, back when I met Harry he was still a bloke.'

Harry raised two fingers at him, and Lydia proclaimed, 'Harry's redefining masculinity. He wore a flowered shirt last night to the cinema, and he told me he wore makeup in Paris.'

Ron burst out laughing. 'Makeup? Are we talking cosmetic charms or actual Muggle makeup, which Auntie Muriel calls "tart armour?"'

'That's what my grandmother calls it too!' said Lydia. 'And he said it was Muggle makeup.'

'Not lipstick,' said Harry, embarrassed. 'She just used charms for that. It was mostly eye makeup.'

Ron looked at Harry appraisingly. 'Yeah, I can see that. But are you completely mental? You could have been photographed!'

'We were at a Muggle nightclub, and I wore my Invisibility Cloak until we were well outside the wizarding district.'

'Please tell me this isn't going to be the next trend you start,' said Ron. 'I'm not ready to see wizards prancing about in rouge and mascara. And don't even think of telling Janet, or else she might make me try it.'

'It was Sophie's idea and a one-time event,' replied Harry. 'I have no plans to repeat it on this side of the Channel.'

'That's a relief,' said Ron. 'But blimey!'

Lydia departed at half past ten to meet with her interior designer, with promises to hold a banner for Harry at the match. After she left, Harry said, 'So, what do you think?'

'What do I think?' asked Ron. 'I think you're a lunatic. But catch the Snitch this afternoon and I'll overlook it.'

_I was asking about Lydia_, thought Harry irritably. 'Why am I a lunatic?'

'Where do I start? You're shagging a Travers, who's moved in with you. You signed a photograph for that witch who talked to _Sorceress_—what was her name again?'

'Vera.'

'Right, you did your best Lockhart imitation when you signed that photo for Vera. You also ran around Paris wearing tart armour, and I hear you bought another dozen sets of robes.'

'That's not true, it was only ten! Oh, bugger, I bought two from Thimble as well. But nearly all of them were at cost.'

'You're a dandy, I get it,' said Ron. 'But you're also making a spectacle of yourself.'

'A spectacle of myself? Which of your parents are you quoting?'

Ron frowned. 'My mum. But she's right.'

Harry rolled his eyes and said, 'I don't care what your mum thinks. People are always going to criticise me, so I may as well do what I like.'

'But you're going to have to live with it,' said Ron. 'I do already—I get asked about you twenty times a day now.'

'And what do you tell them?'

'I tell them you defeated Voldemort and that you have a six-game winning streak. I tell them you know better than to endanger yourself, which it sounds like you do. What I don't tell them is that sometimes I hardly recognise you, and that I'm afraid to unroll the _Prophet_ every morning to see what you've done next.'

'What do you mean, you hardly recognise me?'

'You used to be more ... normal. Well, not normal, but predictable. Not so bloody outrageous all the time.'

'Yeah, and I had a job I hated,' snapped Harry. 'Oh, and before that I had a bloody Horcrux in my forehead! But at least I was predictable—you could always count on me getting at least one searing headache a day, along with a vision of Voldemort torturing someone. You could set your watch by me!'

'Harry, that's not what I meant,' began Ron.

'Wasn't it? Because that's what my life was like. I only told you and Hermione about maybe ten percent of the visions I got through my scar. The rest weren't worth reporting, because we already knew how much Voldemort liked torturing people.' Harry's heart was racing and he felt a catch in his throat. 'And I saw what he saw! I felt him enjoying it! And I still have nightmares about it, all the bloody time! Can you blame me for wanting to feel something different now?'

'Harry, I'm sorry ...'

'Sorry your sister dumped me? Sorry I was a shitty Auror? Sorry you had parents and I didn't?' Ron's face fell, and Harry said, 'Did it ever occur to you that I was jealous of you? You went home every summer to the Burrow, and I went home to the Dursleys. And then during the war, when we were living in the forest and you left ... you had somewhere to go. You didn't have a prophecy forcing you to keep at it, or Voldemort's fucking thoughts in your head. Dumbledore didn't deliberately make your life just the right amount of shitty, so you'd be functional but still willing to die.'

Ron's dismay turned into anger. 'I get it!' he barked. 'You didn't have a choice about fighting Voldemort—he wouldn't have stopped until he killed you. But I had a choice—I didn't have to fight him, and I did it anyway. I know I fucked up by running away, but at least I didn't pull a Percy and say, "Hey, I'm a pure-blood, this isn't my problem." So give me some fucking credit!'

'When have I not given you credit? Every time someone thanks me for defeating Voldemort, I tell them I couldn't have done it without you and Hermione. And I mean it! Honestly, I feel sick about everyone who died fighting him. If I'd just caught onto the fact that I was a Horcrux a few hours earlier, Fred and Remus and Tonks would still be alive. And Lavender, and Colin ...'

Harry was crying, which had the effect of calming Ron's anger. 'You did the best you could,' said Ron.

'Why didn't Dumbledore tell me?' choked Harry. 'I could have offered my life sooner. I'd have done it.'

'We didn't have all the Horcruxes,' said Ron. 'And only you knew where to find them.'

'Even a few hours earlier,' continued Harry. 'A few hours earlier and Teddy would have parents. George would have Fred ...'

'But that's not how it happened,' said Ron, and Harry looked up at him.

'That's what Tuttle says,' he replied dully.

'Tuttle your coach?'

Harry nodded. 'She asked me why I punched Gilstrap, and I told her what he'd said about his father being tortured. It was complete bollocks, of course, but I didn't know that at the time. When he said it, I immediately blamed myself for waiting so long before robbing Gringotts, which was why I snapped when he brought up the Dursleys. I asked Tuttle how I should handle it in the future, and she said I should tell myself, _"That's not how it happened."'_

'She's not wrong,' said Ron. 'That's what Hermione used to tell me, when I blamed myself for running away. After the war ended, that is.'

'If Hermione said it, it must be true.' He sighed and added, 'Sorry for losing my temper like that.'

'I'm sorry for repeating that sanctimonious rubbish from my mum,' said Ron. 'Shag whoever you like. Get all the robes you want—Merlin knows you can afford them. And go ahead and wear tart armour if that's what gets you off.'

'I'm experiencing accidental Light magic—everything gets me off.'

'You need to teach me that,' said Ron. 'I'd be a hell of an Auror if I could snap the wand of every Dark wizard who comes after me.'

Harry looked at his pocket watch. 'I should head to practice in a few minutes. Thanks again for coming over, and sorry about reenacting our fifth year at Hogwarts.'

'Blimey, you're right. I'm surprised you didn't mention Umbridge.'

Harry arrived at the Cannons practice facility and the trainers led them through their pre-match routine. His teammates all told him how much they were looking forward to the party, and Darren said, 'Fair warning, Snitchbottom—I'm bringing Romilda tonight, and she wants you to autograph her copy of _Sorceress_.'

'You should sign it, _"Yours in sweet exhaustion,"'_ suggested Ryan.

Harry rolled his eyes and said, 'More like, _"You're the reason I hired charmed goblets."'_

'Yeah, she told me about that,' admitted Darren.

'Please tell me she doesn't still use Love Potions,' said Harry.

'No, that was the only time. She said she didn't need them once she developed breasts.'

'Nature's Love Potion,' mused Janet.

Harry ate lunch with Owen and Gemma, and Owen told her what to expect during the match. 'You might feel superfluous sitting there in the skybenches, but you need to be ready to spring into action.'

'I know that, but I'm hoping Harry will wait for a home match before getting ejected again, since I'll have more friends in the stands.'

'Our next home match is against Ballycastle, and I don't see myself punching Kieran Sheppard,' said Harry. 'So you'll have to hope for a Bludger strike instead.'

'Don't even joke about that,' said Owen.

'I said Bludger, not Bludgers. And just a minor injury, like Gary's.'

Their conversation turned to the party, and Owen said, 'Joanne can't make it tonight—she's been feeling under the weather.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' said Harry. 'Do you want to bring someone else?'

'May I? I'm certain Fiona would enjoy it, and Joanne can watch Matthew for her. That's her little boy.'

'Of course, I'll add her to the wards. And this time I'll try not to get pissed and make awkward advances.'

'Don't worry, she thought it was hilarious,' said Owen.

'Yes, that's exactly how I like my romantic efforts to be described.'

'It's better than "fumbling,"' said Owen. 'Or "pathetic." Or maybe "creepy."'

Gemma shook her head in amazement. 'I still can't believe the way you all slag Harry.'

'They have to,' said Harry. 'Otherwise I'd be unprepared for rival Seekers. You should have heard them the week before we played the Magpies—they were downright vicious.'

'I expect it'll be easier when it's my turn,' she said. 'I don't care if they call me a Mudblood, and otherwise they probably don't know anything about me.'

'They'll taunt you about Harry,' warned Owen. 'They'll say that you'll spend your whole career as a reserve, since you and Harry are the same age and he's a far bigger draw. Or possibly make insinuations about the two of you.'

'About me and Harry?'

'Yeah. Something like, _"The only reason you were hired was because Potter likes chasing witches."'_

'Bollocks! Witches chase Potter,' she retorted.

Owen laughed and said, 'You'll do fine. Just don't take anything they say seriously, and strike back harder.'

'I have two brothers and I've worked in restaurants,' said Gemma. 'I'm sure I can keep up.'

They travelled by Floo to Tutshill Stadium, and Renée led Gemma to the women's lockers. Harry changed quickly so he wouldn't miss Gemma's first appearance in her Cannons robes.

Gemma was smiling bashfully when she emerged from the locker room, and everyone cheered. 'It's official,' said Lyle. 'You're as blinding as the rest of us.'

'You look fantastic,' declared Janet. 'They definitely suit you.'

'No wonder you're mad for robes,' said Gemma to Harry, looking down at her new uniform. 'These are a vast improvement over my school robes.'

The referee entered and began checking the players for illegal charms and enhancements. 'Gemma, you're about to witness a newly-established Cannons tradition,' said Suresh. 'Show us the ring, Lord Snitchbottom.'

'Lordships are bollocks,' grumbled Harry as he cancelled the charm hiding the Black family ring.

'Oh my god!' gasped Gemma. 'That thing is monstrous!'

'Yes it is,' said Harry resignedly. 'And it's attached to me until the day I die.'

'You could always renounce House Black and make Draco Malfoy wear it instead,' said Owen, who was dressed in his new coach robes.

'It's tempting when you put it that way,' replied Harry. 'But no.'

Lyle was taking Gary's place as starting Beater, and Harry and the others wished him luck. 'It's not the easiest way to make a debut,' said Owen privately to Harry and Gemma. 'The Tornados Beaters are among the best in the league, and he'll be paired with Suresh instead of Titus. I agree with Tuttle's decision to keep Suresh in, but it's going to be a tough match.'

'Do you have any specific advice?' asked Harry.

'Set a strong intention to avoid Bludgers, same as always.'

Owen and Gemma walked out to the skybenches along with the other reserves, and soon the starters were announced. Harry flew out to loud cheers, and he joined his teammates and waited for the Tornados to come out.

He saw that the banners were evenly split between Cannons orange and Tornados blue, and he noticed several new themes among the signs directed at him. _'Werewolves love Potter!' _proclaimed one sign, bedecked with hearts and wolf silhouettes. Another sign depicted Harry alternating between baldness and his usual untidy hair, with the legend. _'Thank you, Hairy Potter!'_

There was an unprecedented number of banners propositioning Harry, undoubtedly because of the _Sorceress_ article. One was held by six young women, all wearing fitted t-shirts with Harry's lightning bolt emblem, and it said, _'Harry, there are six of us and we're willing to share.'_ He momentarily pictured the scenario and had to set an extremely strong intention not to become distracted. And there were other banners depicting Harry and his broomstick in all sorts of alarmingly creative ways.

But there were negative banners as well. _'Mothers Against Harry Potter,'_ proclaimed one banner, and another said, _'Harry Potter is a bad influence.'_ One actually called upon him to marry Lydia, which baffled him. _Why should I marry Lydia instead of one of the other witches I've seduced?_ He supposed it had to do with her prior state of virginity. _Bloody Anglo-Saxons_, he thought. _I'm certain French Quidditch players don't have to deal with this kind of puritanical rubbish._

His heart swelled, however, when he saw the banner Lydia was holding. It had no text but only a gorgeous depiction of Prongs, glowing silver on a field of midnight blue. He pranced about, and closer inspection revealed a garland of bright orange nasturtiums around his neck. Harry flew close to Lydia before the balls were released and blew a kiss in her direction, which caused loud squeals from that section of the stands.

_I love having a girlfriend who's willing to be seen with me_, he mused, and he felt a surge of anticipation for the party that night. _We'll dance for hours_, he thought, and he made a mental note to buy 'Purple Rain' on compact disc, in case Ryan didn't have it.

The match began, and Harry expanded into broad awareness. _May the Snitch appear to me. May I avoid Bludgers. May I feint unerringly. And no glowing, full stop._

Carl Wainwright left him alone, which Harry knew was part of a larger strategy. Carl was a first-rate spotter, so he didn't need to track Harry, but this also gave the Tornados Beaters free access. Harry had to dodge far more than the usual amount of Bludgers, to the point where he was getting distracted. He finally decided to approach Wainwright himself.

'Hiya Wainwright,' said Harry. 'Are you ready to become the sixth Seeker I defeat?'

'Sixth? Aren't you forgetting someone?'

'I didn't catch the Snitch against Gilstrap.'

'Yes, of course,' said Wainwright. 'But you certainly defeated him.'

'I'm not proud of it. I don't like violence.'

'That's ironic, considering what you're best known for.'

'What am I best known for?' asked Harry. 'There are so many items to choose from.'

'Is this a fugue state?' said Wainwright. 'Or just your usual egomania?'

'Just the usual so far. But seriously, what am I best known for?'

'I suppose now you're famous for being famous, and also for being unbelievably full of yourself. But I was referring to how you killed You-Know-Who. Which makes your distaste for violence a bit laughable.'

'I suppose you're right. I should have let someone else fight the war, and played Quidditch instead.'

'We had no choice,' argued Wainwright.

'I know!' said Harry with mock sympathy. 'They might have snapped your wand! I can't imagine how difficult it would be to go about your day-to-day life with a borrowed wand. Fortunately, all I had to do with a borrowed wand was defeat Voldemort.'

'Are you sure this isn't a fugue state?' asked Wainwright.

'No, I'm just channelling one of my dead fathers—the arrogant one. I'm starting to look forward to matches, just for the opportunity to talk without a filter.'

'I didn't realise you normally had a filter. I've heard you on the radio, after all. And I must say, your public life is an absolute gift to the rest of us Seekers. There's so much new material every week.'

'Yes, I suppose that's why they've all beaten me to the Snitch,' replied Harry. 'Oh, wait, I think I have that backwards.'

Wainwright started to reply, but Harry's eyes locked onto a distant target and he shot across the air. It was a relatively non-combative feint, traversing a lone Chaser, but he approached the ground at high speed before levelling off at the last moment.

'What was that supposed to be?' asked Wainwright afterwards.

'A palate cleanser,' replied Harry. 'And the crowd loved it.'

'You're just desperate for attention.'

'No, I'm just exceptionally good at giving people what they want. At least that's what I've been told.'

'So I hear. But really, three witches in a single week?' said Wainwright. 'I'm all for promiscuity, but that sounds pathological. Just how fucked up are you?'

'I don't know. Why don't you tell me?'

'I couldn't even guess. But massively, I'm sure.'

Harry had heard far worse taunts than this. 'Don't you have any original material? Gilstrap covered this weeks ago,' he said, before flying off.

He circled alone for the next half hour, dodging Bludgers and maintaining strong awareness, but there was no sign of the Snitch. The Cannons Chasers had taken a significant lead, but not nearly enough to render the Snitch irrelevant. Eventually Wainwright found him again.

'I can't resist the opportunity to spend time with you, Potter. Just the two of us.'

'Yes, loads of witches feel the same way,' said Harry, gesturing towards the stands.

'Right ... can you point out the one who wants to meet me?'

'She's sitting next to Lydia,' replied Harry, and he pointed out the Prongs banner. 'With the black hair.'

The two Seekers flew close to the stands, prompting loud cheers. 'Not bad at all,' said Wainwright. 'Is it too late to bring her to your party?'

'I can add her to the wards if you like,' said Harry. 'What's one more guest?'

'Was she one of the people who fucked you up?'

'Hardly. We weren't a couple very long.'

'I suppose not. And of course there are so many others who played a role in turning you into Britain's preeminent headcase. Voldemort, for example.'

'Yes, that's the obvious choice,' agreed Harry. 'He killed my parents, after all.'

'But there's also Albus Dumbledore,' said Wainwright. 'It sounds like he manipulated the hell out of you.'

'He really did. Rita Skeeter was dead on about that.'

'And then there's Sirius Black. Losing him must have been awful.'

'It was,' said Harry sincerely. 'Just this morning I was telling Ron I miss Sirius more than my parents.'

'I can see why,' said Wainwright. 'You never really knew your parents, but you had a couple of years with your godfather. And now you're surrounded by reminders of him, everywhere you look. That can't be easy.'

Harry was unfazed by Wainwright's cruel taunts, which lacked the malevolent tone Gilstrap had mastered. Nevertheless, he shot into another feint—a classic Potter Kamikaze manoeuvre, skimming the Tornados Chasers and coming perilously close to a Bludger. Wainwright had to dodge wildly to avoid it, and he temporarily lost control of his broom and spun out. But he found his balance and rejoined Harry.

'That's another thing you're famous for,' said Wainwright. 'Feinting like you're not afraid to die.'

'I'm not,' said Harry, and he felt himself expand farther into awareness. _Don't start glowing_, he told himself.

'That makes sense,' said Wainwright. 'It must be a fringe benefit of how damaged you are.'

'I suspect you're right. Do you have any other potential culprits on your list?'

'How about Ginny Weasley? You were an upstanding young Auror until she ditched you. But then you entered your current, very entertaining tailspin.'

'Actually, you were the one who just entered a tailspin. I didn't lose control of my broom.'

'Good point. You're an impressive flyer, I'll give you that. But I think I'm on to something with Ginny Weasley. She clearly damaged the hell out of you.'

'I'm surprised you haven't mentioned my Muggle relations.' said Harry. 'Aren't they the obvious choice?'

'Perhaps, but most of the other Seekers and I agreed not to mention them. And really, there's no need with all the other options.'

'Yes, I'm curious who else you've come up with.'

'How about Helena Strauss?' said Wainwright. 'From what I can tell, you didn't become a raging shagaholic until she dumped you. Does that sound accurate, or were you simply more discreet until then?'

'No, you're right. I think she was the turning point,' said Harry. 'Wainwright, can I trust you to keep a secret?'

'Of course. Seeker's honour.'

'Helena's the one who extracted the vow from me not to propose marriage until I'm twenty-one.'

'You mean that was genuine?' exclaimed Wainwright. 'I thought it was just a brilliant fabrication.'

'No, I almost never lie—only in matters of life or death. And to preserve secrecy, of course.'

'Why did she make you promise that?'

'For the reasons I said, that I fall in love too easily and need to grow up first.'

'Are you in love with your Death Eater?'

'She's not a Death Eater, and no.'

Harry saw the perfect opportunity to feint—Lyle and Suresh were each poised to take control of a Bludger, and if Harry could time it perfectly, his feint would distract the Tornados Chasers and allow Renée to score. He zoomed towards them, elongating his body to pick up more speed, which his broomstick ably delivered. One of the opposing Beaters, however, streaked into Harry's path, forcing him to alter course, and _wham!_

_What just cracked?_ thought Harry absently as his broomstick spiralled downwards. He momentarily panicked, thinking his wand had snapped, but then his descent slowed and he was lying on the ground.

'Ow!' he groaned, suddenly aware of the sharp pain in his hip. 'Is my wand broken?'

'Don't move,' said Healer MacAlister, who had rushed to his side.

In a daze, Harry heard the stadium announcer say, 'The Cannons team Healer is on the scene, and we'll know in a moment whether Potter is injured. Special thanks to the Tutshill volunteer safety squad, who were ready with their Hovering Charms.'

The Healer performed diagnostic charms over Harry, who was still fretting about his wand. Tuttle said, 'That was your broom that snapped. Your wand's probably fine.' He exhaled in relief but felt a strong throb of pain.

'Broken pelvis,' said MacAlister quietly. 'Unstable fracture, no internal bleeding. You'll be fine by Monday.'

Harry saw Tuttle nod and mount her broomstick, flying out of view. His attention was divided by the pain in his hip, MacAlister's immobilising charms, and the announcer's voice. 'Potter's out of the match with a minor injury. Forty-five seconds left on the injury clock before gameplay resumes.'

_Gemma!_ thought Harry desperately, and his attempt to sit up was thwarted by his inability to move.

The announcer continued, 'This has to be one of the highest-pressure debuts in recent memory. In just moments we'll see reserve Seeker Gemma Rees, who joined the Cannons only four days ago.'

Harry couldn't even crane his head to watch, and less than a minute later he was being levitated through a corridor towards what he assumed was the infirmary. He felt himself land on a cushioned table and MacAlister pulled a phial and a familiar-looking bottle from his bag.

'Not Skele-Gro,' moaned Harry.

'I know it's awful, but you'll be right as rain by morning,' said the Healer. 'But here's a pain reliever first.'

'Just the pain reliever,' rasped Harry, and it was poured into his mouth. He felt himself relax as it took effect, and his mind became pleasantly foggy. _People are running down the corridor_, he thought calmly, and two female voices spoke at once.

'Is he all right?' asked Hermione breathlessly.

'Harry!' exclaimed Lydia, rushing to his side. 'Oh my god, you're hurt, what's happened?'

'He has a broken pelvis,' said MacAlister. 'A bit of an ugly break, but a night of Skele-Gro will set him right.'

'No,' he insisted. 'Not tonight.' Harry looked at Lydia tenderly and said, 'We were supposed to dance together.'

She kissed his forehead. 'We can dance some other time,' she said. 'I'm just glad you're all right.' Her long hair tickled him, and he was grateful she was there.

'Hold my hand,' he murmured. 'And stroke my hair.' She pulled a stool to the table and sat down.

While Lydia soothed him, Hermione asked, 'Healer, is there any other treatment? Harry's hosting a party tonight for the entire league, and he'll be miserable if he's on Skele-Gro the whole time.'

'I can keep the area immobilised, but we'll need to administer Skele-Gro no later than midday tomorrow.'

'Hermione, our meeting,' said Harry. 'Tomorrow night—I can't miss it.' He'd waited more than a week to meet the Light magic expert, and he didn't want to postpone it. _She mightn't even be willing to postpone it_, he thought sadly.

'He's right,' said Hermione. 'Tomorrow's no good either.' She looked around the room in case a Tornados staff member was listening and whispered, 'He's meeting the Light Arts teacher.'

The Healer nodded. 'The problem is it's a complicated fracture, and I can't just heal it with a charm. The only other solution is to heal it the slow way.'

'Not like Muggles?' exclaimed Lydia. 'Not with a cast!'

'No, of course not,' said MacAlister, chuckling. 'I was referring to the way I'd treat someone when Skele-Gro is contraindicated, like during pregnancy. It'll take a few days longer, and you can't bear weight on it for forty-eight hours, but you'll be on a broom again by Wednesday.'

'Will he be in pain?' asked Hermione.

'Nothing a potion can't handle. He's on something stronger right now, but that'll wear off by six o'clock.'

'What do you mean, I can't bear weight on it?'

'You'll need a wheelchair. And I'll immobilise the region so you can't displace it accidentally.'

To Harry's surprise, Hermione started to snigger. 'What's so funny?' he asked.

'I'm sorry,' she said, unsuccessfully stifling a smirk. 'It's just that a broken pelvis seems ... rather appropriate. I'm not sure how you'll survive four days of immobilisation.'

'When can he use his pelvis again?' asked Lydia. 'Is everything off-limits until Wednesday? Or just flying?'

'Everything,' said MacAlister firmly. 'Harry, assuming everything's healing all right, you can start using a cane on Monday. On Tuesday you can dispense with the cane and come to practice—we'll keep you in the weight room. And then on Wednesday you can resume ... normal activities,' he added with a slight cough.

'Will I come to the training grounds on Monday, for you to examine me?'

'No, I'll make a house call. You can't use magical transport until Tuesday.'

'What? How will I get home?'

'You live in London, right?' asked MacAlister, and all three of them nodded. 'Your choices are a Muggle taxicab or the Knight Bus.'

'How far is it to London?' Harry asked Hermione.

'We're on the far side of Bristol,' she said. 'About three hours.'

'It has to be the Knight Bus,' he said resignedly. 'Will I be all right? It's not exactly smooth.'

'You'll need to secure the wheelchair, to keep it from rolling about,' said MacAlister. 'I can help you if you like, but we'll have to wait until the match is over.'

'The match!' exclaimed Harry. 'Can I go watch?'

'I need to treat you first, but yes.'

MacAlister put the Skele-Gro away and pulled several other potions from his bag. 'Hermione,' said Harry, 'you should go back into the stands and watch Ryan.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, of course. And you can tell our friends I'll be fine.'

She sniggered again and said, 'May I tell them which bone you broke?'

Harry sighed. 'Yes, go ahead. I haven't any secrets.'

Lydia, who was still seated next to him, slid out of the way to give the Healer access. 'I'm so sorry,' said Harry mournfully. 'I've ruined our party for you.'

'No you haven't. I'll just stay with you indoors, and we'll greet people.'

'That's what I did during my last party,' he frowned. 'Until I got drunk and chatty.'

'No alcohol,' said MacAlister. 'Not until Tuesday.'

'That's fine. But Lydia, you needn't glue yourself to me all night. You should dance.' He smiled and added, 'Maybe I can come watch.'

'Across the courtyard, with a long camera lens?'

Harry couldn't reply, since MacAlister had given him a potion to drink. 'Just a few more charms, and then you can return to the stands. There's even a lift that can take you to the skybenches.' He performed the remaining charms and took a very small wheelchair out of his bag and placed it on the floor. An enlargement charm turned it into a full-sized and amusingly old-fashioned wheelchair, made mostly from wood and wicker, and the Healer levitated Harry into it. 'It has charms for hovering and propulsion,' said MacAlister, showing Harry the rune-etched control pad.

'Propulsion? Can't I push it myself?'

'Not until this time tomorrow. I don't want you bearing down on the injury.'

Harry realised he'd forgotten to ask an important question. 'What about using the toilet? Or bathing, or changing clothes—I can't keep wearing my Cannons robes until Tuesday.'

'Of course not,' said MacAlister. 'Miss Travers, would you be willing to assist him? A simple Hovering Charm would be enough to lift him upright ...'

'I have a house-elf,' blurted Harry. 'Lydia doesn't need to help.'

'That's perfect. Your elf can swap your clothing magically and handle your personal care. But you'll want to rest this afternoon, before your party. One of the healing potions I gave you has a stimulant effect, and you'll probably crash in about an hour.'

MacAlister led them to the lift, and the three of them emerged a minute later near the skybenches. When Harry came into view, the nearby fans started cheering—regardless of whether they wore Cannons or Tornados jerseys—and the announcer said, 'And let's give a warm welcome to Harry Potter, who just returned to the stands.'

The stadium erupted with applause, and Harry waved appreciatively, but he was mainly interested in the match. 'Owen, what's happening?' he asked when he joined his teammates. 'How's Gemma doing?'

Owen lowered his Omnioculars and said, 'She looks good. Very determined, and she's more or less adhered herself to Wainwright. But how are you?'

'I'll be fine. I'll be flying again by Wednesday.'

'Did you really break your pelvis,' asked Gary, 'or was Tuttle having us on?'

'I really broke my pelvis,' said Harry, and some of the nearby fans started laughing.

'Potter,' cried a fan whose face was painted orange. 'How will you survive until Wednesday without a working pelvis?'

'Charms for the single wizard,' suggested Titus, and the whole section laughed.

Harry pulled out his wand and said, 'I will curse anyone who mentions Lydia right now,' which caused her to blush. Lowering his voice, he said, 'I loved the banner you were holding. Do you still have it?'

'Yes,' she said, pointing to her handbag. 'I'm glad you liked it—I had it made on Thursday, at a shop in Manchester.'

'It was perfect,' he murmured, leaning in to kiss her. At first they ignored the whistles and hoots from Harry's teammates and the nearby fans, but there was suddenly a loud cry and they pulled apart to watch the match.

'Wainwright's spotted it,' said Owen, and Harry could see that Gemma was only a broom's length behind her rival. Harry followed Wainwright's trajectory and saw the Snitch roughly fifty yards ahead.

'She'll catch up,' said Harry. 'She's faster than he is.' He focussed single-pointedly on the Snitch and watched as two robed arms reached for it. If he hadn't been partly immobilised he would have leapt from his chair when Gemma's small hand closed around it.

'Rees catches the Snitch, in her league debut! Cannons win, 310-60.'

Harry and his teammates cheered wildly, as did half the stadium. 'Take a victory lap!' he shouted, even though Gemma couldn't hear him. After the entire team flew around the stadium, Janet prompted Gemma to take a solo lap, and Harry cheered as loudly as he could.

Owen and the other players flew down to the pitch, and Healer MacAlister, Harry, and Lydia made their way back to the lift. There was a large crowd of Tornados fans waiting to use it—the Cannons fans were still in the stadium celebrating—but they insisted Harry go first. When reached the ground level, MacAlister showed him how to hover the chair down the steps leading to the pitch, and they were soon with the other Cannons.

'You broke your pelvis?' exclaimed Janet. 'That's priceless. Pure Snitchbottom, through and through. How long are you in that contraption?'

'A few days. It was either this or Skele-Gro, and I don't want to miss the party.'

'You must be Lydia,' said Janet. 'I'm sorry Harry's out of commission for the next few days, but the good news is there will be heaps of able-bodied athletes at the party tonight, and Harry has no end of guest rooms. Or perhaps you could all just pile into one bed, assuming you don't jostle him too much.'

Lydia was speechless, and Harry said, 'Janet is Ron's girlfriend, by the way. In case that explains anything.'

'It does, yes,' stammered Lydia, extending her hand.

Harry would have enjoyed witnessing the ongoing exchange between Janet and Lydia, but Gemma ran up to him and said, 'Harry, oh my god ... are you all right?'

'I'll be fine. But congratulations—you were brilliant! That was unbelievable, catching the Snitch on your first outing.'

'Thanks, but you did the same, against the Falcons.'

'The Cannons didn't have a match my first week, so I had five extra days of practice.'

'Really? Wow!' She looked like she was torn between modesty and pride.

'How was Wainwright ... was he hard on you?'

'He was a fucking arsehole! I can't believe you invited him to your party!'

Harry laughed and said, 'Don't take any of it seriously—he's actually a solid bloke. He said horrible things to me too.'

'Really, like what?'

'He called me wizarding Britain's preeminent headcase and enumerated all the people who made me that way, starting with Voldemort and ending with my girlfriend Helena. He was just starting on Lydia when I did that last feint. He also described my sex life as pathological and harped on my godfather's untimely death.'

Gemma was aghast, but Harry waved Wainwright over. 'Potter! Are you going to be all right?'

'Yeah, I'll be fine in a few days. And how are you? Will you recover from being beaten by someone who's only had three days of league training?'

Wainwright extended his hand to Gemma, who cautiously shook it. 'Congratulations, Rees. You obviously have a great career ahead of you.'

'You said this would probably be my only match, and that I'd be dimly remembered as Harry Potter's backup for half a season before getting sacked and having to work in a restaurant again!'

'Wow, you really are an arsehole,' laughed Harry.

'Oh, there's more,' said Gemma. 'He made fun of my height and said that in fifty years I'll be one of those tiny crones with cat hair all over my robes.'

'Where did you even come up with that?' asked Harry.

'I was describing my grandmum. I'm pretty sure I got my height from her, since the rest of the family is tall.'

Reporters and photographers started flooding the pitch, and Harry posed with Gemma and Wainwright, and later with Lydia. There was an impromptu press conference about his injury, which Healer MacAlister described in extremely technical terms. 'Potter has a posterior iliac crescent fracture with associated sacroiliac joint disruption. Due to the instability of the injured area, he'll require a wheelchair for several days, but I anticipate a full recovery, and there's no reason he can't play next Saturday.'

'I'm sorry, what was that again?' asked a reporter, looking at his notes. 'Posterior iliac crescent fracture with ... what?'

MacAlister repeated the diagnosis, and there was general confusion until a witch said, 'Hang on ... did Potter break his pelvis?'

'In layman's terms, yes.'

Everyone started laughing, and a reporter asked, 'How long will Potter need to ... refrain from activity in the region?'

'That's a private matter,' replied MacAlister, 'but I can assure you he'll be good as new by Wednesday.'

'Will this affect your party tonight for the Quidditch league?' asked another reporter.

'It means I won't be able to dance, which I was looking forward to. But I'm sure I'll have a good time regardless.'

Lydia was asked several highly inappropriate questions, and Harry feared she'd be upset, but her response was perfect. 'Those are private questions and I won't dignify them with an answer,' she said icily. 'I'm sorry you were never taught not to address a stranger that way, but I'm confident you'll remember from now on.'

A middle-aged witch with wild grey hair actually applauded. 'Miss Travers, are you aware that on Thursday, the hosts of the Witches Who Think radio programme praised your courage in boldly rejecting societal expectations? Gwendolin Larkspur called you an "uncommonly brave young woman," and an inspiration to anyone questioning their assigned roles, whether it be early marriage or practice of the Dark Arts.'

Lydia's eyes widened, and she shook her head. 'No, I hadn't heard that. Thank you for telling me,' she said politely.

'I'm glad people are recognising Lydia's tremendous strength of character,' said Harry. 'In the last week I've introduced her to friends from widely varying backgrounds, including a Muggle and a werewolf, and she's been admirably open-minded. She's deeply committed to overcoming her own prejudices, and frankly I could learn a thing or two from her in that regard.'

'Are you saying you're prejudiced against Muggles and werewolves?' asked a reporter.

'I was referring specifically to my prejudice against people from Dark families. Or, to use a Hogwarts term, my prejudice against Slytherins. Attitudes like that helped cause the last war, and I'm determined to prevent the next one.'

Every hand went up, and the reporters began shouting follow-up questions at Harry, but he waved them silent. 'I'm took a pain draught less than an hour ago, so I probably shouldn't say any more, but I feel strongly about this and I'm sure I'll have more to say about it in the future. In the meantime, I'd like to go home and rest before my party this evening.'

The reporters dispersed, and invited guests were allowed on the pitch. Gemma approached Harry and said, 'Harry, this is my mum, Rose Thompson. Mum, this is Harry Potter.'

Gemma's mum looked like an older and considerably more tired version of her daughter. 'It's an honour to meet you,' said Rose warmly. 'Gemma told me your story when she first learnt about you, years ago, and obviously I've heard a lot more since then. I'm certain everyone thanks you for ending the war and making England safe for people like Gemma, and I'll do the same. But I want to thank you in particular for making her feel so welcome this week.'

Harry was touched. 'It's been my pleasure—Gemma's terrific and I'm enjoying working with her. I can't say I'm enjoying this injury, but I'm happy you got to see her play already—and win!'

'You scared me to pieces, falling from the air like that! I hope that never happens to Gemma, but it's a relief knowing there's such good medical care.'

Cho Chang found Harry next. 'Thanks again for inviting me,' she said, 'though it was horrible watching you get hit by a Bludger. It might have been worth it if the Tornados had won, but that Gemma Rees surprised everyone!'

They chatted a bit, and Harry said, 'I remember you wanted to meet Carl Wainwright ... are you still interested?'

Cho blushed slightly. 'I was working up the nerve to talk to him,' she admitted. 'Do you mind?'

'Of course not.' He called Wainwright over, and after introducing them he leaned over to Lydia and said, 'Can we go now? I'm really tired.'

She found Healer MacAlister, who had collected Harry's things from the locker room, and he led them to the outside of the stadium. There was a drive out front with a few cars waiting, and Harry suspected they were charmed vehicles like Arthur Weasley's old Ford Anglia, based on the number of people climbing into them. MacAlister held out his wand hand to summon the Knight Bus, and Harry did his best to look friendly but not actually interact with people as he waited for it to arrive.

_I realise I'm not operating at full strength_, he thought, _but doesn't the Knight Bus usually arrive more quickly than this? _

'Lydia, you might want to go ahead,' he said after they'd waited a while. 'You can Apparate to the back garden, and I'll ask Kreacher to let you in.'

'No, I'll stay with you,' she insisted. 'I've never seen the Knight Bus before and I want to have new experiences.'

'It's not a very good experience,' said Harry. 'If it's the same driver as last time, he has poor eyesight and drives really fast. I also can't vouch for its cleanliness.'

'I'm wearing blue jeans and a Cannons jersey,' she said dismissively. 'Kammy can just wash them afterwards.'

Harry took her hand and smiled. 'You really are brilliant, you know.'

Suddenly there was an ear-splitting _bang, _and the enormous purple triple-decker was parked before them. 'You know the rules,' came a familiar voice from inside the bus. 'We only come to the stadium once after a Quidditch match, fifteen minutes after the Snitch gets caught. An' that was more than 'alf an hour ago.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry, 'I didn't know the rules.'

'Blimey! It's 'Arry Potter!' cried Stan Shunpike. 'Look Ern, do you see 'im?'

The ancient wizard leaned towards Harry and squinted through thick glasses. 'Whaddya know,' said Ernie. 'What brings you here?'

'Er, I played Quidditch this afternoon,' said Harry, who was still wearing his Cannons robes.

'He was injured,' explained MacAlister, 'and he can't Apparate home, or travel by Floo.'

'Well, load him up,' said Ernie, and Harry hovered the wheelchair as the Healer had taught him. After Harry paid for his and Lydia's tickets, MacAlister used charms to prevent the wheelchair from rolling around and showed Lydia how to release it when they arrived.

'Is this your Death Eater?' asked Stan, indicating Lydia. 'Are you the Death Eater 'oo ran off with 'Arry Potter?'

'She's not a Death Eater,' said Harry wearily.

'I come from a Dark family,' said Lydia, 'but I've rejected all that.'

'I was a Death Eater for a while,' said Stan, helping Lydia to her seat. 'Not on purpose, mind you. They Imperiused me.'

Before Lydia was even settled, the bus lurched into motion. 'Sweet Circe!' she exclaimed.

'I warned you,' said Harry. 'How long to London?' he asked Stan.

'Not long, maybe 'alf an hour.'

Harry turned green, and Lydia suddenly looked at Stan with an expression Harry recognised but had never seen her wear with anyone else. 'Couldn't we go to London first?' she asked, pouting. 'Harry's had a hard day already, and he needs his rest.'

She batted her eyelashes and Stan stared at her in open admiration. 'Er ...' he began, but no other words followed.

Lydia slowly pulled a lock of long blond hair behind one ear. 'I'm certain it wouldn't be any trouble. And we all owe Harry so much for ending the war.'

'Ern!' said Stan dazedly, never taking his eyes off Lydia. 'Can we stop in London first?'

Ernie turned to look at Stan, without slowing down. 'We just come from London,' he replied. 'It'd be a waste of magic to go right back. And what about the other passengers?'

Harry and Lydia turned and saw that a sizeable minority of the passengers were wearing bright orange, and in an instant Lydia's demeanour changed from seductive to maternal. 'You won't mind?' she asked the other passengers sweetly. 'It's just he's injured, and he'll be much more comfortable at home.'

Harry wanted to protest, but he was distracted by opposing urges to sleep and throw up. 'I'm sorry,' he rasped. 'I hate to jump the queue like this, but I was hit by a Bludger this afternoon.' The bus lurched again, and Harry unintentionally reinforced his point by covering his mouth and swallowing the fluids that had attempted to come up.

'Please, take him home,' said one of the passengers not wearing Cannons orange, and others chimed their agreement. Ernie had been looking back at them the entire time, and he nodded and finally faced forward again.

'Next stop, London,' he said, rotating the steering wheel.

'Thanks,' groaned Harry. 'I appreciate it.' He weakly turned toward the other passengers and tried to smile.

'Don't even try, love,' said a motherly-looking witch. 'You just need to lie down.'

'Cheers,' he said, closing his eyes, and two lurches later the bus stopped.

Lydia ably Disillusioned herself and Harry, and she pressed a rune to conceal the wheelchair. 'Harry, can you hover your way down?'

He nodded, and she had to repeat herself before he realised she couldn't see him. 'Yeah, I can do it.' He propelled the wheelchair forwards and hovered it gently to the pavement. _Mischief managed_, he thought groggily, forgetting he wasn't actually inside the house yet.

'You should probably ask Kreacher to help you inside,' said Lydia.

_Kreacher,_ thought Harry dully. _Can you hear me?_

_Yes, Master! Is Master all right?_

_I had a minor injury, and I'm in a wheelchair for a couple of days. Could you help me inside? I'm with Lydia at the bottom of the front steps, and we're both Disillusioned. But you mustn't Apparate me—I need to be Hovered._

_Master is injured? This is the happiest day of Kreacher's life!_

The door opened, and Harry felt the wheelchair rise beneath him. He floated into the entrance hall, and moments later Lydia ended the Disillusionment Charm. Harry dimly noticed that Padfoot was in a weary heap, with a plastic cone around his neck and head.

'Master!' cried Kreacher. 'How may Kreacher assist Master in his hour of need? O joyous day!'

'Take me upstairs,' mumbled Harry. 'To the toilet, and then to bed.'

'With pleasure!'

Kreacher floated Harry smoothly to his bedroom and into the loo, where he made himself invisible while tending to Harry's personal care. Harry appreciated Kreacher's attempt at discretion, but his jubilant, tuneless humming ruined the effect. To make matters worse, the elf improvised lyrics.

'_Master is broken, la la la!'_ sang Kreacher in an undertone. _'No one can help but Kreacher! The Kammy can't help. Master's witch can't help. Only Kreacher! Only Kreacher! La la la!'_

Harry was too knackered to comment, and soon he was lying in his blessedly comfortable bed, with the curtains closed. 'Please wake me at six,' he told Kreacher. 'And thank you.'

_This is not how I envisioned my day_, thought Harry as he drifted to sleep. _But Merlin, it's still better than I ever expected my life would turn out,_ and his faint glow filled the darkness like starlight.


	62. Chapter 62

_Author's note:_

_Since late March I've been publishing three chapters a week instead of two, but I'm afraid I need to go back to my original pace. I'm not writing as quickly as I was during the Before Times, and if I keep burning through my stockpile I'll eventually have to publish even less frequently._

_Sorry to disappoint anyone! I'll list some recommendations at the end of the chapter._

-––—––—––-

'Master?' said Kreacher tentatively. 'It's time to wake up.'

'What time is it?' mumbled Harry, confused.

'Six o'clock.'

Harry's eyes shot open in alarm, and he tried and failed to sit up. _Why didn't that work?_ he thought. _And where's Lydia?_

'I was injured,' he declared, as the memories returned. 'And it's six in the evening, not morning.'

'Yes, Master!' chirruped Kreacher. 'It's time for Kreacher to wash Master!'

_Bloody hell_, thought Harry, torn between gratitude and mortification. 'Yes, thank you.'

Harry had never had reason to doubt his own hygiene, but Kreacher's thoroughness with a long-handled brush made him wonder just how many spots he routinely missed. He was pink and slightly raw when the elf was done with him, but there was no question he was clean.

Kreacher also insisted on shaving him, even though Harry could have done it himself. 'Kreacher was valet to Masters Orion, Arcturus, and Sirius,' he declared proudly, next to a floating bowl of hot lather.

'Sirius let you shave him?' said Harry in disbelief.

'Not Master Sirius Orion, who was cruel and broke Mistress's heart. Master Sirius Apollo, son of Phineas Nigellus.'

For roughly the millionth time, Harry wished Sirius had treated Kreacher better. _Why had he been so hostile?_ Harry wondered. He couldn't even blame Azkaban, because apparently Sirius and Kreacher had always hated each other.

'I'm sorry Sirius Orion was unkind to you, Kreacher. He was like a father to me, and he's the reason I'm Head of House.'

'Yes, cruel Master Sirius gave Kreacher a fine young master who entertains frequently.'

_Not until Wednesday,_ thought Harry with dismay as Kreacher fruitlessly combed his hair. Harry ran his hand over his face to assess Kreacher's handiwork. _This is a hell of a good shave,_ he thought. _I always miss a couple of spots, even with the enchanted razor. _

Kreacher hovered him to the wardrobe, and within moments Harry was fully clothed in his new, dark green robes and seated comfortably in his wheelchair. 'Where's Lydia?' he asked, as he slid the jasmine boutonnière into his lapel.

'The Kammy furnished Master Regulus's room for Master's witch,' said Kreacher disapprovingly. 'Kreacher will take Master there.'

Harry frowned. _There's no reason for her to move out while I'm injured_, he thought, as he knocked on the door to Regulus's old room.

'Harry, is that you?' called Lydia. 'Come in.'

Kreacher opened the door and rolled Harry into the room, which looked nothing like what Harry remembered. Gone were the Slytherin banners, and in their place was the light botanical print that sometimes decorated Harry's bedroom. The bed curtains, formerly heavy green velvet, were pale pink and airy, and sunlight filled the room even though Harry knew it was grey outside. Lydia was seated at a dressing table, in front of a mirror framed with delicate silver vines, and Kammy was putting the finishing touches on Lydia's perfectly tousled up-do.

'Don't tell me you're staying in here tonight,' said Harry, indicating the bed.

'No, of course not,' replied Lydia. 'I just needed somewhere to prepare for the party, and you were asleep.'

'So you had Kammy redecorate?'

'Only temporarily. The furniture is from my new flat, and she borrowed a few items from my bedroom at my parents' house.'

'Including the sunlight?'

'That's family magic. I'd show you how to do it, but only Nightwick daughters are permitted.'

'It suits you,' he said affectionately, propelling the wheelchair towards her. 'And you look beautiful.'

'Thanks,' she said, examining her reflection. 'I'm inclined to agree. I used to think something was missing from my overall appearance, but now that I'm ruined I no longer feel that way.'

Harry knew what she was describing but he didn't think she'd appreciate hearing it called _'a thoroughly-shagged look.'_ The messy up-do helped—he normally liked her hair down, but this was enchanting.

'I'm going to need charms for the single wizard if you're going to look like that tonight,' he said with admiration.

'It's only until Wednesday—I'm certain you'll survive. And it'll be the perfect way to inaugurate my new flat.' She dismissed Kammy and asked Harry to fasten her necklace.

'It took me a while to realise I didn't want a husband right away,' she said as he fumbled with the clasp.

'Oh? What brings this up?'

'You fastening my necklace. I knew I wanted the feel of a wizard's hands on me, but I had no interest in going to Dunnings with him every Sunday until the end of time, or ingratiating myself to his mother and grandmother, or getting excited about his silly career at the Ministry. I wanted to make my own decisions, and not be forbidden from inviting someone over that my husband didn't approve of.' She turned from the mirror and looked directly at Harry. 'I didn't want to flatter his ego and listen to him whinge about how wizarding Britain is going to the dogs because blood purity is no longer the fashion. But your ego never needs flattering.'

He laughed. 'That's probably because it needs deflating.'

'I'm no help, then, because I think you're brilliant. And those robes are perfect on you—I love the frogged closures, although I'm afraid you'll start a trend, which will ruin it. Too much frogging looks like brains ... yours is just right though.'

'That was too dandyish even for me,' said Harry. 'I assume you're referring to these loops?'

'Yes. I shan't marry you, but at least I've done my wifely duty by rounding out your wardrobe.'

Sighing, Harry said, 'Ron's mum says I'm making a spectacle of myself with my clothing, among other things.'

'She's just bitter you're not marrying her daughter. Wasn't she counting on it for years?'

'Yeah, probably,' replied Harry. 'But it's irritating just the same.'

'You're photographed all the time, and you still don't have as many robes as Charles does. And he had to pay full price.'

'I'm relieved to know I'm not the biggest spendthrift in wizarding Britain.'

'Not even close,' she assured him. 'Remind me to tell you about one of my Nightwick uncles, who squandered his inheritance on a stable full of what he thought were Abraxans.'

'What were they actually?'

'Glamoured mules. He had to Confund Muggles into buying them, and he still didn't make back anything near what he'd paid.'

Harry looked at his pocket watch. 'We should go downstairs—my friends will be here soon.'

Lydia walked and Harry hovered downstairs, and they looked inside the dining room. The table was mostly covered with hors-d'oeuvres, but there were eight place-settings at the end for dinner. 'I told them to come into the reception hall instead of the kitchen, to stay out of the elves' way until the guests arrive.'

'I can't believe you let your friends Floo into the kitchen. That fireplace should only be for deliveries.'

'It's a habit left over from the war—the Order used to meet around the table, so that's where everyone entered. The formal reception hall still had a lot of Dark magic so we avoided it,' explained Harry as they entered the room in question.

'It's lovely now,' she said, looking around.

'No, it's missing one thing,' said Harry. 'Detach wallpaper,' he announced, and the edges of the old wallpaper peeled away from the wall.

Lydia rolled her eyes. 'Are you trying to depress everyone when they arrive?'

'Of course not, look at all the flowers. But I love how gloomy it is—it reminds me of when Sirius lived here.'

'You miss him terribly, don't you?'

Harry nodded. 'More and more. I don't know what's causing it.' He sat with his emotions for a moment, and a wave of Light magic suddenly rolled through him. 'Oh, Lydia ... I wish you could have met him. He'd have adored you. Not at first—mind you. He would have been horrified I'd taken up with a Travers, and he'd have done everything he could to shock you, in an attempt to prove you were just another small-minded pure-blood. But then he'd see your spirit and your independence, and he'd have fallen at your feet, just as I've done.'

His glow was filling the room, and Lydia asked, 'Is it all right if your friends see you like this?'

'It's fine. Hermione, Ryan, and Gemma already know, and I trust Neville and Hannah completely. And Luna either won't notice or will start glowing herself.'

While they were waiting, he added Cho Chang and Fiona to the Floo wards, and he was still glowing when his friends arrived. Hermione and Ryan were first, and Ryan was carrying a box of compact discs. 'Blast!' exclaimed Harry, 'I meant to buy "Purple Rain."'

'I have it,' said Ryan. 'And Madonna too. But no Marvin Gaye ... I don't think we need to help the orgy along. And clearly you're ready, except for the broken pelvis of course.'

'I see no reason not to glow right now,' replied Harry. 'I'll tone it down later, if it doesn't end on its own.'

Gemma was next to arrive, and she immediately took in her surroundings. 'I don't know what Lara was on about—this room isn't gloomy at all,' she said, looking around in fascination. 'Obviously the wallpaper is peeling, but the chandelier gives off plenty of light ... oh, bugger me! That's Harry.'

'Surprise!' he said, still radiating light. 'I don't get to drink or dance tonight, but this is every bit as good, if not better.' He closed his eyes and the room got a little brighter.

'It's a good thing you're young and well-dressed,' said Gemma, 'or else you'd look like a dirty old man when you do that.'

Harry laughed and said, 'That's another reason to get this under control sooner than later.'

Luna stepped out of the fireplace and looked appraisingly at Harry. 'I suspected as much—I'm surprised it took so long. But then again you were never very quick to master a new charm or practice. You took forever with Occlumency.'

Neville and Hannah arrived moments later and were surprised to see Harry glowing. 'Are you still having trouble with the Glowpox vaccine?' asked Hannah. Hermione explained what was happening.

'You should talk to my Gran,' said Neville. 'She's interested in Light magic.'

'Really?' exclaimed Hermione. 'I was under the impression that very few people practise it.'

'That's true,' said Neville, 'but she studied it after my parents, er, landed in St Mungo's, to see if it might help. It didn't, though, and she has a lot of books gathering dust.'

Gemma and Lydia were lost, and with Neville's permission Harry explained. 'Neville's parents were Aurors, and at the end of the First Wizarding War they were tortured to insanity by the Lestranges. They're still at St Mungo's and they don't recognise him.' Gemma gasped, and Lydia looked like she was going to cry. 'Neville's essentially an orphan like me, only he was raised by his grandmother.'

'My paternal grandmother was a Lestrange,' said Lydia sadly.

'And Bellatrix was a Black,' replied Harry, still glowing. 'There's no pretending we aren't connected to people who do terrible things—all we can do is cultivate love and try to do better.'

Ryan turned to Neville and Hannah and said, 'Hermione should have mentioned that Harry is obsessed with love whenever he's like this. And he might get a bit handsy with Lydia, or anyone within reach.'

'Lydia's the only one I've kissed,' protested Harry, who was stroking Lydia's hand affectionately. 'And Sophie, when I was in Paris. Otherwise I've just hugged people.'

'Er, did this have anything to do with your night of sweet exhaustion?' asked Hannah, giggling.

'A bit,' said Harry. 'But Merlin, she was demanding!'

They made their way to the dining room, and everyone raved about the vast array of starters before sitting down. At Harry's request Kreacher sent up pizza, which was received enthusiastically, even by Lydia. 'I had pizza for the first time on Tuesday, and normally I wouldn't approve of serving the same meal twice in a short interval, but for some reason pizza is different.'

'I feel the same way,' said Neville. 'I never tried pizza until Harry and Hermione introduced it to me, and now I feel like I need to make up for lost time.'

'Have the Hogwarts elves got the hang of making it?' asked Hermione.

'Yes, and they've agreed to tell me in advance when it's on the menu, so I can plan accordingly.'

'I thought Minerva wasn't going to let them serve it regularly until the students demanded it,' said Harry. 'To avoid parents complaining that it wasn't traditional.'

'She wasn't,' replied Neville, 'but all the professors started demanding it.'

Harry was happy to see Gemma getting on with Hermione. 'You're an inspiration to all Muggle-borns,' said Gemma. 'The way you've infiltrated wizarding society.'

'Thanks, but I'm realising how much it was because the Department of Mysteries sent me to Hogwarts rather than to another school, which means I'm still benefitting from unearned privilege.'

'You earned ten N.E.W.T.s,' said Ryan. 'And you helped defeat Voldemort. Nobody can accuse you of coasting on privilege.'

'It's official?' asked Harry. 'You got ten N.E.W.T.s?'

She nodded, and Gemma exclaimed, 'Blimey! I only got six, and three of them were just Acceptable.'

'Hermione's were all Outstanding,' bragged Ryan.

'Percy Weasley got twelve,' protested Hermione.

'That's because you dropped Divination and Muggle Studies for being a waste of time,' said Hannah.

'They were. And Muggle Studies was completely outdated—the textbook included instructions for churning butter and using a buggy whip.'

'I wondered about that!' said Lydia. 'I knew Muggles didn't use horses for travel anymore, but I couldn't figure out what they were supposed to whip on an automobile. I asked my father, and he said it was for whipping the driver, but that sounded unsafe.'

'You took Muggle Studies?' said Hermione with plain disbelief.

'Yes, all the Traverses take it, to identify opportunities to exploit Muggles.'

'And has that worked?' asked Ryan. 'Has your father found a way to magically corner the buggy whip market?'

'No, but my great-great-grandfather doubled the family fortune by selling charmed corsets.'

Hermione blanched. 'They didn't ... asphyxiate people, did they?'

'Of course not,' said Lydia. 'Where would be the profit in that? No, they shaved a couple of inches off women's waistlines, more than a non-magical corset could. They were called "Aphrodite's Miracle Corset" and they were hugely popular in Britain and North America, until corsets fell out of fashion.'

'Did they make bras next?' asked Hannah, giggling.

'Yes, my great-grandfather saw the writing on the wall as far as corsets were concerned, so he shifted to brassieres. He made another fortune that way, which is why I can live independently.'

'Why aren't more wizards insanely wealthy?' asked Gemma. 'It seems like there are so many ways to profit off Muggles.'

'Secrecy,' said Lydia. 'Most wizards who try selling charmed objects get caught, but my families like mine know who to bribe. That's why jobs with the Ministry are kept in the hands of old families; even if the pay isn't good, there's always money in corruption.'

'This explains why the Weasleys were so poor,' observed Hermione. 'I always assumed it was because they had so many kids, but I'm certain Arthur would never take a bribe. Neville, were you aware of all this corruption?'

'Yes, my Uncle Algie complains about it all the time. That's why he left the Ministry and started cultivating magical plants instead.'

Harry didn't talk much during dinner, choosing instead to enjoy his Light magic until he had to stifle it later. He leaned back in his chair and observed the conversation between Lydia and Luna.

'Are you in love with Harry?' asked Luna, in her usual airy voice.

'No, but I'm mad about him,' replied Lydia.

'What's the difference?'

'If I were in love I'd want to marry him, and spend our whole lives together. But I don't want that. Partly because I'm eighteen and don't want to marry anyone, but also because I don't want to be in anyone's shadow, and with Harry I would be.'

Harry's heart sank. _She doesn't want to be in my shadow?_ he thought sadly. He didn't want to marry her either, but it hurt to be rejected for something that might prove to be a problem for other witches as well. _Is that why Helena broke up with me? Was she also afraid to be in my shadow?_

Harry knew that he was still glowing, and Light magic was coursing through his body, but he felt something bordering on grief. _What about Ginny?_ he thought. He'd loved how powerful and independent Ginny was, but perhaps that was why she'd decided she didn't need him. _Am I cursed to fall in love with women who don't need me?_ he wondered.

Luna's next question recaptured his attention. 'Lydia, have you developed Light magic yet?'

'Of course not. Why would I have?'

'I've heard it can be contagious,' said Luna. 'And you look as if you might have caught it already.'

'You make it sound like a disease,' said Hermione.

'No, not at all. But look at how Harry is turned towards Lydia. I can see his heart connected to hers. His is much brighter of course—it's like the sun. But Lydia's is like a newly-kindled fire, and it's getting stronger.'

'That's beautiful,' said Lydia, with an expression that made Harry forget his grief and fill with love again. She asked Luna, 'How do I help it grow?'

'Continue what you're doing, I think. Stay close to Harry for now, but also keep expressing your independence—I'm certain you'll love your new flat. And practice kindness. You weren't allowed to until recently.'

'No,' replied Lydia. 'I was taught obedience and manners, but not kindness. Kindness makes you weak.'

'Do you think Harry and Hermione are weak?'

'No, Harry's brilliant. You're right, he's like the sun. I don't know Hermione very well, but she seems remarkable too. No one who's met her could think Muggle-borns are inferior.'

'You've only just met Neville, but he's probably the kindest one here,' said Luna. 'His light isn't bright the way Harry's is, but it's unbelievably warm.'

Hannah, bursting with pride, said, 'You should have seen him during the final year of the war. We were at Hogwarts, which was completely run by Death Eaters—except for Snape, but he was pretending to be one. Neville led the student resistance, even though it meant being cursed and tortured. For months I don't think I saw him without some kind of bruise or injury—Madam Pomfrey had to treat him in secret.' She started to cry, and said, 'He took the Cruciatus Curse to protect others. Here he'd lost his parents to it, but he did it repeatedly, and without hesitation.'

Neville put his hand on hers and shook his head. 'It wasn't like that. It's not like I was tortured every day. Mostly it was minor curses, and I didn't bother with potions for stuff like that, which is why I always had bruises. And I wasn't the only person protecting younger students—the entire D.A. was.'

Hermione quickly explained to Lydia and Gemma what the D.A. was, and Hannah said, 'But you're the main reason there was a D.A.—you and Ginny and Luna. With Harry and Hermione gone, there was nobody to run it.'

Lydia sighed heavily. 'You all fought the Dark Lord,' she said, looking around the table. 'I attended Quidditch matches and wished Harry would just die already.'

'And I waited tables,' said Gemma. 'I didn't help anyone.'

'You stayed alive,' said Hermione. 'You stayed safe. And Lydia ... you rejected the Dark Arts.'

'Yes, but I could have been a spy or something. Like Vanessa's brother—he worked for the Muggle-Born Registration Commission but secretly helped people.'

Harry, who was still glowing, said, 'What you did was perfect. It wasn't time yet for you to rebel. You'd have been killed most likely, and you definitely wouldn't have had any gold. The way it's turned out is completely perfect. And Gemma, you just needed to survive. You didn't have a wand, or connections ... you needed to save up for your Firebolt Ultra so you could nail your Quidditch trials and catch the Snitch today. It's all perfect.'

Kreacher had cleared their end of the table, and he and Kammy started covering it with sweets and pastries for the party. 'We should probably get out of their way,' said Hermione. 'When do the guests arrive?'

Harry looked at his pocket watch and said, 'In a quarter hour. We staggered the times on the invitations, to prevent four hundred people from arriving at once, and half the guests have been directed to the kitchen fireplace. The goblins enhanced the fireplaces temporarily for high throughput, like at the Leaky Cauldron.'

Ryan excused himself to set up the stereo, and Hermione asked, 'Harry, where are you going to greet guests this time?'

They'd drifted into the entrance hall and Harry said, 'Here would be nice, in view of Padfoot, but the library is more practical.' Padfoot no longer had a cone around his neck and was instead seated at an outdoor restaurant with a well-groomed cocker spaniel, and they were sharing a plate of spaghetti and meatballs.

'Not the drawing room?' asked Hermione.

'No, I don't want to answer questions about the tapestry all night.'

'I still need to see it!' said Gemma. 'Is it upstairs?'

'Yes, next to the library,' replied Harry, and they all proceeded there.

Neville and Hannah expressed surprise over Harry's name on the tapestry. 'Harry James Black?' asked Hannah. 'Does this mean you're changing your name?'

'I promised Narcissa Malfoy I'd put it off for a while, but yeah. Harry Potter-Black.'

'That explains it,' said Luna.

'Explains what?' asked Hermione.

'In the painting on my ceiling, Harry's necktie changed colour,' replied Luna, as if that would make everything clear. Everyone looked blankly at her, and she added, 'It used to have red and gold stripes, for Gryffindor, but now it has black stripes as well.'

Harry was astonished. 'When did that happen? Was it two months ago, when I first got the family ring?'

'No, just last Sunday.'

'When I met with Narcissa Malfoy? Why would that make my necktie change colour, as opposed to when I got the ring or fixed the tapestry?'

'I don't know,' replied Luna evenly.

They went to the library, where the bookcases were sealed and hidden from view, and the record player was set up. Harry chose a spot with good traffic flow, and several other chairs were placed around him. 'You mustn't stay next to me all night,' he told Lydia. 'Everyone loved dancing at the last party, and I don't want you to miss it.'

'You have to dance with us,' said Hannah. 'Neville and I spent hours dancing last time, and since then he's learnt charms for twirling me. I'm certain he'll enjoy having someone else to toss about when I need a break.'

They all looked at Neville, who said, 'I'd be glad to, if Harry doesn't mind.'

'Why should I have any say in the matter?' asked Harry. 'That's Lydia's decision, not mine.'

Lydia leaned over and kissed Harry. 'You absolute sweetheart! I simply adore you for saying that. And yes, Hannah, I will dance with you and Neville. And once I've perfected being twirled about I'll insist Harry come up and watch.'

The guests were due to arrive, so Hermione, Hannah, and Neville went to the roof, Gemma went downstairs to wait near Padfoot, and Luna disappeared, as was her wont. 'I should probably stop glowing now,' said Harry.

'Kiss me once more,' demanded Lydia, and he did. 'I can't tell you how happy you made me just now, when you said it was my decision whether I danced with Neville, and not yours. That's the opposite of how Charles treats Esme.'

'I don't own you,' said Harry. 'And you don't own me. We're just ... borrowing each other for a while.'

'Can we keep borrowing each other?' she asked softly. 'After I move out? I don't mind if you see other witches.'

Harry hadn't known what to expect after Lydia moved to her own flat, but he never anticipated she'd be so liberal. 'I'd love that,' he said. 'And it goes without saying that you should see other wizards too, if you like. But not tonight ... that might be a bit challenging in my own house.'

'Of course I wouldn't. I can wait until Wednesday, for heaven's sake.'

'You make me so happy,' he said sincerely. 'I've loved having you at the house this week. And I'm glad we're throwing this party together, even if I can't dance with you. I'll take you to a Muggle nightclub sometime—you'll love it.'

They kissed once more, but the sound of voices and footsteps downstairs interrupted them. 'You need to stop glowing now,' she told him.

'If you insist,' he said, and he strongly willed the Light magic to subside. 'Am I normal again?' he asked, raising his hands.

'You've never been normal,' she replied affectionately.

'No,' he sighed. 'I suppose not.'

Guests started streaming into the room, and a queue of people formed. Other than the Seekers, they were all strangers to Harry, and the conversations generally followed the same lines. 'My pleasure, I'm glad you could make it ... I'll be fine by Wednesday ... I love playing Quidditch, and leaving the Ministry was the best decision I've ever made ... No, I really hadn't considered it until I saw that article ... Gemma's an amazing flyer, so I wasn't surprised.'

Some of the guests asked questions that were overly intrusive, which Harry was accustomed to after years of being a public figure. 'Lydia's moving out this week, but we'll keep seeing each other for a while ... No, I'm not in touch with her family ... I know what the tapestry says, but my name's definitely Potter ... Don't worry, Lydia and I have interests that don't depend on my pelvis ... I'm sorry, that's classified.'

During a lull, Lydia said, 'I can't believe some of those questions, from people you've never met!'

'Welcome to my life. At least no one asked me about the immortal warlocks who raised me.'

Carl Wainwright and Cho Chang stopped by to visit. 'We've been dancing this whole time,' said Cho. 'I wanted to thank you for letting me come at the last minute.'

'It's the least I can do, for old times' sake. By the way, I hope you didn't mind how I described our relationship on the radio the week before last.'

'Don't you mean our "failed mess of a non-relationship?"'

'Do you have a better description?'

She thought for a moment and shook her head. 'No, I'd say you summarised it accurately. But I forgive you—you had a lot going on back then.'

_And you wouldn't stop talking about Cedric_, thought Harry irritably. 'It's true,' he said. 'Looking back I'm amazed Ginny and I even got off the ground.'

'She's here, you know. I saw her on the roof.'

Harry felt slightly hurt that Ginny hadn't stopped by. _Maybe she's waiting for the crowds to clear, _he thought.

During the next brief lull, Harry encouraged Lydia to go upstairs and dance. 'You've kept me company for hours, and I don't want you to miss all the fun. And besides, you need to practice with Neville before I come watch you.'

'If you insist,' she said, and she kissed him before hurrying upstairs.

By the time Lydia left, there was no longer a queue but merely people in the area who took the opportunity to talk to Harry when it arose. A young woman Harry recognised but couldn't place approached him and sat down.

'I don't know if you'll remember me,' she said. 'Should I tell you who I am, or would you prefer the challenge?'

'Hang on, I definitely recognise you, but I'm having trouble recalling the context.'

'I'll give you a hint: Ancient Rome.'

'Rebecca!' he exclaimed. 'You're Helena's friend! Are you here with George?'

'Yes, though I peeled off to say hello.' She asked about his injury, and he asked how she and George were doing, but eventually they reached the topic that interested him most.

'How is Helena?' he asked. 'I think of her often.'

'She'll be glad to hear that. Obviously she thinks of you often as well.'

'Fondly, I hope.'

'Absolutely,' replied Rebecca. 'She tells everyone what a dear you are.'

'I hope people aren't still hassling her about me.'

'No, that blew over as soon as you were photographed with the model. And of course your current girlfriend has attracted far more attention than Helena ever did.'

'Yes, they're opposites in that respect. But you didn't tell me how she's doing.'

Rebecca sighed. 'She was fairly heartbroken at first. She was terribly fond of you, after all.'

_She didn't have to leave_, thought Harry sadly. 'I assume you know the whole story,' he said, and Rebecca nodded. 'Helena was right about me—I fall in love too easily. And she probably did me a favour, extracting that vow not to propose marriage before I'm twenty-one. But I stand by my belief that we'd have been good together.'

'Perhaps,' said Rebecca. 'But she was on her best behaviour around you. She always saw it as a fling, so she didn't want to weigh it down with too much real life. And she's very private.'

'Trust me, I know better than anyone how private she is.'

'I suppose you do. Anyway, she told me to say hi, and that you've turned into an absolutely brilliant roué and she takes full credit.'

'Tell her no one believes it's a real vow—they all think I made it up.'

Rebecca laughed and said, 'She'll love that! I'll definitely tell her. Is there anything else?'

'Tell her she's still pencilled in for my twenty-first birthday.'

'No, I won't tell her that. She finally got over you, mostly, and it won't do her any good to get stuck again.'

Harry nodded. 'All right. Then just tell her how much I enjoyed our time together, and that I'll never forget her.'

'Yes, that's safer.' She looked over her shoulder and said, 'It looks like you have more supplicants—I should go.'

'Will I see George tonight?' asked Harry. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

'Definitely. And thanks also for doing the radio show every week. It would never have taken off this quickly without you.'

'It's the least I can do. For Merlin's sake, he sacrificed an ear for me!'

Harry spoke with more Quidditch players for a while, but then he was approached by someone he'd assumed would want to avoid him. 'Gilstrap,' he said. 'What brings you here?'

'Floo powder. Or are you asking why I've come to talk to you?'

'The latter.'

'I wanted to thank you for inviting me. This is a great party, and I'm sorry you're unable to fully enjoy it.'

'I'm glad you're having a good time. How was your match today?'

'We beat the Harpies,' said Gilstrap.

'Impressive. Does that put Montrose in first place?'

'Yes, tied with Puddlemere.'

'Have you been to the roof yet?'

'I have, and I'll be back later. There seems to be a steady conveyor belt from the roof into your spare bedrooms.'

'How long is the corridor?'

'It was at least twice as long just now as it was when I first passed it.'

Harry chuckled. 'Pure-blood decorating strikes again.'

'It certainly does,' said Gilstrap, looking around. 'I must say, I'm surprised you'd choose to live somewhere like this. I'd heard it was old-fashioned, but this is positively gothic.'

'I lived here with my godfather, and with friends who didn't survive the war. I doubt I'll ever change the house much.'

'No, and I suppose it goes with your new persona.'

'Which persona is that?' asked Harry, bracing himself.

'Harry Black, of course.'

'It's just a tapestry. My name's still Potter.'

'Everyone knows you're going to change it eventually, or hyphenate. And who can blame you—every posh family was founded by someone who made the leap from the middle class.'

'What are you implying?'

'You grew up in the suburbs. Your Muggle relations might have been well-off, but you certainly weren't, not for practical purposes. Why wouldn't you want to live like an aristocrat given the opportunity?'

'Is that your goal?' asked Harry.

'No, I'm just trying to make a name in the wizarding world. Both my parents are Muggle-born, and unlike your mother they didn't rise straight to the top by receiving a Hogwarts letter. If she'd gone to Tinkerton like my family, she never would have married a Potter or hobnobbed with Sirius Black.'

'And she might still be alive,' said Harry. 'Why are you lecturing me about this?'

'Because I still don't think you grasp how privileged you are. Yes, your childhood was horrid, but the day you learnt you were a wizard you also discovered you were world-famous.'

'For having a psychopath after me! Are you really jealous you didn't have a prophecy that painted a target on your back and left you an orphan?'

Gilstrap looked at Harry for a long moment without saying anything. 'You don't know what obscurity feels like.'

'Didn't you read about my bloody childhood? I definitely know what obscurity feels like.'

'I don't mean in the Muggle world. I mean wizarding obscurity, like when you attend the newest, least prestigious school in all of Britain. When your well-read, well-educated parents work in shops because the Ministry never even considered hiring them. When you get your Quidditch position the hard way, through enormous recruiter trials, instead of just owling your mate at the _Prophet.'_

'Are you deliberately being obtuse? I told you, it never crossed my mind to leave the Ministry until I read that article. Do I need to take Veritaserum to prove it to you?'

'Oh, so the Cannons put you through trials after you expressed interest in playing?' Harry was silent, and Gilstrap said, 'Surely they tested you!'

'They tested my flying and my ability to catch the Snitch.'.

'Yes, for ten whole minutes. And just the team manager, not the coach. I know all about your exhaustive trials.'

'You don't know a bloody thing about me,' snapped Harry. 'Everyone thinks they do because I haven't any privacy, but believe me, there's plenty you don't know.'

'Fascinating,' said Gilstrap. 'Would you care to enlighten me?'

'Do I look stupid?'

'No, you look self-satisfied. You look like someone who had wealth and fame handed to him. You didn't even work at becoming a Seeker—you were a natural on a broom. Is it true your professor gave you a Nimbus 2000 the day after your first flying lesson?'

'Yes,' replied Harry haughtily. 'And then when it was destroyed I received a Firebolt for Christmas from my rich godfather, although I didn't know it at the time. He eventually left me a townhouse, an elf, and a vault full of gold. And a ghastly ring,' he added, holding up his middle finger. 'I've never worked for anything in my life—I paid Rita Skeeter from my vast, unearned fortune to write that story about my relations. I was actually raised in a castle by immortal warlocks, along with my parents who are secretly still alive. Oh, and during the war Hermione did all the work. Ron and I just played Exploding Snap the entire time.'

When Harry finished his tirade he looked up and noticed that the room was silent, except for the music, and that everyone was staring at him.

'Gilstrap, leave him alone,' said Owen. 'The poor man is trapped in a wheelchair and can't drink alcohol. And seriously, go talk to a Mind Healer about why you hate Harry so much.'

'Enjoy the party,' said Harry. 'And don't miss Padfoot, one storey down. Tell him about how your father was tortured to insanity.'

Owen sat opposite Harry after Gilstrap left. 'What the hell just happened?'

Harry shrugged. 'I have no idea. All I know is that he loathes me because I didn't work for my place in the wizarding world. And no, you're not allowed to tell him what I've told you.'

'He's not the only one who thinks that,' said Owen. 'I've heard quite a few comments tonight about Harry Toffer. Bloody ingrates.'

'There are always going to be people who hate me. At least these ones aren't trying to kill me.'

'No, they're just trying to steal away Lydia.'

'Good luck with that,' scoffed Harry. 'But how are you doing? Are you having a good time? Where's Fiona?'

'She'll be here presently—she just popped into the dining room for another one of those chocolate-covered biscuits.'

'Those are good,' said Harry. 'They originated when Hermione and I brought some Hobnobs into the house, and Kreacher insisted he could make something better. I'm not prepared to say they're better than Hobnobs, since that's a high bar, but they're surprisingly good.'

Moments later, Fiona turned up with a plate of biscuits and a glass of something fizzy. 'Do you want some?' she asked Harry. 'It occurred to me you mightn't have had any.'

'That's very thoughtful, but my house-elf sent some up a while ago. He's very attentive.'

'Excellent, then I don't have to share. Although you're welcome to have some,' she said to Owen, 'since I really don't need them all.'

'Cheers,' replied Owen, taking a few biscuits and standing up. 'But I'll let you alone—I see someone I want to talk to.'

Harry and Fiona looked at each other a moment before speaking simultaneously. 'I'm glad you came tonight,' he began, just as she said, 'Thanks for allowing me to come at the last minute.'

They both laughed, realising they hadn't heard each other, although they'd caught each other's meaning. 'We should meet properly,' she said. 'I'm Fiona Dunning. And you're Harry Potter.'

'That's right. And this time I'm not pissed, so with any luck I won't make an arse out of myself.'

'You were fine,' she said. 'Joanne and I had a good laugh about it.'

'That's a relief. I'm not usually like that, but it was a strange night.'

'Not as strange as the next morning, I'll wager.'

'You mean Rita's article?' She nodded, and he said, 'Yes, that was exciting.'

'I'm ashamed to admit I work for one of the organisations that owled you for a donation that week. How many requests did you end up receiving?'

'A hundred at least,' said Harry. 'Don't tell me you're with the organisation that produces a play every year about a different Chief Witch or Warlock.'

'Are you serious?'

'Dead serious. And then there's the organisation that's trying to revive the lost art of Vermimancy.'

'Vermimancy? Does that involve ... worms?'

'Yes. Apparently it was once popular to have a worm familiar. I think they were hoping I'd appreciate it because I used to speak Parseltongue.'

'Does Parseltongue work on worms?'

'I can't say I ever tried, and it's too late now. But I doubt it.'

'Anyway, no, I'm not with either of those organisations. I work for the Wizarding Orphans Relief Fund.'

'Oh! They're wonderful. I only learnt about them recently, but they do tremendous work—I've made a monthly subscription to support their efforts.'

'I know,' she said. 'That was extremely generous of you.'

'I hope it's enough. My assistant has been sending a lot of business your way.'

'How do you mean?'

He lowered his voice and said, 'Starting a few weeks ago I've been receiving letters from abused children, and several adults. My assistant refers them either to WORF or to one other organisation, and I write back to them as well.'

'Is that what happened? We've had an uptick in new cases recently, and my supervisor wouldn't say what the source was.'

'It was probably me, or my assistant, rather. I hope it hasn't strained your resources too much.'

'It's all right for now, but I don't know whether we can continue indefinitely at this rate.'

'I hope they slow down,' he said. 'The letters are heartbreaking, as I'm sure you know.'

'They are. But it's tremendously satisfying to help people change their lives, when it's possible.'

'I know, I received some follow-up letters last week. I was particularly moved by one from a teenage Squib named Celia, who's just moved into a group home. She sounded much happier.'

'I'm fond of that project,' said Fiona. 'Squibs in particular are badly mistreated, and they often feel very isolated. So when they move to a safe and supportive home, and meet people with a similar experience, they open like flowers.' She looked at his boutonnière and said, 'Jasmine flowers are my favourite, by the way.'

He pulled it from his lapel and handed it to her, 'Here, you have to smell them. Looking at a jasmine is never enough.'

Fiona inhaled the sweet fragrance. 'You're right,' she said, handing the flowers back to him. 'Looking is never enough.'

Harry felt a wave of admiration for her, and it threatened to turn into Light magic. 'Tell me more about that group home,' he said suddenly, in an attempt to ground himself. 'How many people live there?'

'Twelve, and the married couple who run it. They're both magical, so they can perform charms for the residents as needed. That's the thing with Squibs—they're often made to feel like they have to become Muggles, full stop. But they still have a magical heritage, and they don't necessarily want to give that up. For example, they like Quidditch as much as any other wizarding child.'

'Would they want to attend a Cannons match?' asked Harry impulsively. 'I get ten free tickets for every home game, and it's possible one of my teammates would be willing to offer some of theirs. I haven't allocated any of mine for the match against Ballycastle next Saturday, although I should probably consult Lydia before giving away her spot.'

'I'm sure they'd love to attend a match! And as your guest ... that would be tremendous.'

'I could meet them on the pitch afterwards if they'd like, assuming I'm not injured again.'

'They'd love it, no question.'

'Maybe I should ask my teammates now, while they're drunk and in my debt.' He looked around the room and called, 'Suresh! Can you come here a moment?'

'Snitchbottom!' cried Suresh, walking over. 'Fantastic party. As good as the last one—better even.'

'Better?' asked Harry.

'More people,' he said. 'And athletes ... they're exceptionally fit.'

'Does that mean you'd be open to doing me a favour if I asked?'

Suresh frowned. 'It doesn't involve taking you to the loo, does it? Can't your house-elf do that?'

'Don't worry, it has nothing to do with my injury. I'm wondering if you'd be willing to part with four or five tickets to the next Cannons match. For a good cause.'

'Ballycastle? Yeah, all right. But tell Lara, because otherwise I'll forget.'

'Cheers! And have a good time tonight.'

'Oh, I will,' said Suresh before returning to his previous companions, who Harry had to acknowledge were exceptionally fit.

'That was easy,' said Harry.

'Snitchbottom?' asked Fiona.

He explained his team nickname, and she laughed. 'Owen's right—you are down to earth. Literally, in that case.'

'I'm sorry I have a reputation for not being down to earth,' he said. 'I learnt this week that I'm known for looking through people when I'm in public.'

'Yes, I've heard that one. Someone I know once referred to you as Glare-y Potter.'

'Oh my god, that's awful! How do I fix it?'

'I don't know. Obviously you can't smile at everyone, or you'd be overrun. I suppose you could address it on your radio broadcast—everyone listens to that.'

'Yes, but I might sound like an arrogant prat, which I know everyone thinks I am as well.'

'In a good way,' she said. 'At least you've earned it.'

'That's good to hear—the last person I was talking to lectured me for ten minutes about how entitled I am.'

'Some people just love to abuse you, don't they?' she said, before blushing and covering her mouth. 'I'm sorry, that came out wrong.'

'No, I understood, and you're right. It's been that way my whole life—I don't know why.'

'At least you don't seem the type to repeat the cycle,' said Fiona. 'A lot of abused children grow up to become abusers themselves.'

'Oh god no, I hope not. How do I prevent it?'

'Asking that question is usually a good sign. In your case it was mostly verbal abuse, right? And neglect?' He nodded. 'Maybe notice whether you have the tendency to lash out when you're angry. I'm just guessing—this isn't my area of expertise.'

'I do have a temper,' he admitted. 'I blew up at my friend Ron this morning. And I'm in what Owen calls the Obnoxious Seeker phase.'

She laughed. 'I remember it well! You wouldn't believe what came out of his mouth back then. My husband once said something slightly misinformed, and Owen blurted, "Why don't you just tattoo your ignorance on your forehead!"'

'Owen said that? I need to use that on him sometime.'

'Trust me, he deserves it.'

For a moment they were both silent, and he studied her. _She's awfully pretty_, he thought. _No wonder I embarrassed myself last time we met._

Harry realised he must have been staring, because she blushed and looked down briefly. He asked, 'Did I hear that WORF has a fundraising auction every Hallowe'en?'

'That's right. Would you consider donating signed merchandise for people to bid on? I'm sure it would fetch a good price.'

'Of course, but I have something else in mind. When I had my vision corrected in July, the Optimancer suggested I auction off my old eyeglasses for a good cause.'

'Your eyeglasses?' she gasped. 'Those would bring in a fortune! Are you serious?'

'Yes, I don't need them, surely. And I honestly can't see why anyone else would want them, but apparently there's demand for that kind of rubbish.'

'I don't understand it myself, but collectors are a different breed entirely. And your eyeglasses ... for a one-of-a-kind, easily recognisable item like that, we'd probably have bids from overseas! We could advertise them with your old "Undesirable Number One" poster.'

'They're all yours. I just need to bring them to a charms expert to make sure nobody can use them to hurt me.'

'WORF will take care of that,' she said. 'We always bring donated personal items to Gringotts first, for exactly that reason. But you should do it yourself if you prefer, or accompany me when the time comes.'

'Is that part of your job?'

'Yes, I work in the fundraising side of the organisation, and I help run the gala.'

'A gala! That sounds impressive.'

'It is. WORF is an old organisation, which is why the name no longer matches our services perfectly, and for more than a hundred years we've held our Hallowe'en Gala. It's very formal, and it always sells out, but of course we'd love to have you there. You and a guest.' Her eyes flitted upwards, indicating the roof.

'Lydia?' he asked. 'I doubt we'll still be together then. It's a temporary arrangement, by mutual consent, although I'm certain we'll remain friends.'

'Then you and some other guest. Assuming you have something to wear,' she said slyly.

'Yes, I have just the outfit, or I will next week when my tailor finishes it,' he said, thinking of the formal robes Benedict Thimble was making for him.

'I'll send you the tickets on Monday. That way you can't change your mind and donate your glasses to some other organisation.'

'Like the Brotherhood for the Lost Art of Vermimancy? It's tempting ... Perhaps when I lost Parseltongue I gained the ability to speak to worms,' said Harry, with a cheeky half-smile.

'Fiona, you're still here?' said Owen, who had returned. 'Clearly the demand for Potter has dropped, if no one's displaced you yet.'

'We were talking about WORF,' she said. 'He's offered to donate his old eyeglasses for the auction!'

'Fantastic!' replied Owen. 'You can use the proceeds to build the Harry Potter Home for Arrogant, Sex-Addicted Prats.'

'Oi!' cried Harry. 'Have you been into the Firewhisky?'

'No, I'm just taking the piss. Fiona, we should probably get going.'

She looked at her wristwatch, 'Oh! You're right.' She stood and extended her hand to Harry. 'It's been a pleasure talking to you, and I'll send you those gala tickets on Monday, along with a binding contract for you to give us your eyeglasses.'

Harry laughed and said, 'Perfect. And I've enjoyed meeting you as well. Meeting you properly that is.'

'Good night, Harry,' said Owen. 'You should go find Lydia soon, if only to chase away her suitors.'

'I will,' promised Harry. _But I need to visit the loo first_, he thought. _Kreacher!_ he called silently. _Could you please meet me in the bedroom? I need your assistance._

_With pleasure!_ cried Kreacher delightedly, and Harry could hear the elf's tuneless singing in his head.

He propelled the wheelchair out of the room and did his best to avoid conversation without resorting to his 'Stay the fuck away from me' wards. _I need to practise if I'm going to overcome my Glare-y Potter reputation_, he thought determinedly.

He wasn't entirely successful—he was waylaid twice—but they were party guests and not just people on the street. He finally made it to his bedroom, which was warded to allow only him and Lydia, and Kreacher was waiting.

'How are you doing, Kreacher? I know you don't have nearly as much help this time as you did at the last party.'

'Kreacher is perfectly able to serve four hundred guests.'

'I hope you're allowing Kammy to assist you,' said Harry sternly.

'Yes, Master's witch told the Kammy to obey Kreacher during Master's party.'

Harry wondered how Kreacher would manage the next party, since it seemed unlikely Harry could borrow Kammy every time, but he didn't say anything.

After visiting the loo, he emerged from his bedroom and peeked down the corridor. _Sweet Merlin!_ he thought. _There have to be forty closed doors!_

'You should charge admission,' said George, who had his arm around Rebecca. 'You're definitely helping repopulate wizarding Britain.'

'Are you going to stay the night?' asked Harry. 'I've been warned that the rooms become increasingly surreal the farther you go down the corridor.'

George turned to Rebecca. 'I'm intrigued. Want to try it out?'

'We should dance some more,' she said. 'But perhaps later.'

'Are you heading to the roof?' asked George. 'I'm certain Lydia could use rescuing—Neville nearly had to hex one of her admirers.'

'Yes, that's my next stop.'

'Harry!' called Ginny, from the bottom of the stairs leading to the attic. 'I was just coming to find you. Lydia sent me.'

'She couldn't come down herself?'

'No, she was planning to come down, but then some randy Chaser tried following her so I offered to fetch you myself.'

'What's going on? I've heard rumours she's being swarmed.'

'She is,' replied Ginny. 'You must have done a good job on her, because she's turned into a walking Love Potion.'

'That sounds terrifying! Is she all right?'

'She looks like she's in heaven. Not because of all the wizards, but just from dancing.'

_Interesting_, thought Harry. _No wonder she hasn't been down to see me_. 'Are you having a good time?' he asked. 'How does this party compare to the last one?'

'You aren't plastered, so we're missing that form of entertainment, and there aren't nearly as many house-elves running around. But Lydia's house-elf set up drinks and snacks on the roof, so everyone's doing fine. And of course it's packed, but that's just more fun. So I'd say it's a smashing success.'

'That's good—I'm sorry I've missed so much of it.'

'I heard you let Gilstrap have it,' she said.

'Ugh, I suppose everyone knows. Do people really think I'm just some entitled toff?'

'Yeah, some do. But not most.' She looked at him tenderly and said, 'I think it's hard for people to acknowledge just how much they owe you. Not for hosting a party, of course, but with Voldemort. And now with the wards that made everyone keep forgetting about the other schools. You're probably the most accomplished wizard of our generation, with the possible exception of Hermione, and you're also the league's best Seeker. So naturally some people are going to harp on the one or two things you didn't earn, like the house or the lordship.'

'Lordships are bollocks,' he grumbled.

'Yes and no,' she replied. 'To you and me they are, and to most well-connected wizards. But to people who come from the outskirts of wizarding society they represent something unattainable. That's what I've learnt since I joined the Harpies—I've met heaps of people who are impressed with me simply for being a Weasley, even though we're a bunch of impoverished blood traitors. And then there's the fact that I went out with you for so long.'

Harry sighed. 'Am I a curse in that respect? It's been pointed out to me that witches might not enjoy being in my shadow for very long. Is that how it was for you?'

She looked down a moment before replying. 'No, that's not how I felt. Although I did worry for our future children.'

'Because they'd grow up in Ginny Weasley's shadow?' he said gently. 'You're brilliant, you know.'

'Yes, they'll have that cross to bear regardless. But really, you shouldn't worry about it—you're not getting married anytime soon.'

'No.'

'And you'll have no shortage of partners! When that article came out, I told people you were finally famous for the right reason.'

'Thanks, but I'm out of commission until Wednesday. At least for the main event.'

'I'm certain you'll figure something out. But be careful—a lot of witches want a piece of you, and not everyone is as disinterested as Lydia and Helena.'

'I still cast my own Contraception Charms, if that's what you're getting at.'

'Good. And be careful with that heart of yours. It's always been too big for your own good.'

'_The power the Dark Lord knows not,'_ quoted Harry quietly.

'Exactly,' she said. 'I couldn't have had a better first love than you.'

'I wasn't your first boyfriend. Or even your first partner.'

'But you were my first love. There's no question about that.' She kissed him on the cheek and said, 'Go find Lydia, and start counting the seconds until your pelvis is cleared for action.'

He hovered up the stairs to the attic, and with assistance he was able to emerge onto the roof. It was packed, both with dancers and also with people standing around drinking and eating. He was initially overwhelmed until someone said, 'Are you looking for Lydia?'

'Yes, do you know where she is?'

'She's in the middle of that crowd,' said the guest, indicating a large knot comprised mostly but not exclusively of wizards.

_What in Merlin's name is going on?_ thought Harry, as he propelled his wheelchair towards her. The crowd reluctantly parted to accommodate him, and he understood why they'd gathered in the first place.

_She's experiencing accidental Light magic!_ She wasn't glowing, fortunately, but something inside him knew for certain what was happening. _It's what Luna described—her newly-kindled fire. The dancing must have poured petrol on it somehow._

He had to engage all his willpower not to start glowing himself. _She's so beautiful!_ he thought. Her thoroughly-shagged look had transformed into something extraordinary—simultaneously sexy and pure. _Like a virgin_, he thought, and he propelled his wheelchair towards her.

'Oh, Harry,' she cried, and she practically threw herself upon him. Fortunately his wheelchair impeded her from crushing his pelvis, and they started kissing passionately.

'Get a room!' said one of the onlookers, and another said, 'Bloody Potter gets everything.'

Harry didn't care—he held the sides of her head in his hands and kissed her until he had to stop, for fear of glowing. 'Oh Lydia, do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You're a goddess.'

'I'm in heaven,' she announced, and in a softer voice she asked, 'Is this what it feels like? The you-know-what?'

'If it feels like heaven, then yes.'

'Why am I not glowing?' she whispered.

'I don't know, but you're lucky. It means you just get to enjoy it, while I need to mentally review the seven hundred types of Quidditch fouls to keep from lighting up like a torch.'

'If we can just lie together like this, I won't mind waiting until Wednesday,' she murmured.

'You might need to start dancing first, but I certainly won't complain.'

'I need to show you my dance! Neville and I have been practicing ... I'll go ask Ryan to play my new favourite Madonna song.'

'Will you be all right? It seems your Light magic is drawing a crowd.'

'They're easily controlled,' she said. 'I just glare at them and they crumble.'

Harry followed her with his eyes as she walked through the crowd towards Ryan, who was dancing with Hermione. Ryan bent down so Lydia could talk to him, and he nodded and walked towards the stereo. She returned moments later with Hermione.

'He said he'll play it after this song ends,' she told Harry, and then she went to warn Neville.

Harry studied his old friend, concerned that he too might be ensnared by Lydia's Veela-like allure. But it was obvious he only had eyes for Hannah.

Hermione asked Harry how he was doing. 'I'm fine,' he replied, 'but are you able to see what's going on with Lydia?'

'I can see she's affecting all the unattached wizards, and probably some of the attached ones as well. But not Ryan, of course.'

'I think it's Light magic,' he said quietly. 'I mean, she's always pretty, but tonight she's irresistible.'

'She's Circe,' declared Hermione. When Harry asked what she meant, she said, 'Circe was an ancient Greek enchantress, best known from Homer's _Odyssey._ She ensnares Odysseus with her beauty and allure, and turns his men into swine, until he's able to escape a year later. And she appears elsewhere in mythology and art, always as a beautiful enchantress.'

'That's certainly how I'd describe her,' said Harry. 'I'm glad Ryan and Neville are immune, although I'm not surprised. George seemed all right ... how was Lee?'

'He and Lara seem to have renewed their acquaintance,' said Hermione, pointing them out near the bar. 'So you needn't duel him.'

The song ended, and after a brief silence 'Express Yourself' by Madonna began playing. Lydia and Neville began to dance, and during the few moments Harry was able to tear his eyes from her, he noticed Hannah was beaming at Neville and not at all territorial. _That's love,_ he thought, with only a hint of envy.

Everyone watched them dance, and Harry was impressed by the charms Neville used to twirl Lydia. She looked like a true angel, floating at the end of his outstretched arm, and Harry knew he wouldn't be able to contain his Light magic much longer. Fortunately the song ended, and after the applause there were scowls from the assembled wizards when Lydia bent down to kiss Harry.

_It's just as well I couldn't dance tonight_, he thought. _I wouldn't have lasted ten minutes before starting to glow._

He tugged meaningfully at her hand, and the crowd parted, allowing them to leave. More than a few people shouted warnings about Harry's broken pelvis, which Harry accepted good-naturedly—his Light magic was too strong for him to be annoyed. With assistance he hovered downstairs, and their guests hooted and shouted their thanks as Harry and Lydia disappeared into the bedroom.

'I don't need to ask whether you had a good time,' he said, beginning to glow.

'Oh, Harry,' she exclaimed. 'I had no idea what I was getting into when I first approached you, after your broadcast. I thought you'd ruin me, perhaps that same night, and then once we were photographed I'd never see you again. But instead you took your time, and you made it perfect, and then you let me stay here. You threw a party when I asked, and you don't want to marry me, even though I'm a Travers and my parents tried to bribe you.'

'They wouldn't need to bribe me,' he said. 'I shan't marry you, but you're already better than anything they could possibly bribe me with.'

'And everyone can see how happy you've made me,' she continued, 'and if they think I'm a trollop it's only because they're mad with envy. I can't think of a better way to begin my new life. A life you've given me, in every possible way.'

'You chose it,' he said, recalling the instruction from Sirius's final letter. _Choose happiness, wherever it might find you._

'I owe everything to my godfather,' he said out loud. 'Not just the house—everything. Before I met him, no adult was completely honest with me, not even Remus or Minerva. They didn't lie, but they saw me as a child and kept things hidden. But Sirius always treated me like an equal, even though I wasn't one—he sometimes confused me with my father. I felt whole around him, or as near to it as I could with everything else that was going on.'

'I'm so sorry you lost him.'

'I am too,' he replied. 'And I've always blamed myself. If only I'd learnt Occlumency better, if only I'd trusted Hermione and not gone looking for him and the Ministry. But Sirius was responsible too. He antagonised Kreacher for years—I don't know why—and that's why Kreacher betrayed him. And then he taunted Bellatrix, and she took advantage and killed him. It wasn't all my fault ... not entirely.'

Lydia kissed the tear rolling down his cheek. 'I shan't marry you,' she said, 'but I love you, and I always will.'

'I love you too,' he said sincerely, and it felt different from the needy emotion he'd previously called love.

With Kreacher's help, Harry prepared for bed, and Lydia wore lovely but impractical lingerie. 'This must be from their broken pelvis collection,' she said. 'I can't imagine what I was thinking when I bought it.'

'It's perfect,' he mumbled sleepily, after taking a potion the Healer had prescribed. 'This has been the best week of my life, even with the Bludger strike.'

She laughed and said, 'I think Light magic makes you daft. But it's been the best week of my life too.'

Lydia curled next to Harry, taking care not to crowd him. _I love you_, he thought as he drifted to sleep, and there was no limit to the object of his affection.

-––—––—––-

_Story recommendations:_

Turn_, by Saras_Girl, on AO3. Harry/Draco slash, relatively low Mortal Peril. Post-post-Hogwarts, fantastically well-written (as in, I wish I could write that well). Complete._

Ghost of Privet Drive_, by AndrewWolfe, on FFN. Absolutely hilarious SI fic, written in that uniquely British rambling first-person I could never duplicate as an American. In-progress. Not too much Mortal Peril so far, but obviously that could change._


	63. Chapter 63

Harry awoke from a nightmare at dawn. But he didn't disturb Lydia with his kicking, since he was lying on his back, and he resisted the temptation to rouse her so she might comfort him.

It was different to his usual nightmares, which almost always involved Voldemort torturing someone. Instead, his dream took place in the tent he'd shared with Hermione and Ron. Harry was trying to sleep while Hermione kept watch outside—Ron was absent—but he couldn't because he didn't feel safe. He knew somehow that the tent was full of Disillusioned enemies, and he felt the locket Horcrux around his neck. His wand was broken, which meant he was defenceless.

The Disillusioned enemies turned out to be Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, and Harry found himself inside his old cupboard, on a thin and uncomfortable mattress. He saw the illustration of the dragon and the knight, only it was a wizarding illustration and the dragon breathed real Fiendfyre. He tried to desperately to escape from the blazing cupboard, but Uncle Vernon had boarded it shut, and freedom only came when he opened his eyes.

His heart was racing, and he was scared to go back to sleep, in case the nightmare resumed. _I should just get up_, he thought. _It's not like I need to go to practice tomorrow—I can catch up on sleep then._

He mentally summoned Kreacher, who Apparated into the corridor and silently entered the room. The elf helped him out of bed, and soon Harry was dressed and seated in his wheelchair. He suspected he still had dozens of guests, but he skipped his customary robes and wore jeans and his striped Breton shirt instead. _I might as well keep people guessing_, he thought.

When he left his bedroom he looked down the long corridor and wondered when the first guests would arise. Soon, he suspected, recalling his own tendency to wake up early when the setting was unfamiliar. _If Kreacher and Kammy aren't too tired I should have them provide breakfast_, he thought.

He wasn't hungry yet, so he settled in the sitting room and replied to fan mail. Kreacher brought him tea, and Kammy prepared breakfast for the anticipated hordes. Harry told her to serve it in the kitchen, not wanting his guests to think he always ate in the formal dining room. _But what does it matter?_ he thought. _They probably assume I take breakfast in bed every morning on a silver tray._

His guests started trickling downstairs, and they were uniformly surprised to find him there. 'Did she kick you out you because of your broken pelvis?' asked someone who looked like a Beater.

'No, I just woke up early and didn't want to disturb her.'

The Beater looked at Harry's stack of photographs and fan mail. 'You actually respond to it personally? I heard the Cannons had a staffer dedicated exclusively to your post.'

'They do, but I try to send a personal response to all the kids who write.' _And to everyone who's being abused_, he added internally.

'Is that a big job?' asked the Beater.

'It's not too bad. Maybe six hours a week.'

'For just the kids? Bloody hell!' he exclaimed. 'I'm Jack Burns, by the way. I play Beater for the Magpies.'

'Nice to meet you,' said Harry, shaking his hand. 'Did you have a good time at the party?'

'I'm still here, aren't I? Is there any food lying around?'

'Yeah, in the kitchen, right through there. You can bring a plate upstairs if you like.'

'You're a hell of a host, Potter,' said Burns, heading into the kitchen. But instead of going upstairs he took a seat in the sitting room. 'Is it all right if I eat here?'

'Be my guest,' said Harry. 'Your partner won't mind?'

'I'd rather she not get too attached, to be honest. She can find her own way down.'

'Fair enough. Congratulations on getting into first place, by the way.'

'Cheers. What place are the Cannons in now?'

'I'm not even sure,' replied Harry. 'Eighth maybe?'

'I heard it's arithmantically possible for the Cannons to win the cup this year.'

'Yeah, I heard that too, but I think we'd have to win all our matches by a high margin, and Puddlemere, Montrose, and the Harpies would have to lose most or all of theirs. That doesn't seem likely.'

'Maybe next year then—assuming you keep playing. Although your reserve Seeker's pretty good too.'

'Assuming I keep playing? Is this some new rumour I'm unfamiliar with?'

'Some people are saying you're just doing this for a season before moving onto something else, or retiring entirely.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I have no intention of leaving the Cannons, unless I pull a Barrowmaker and keep getting pounded by Bludgers.'

'I doubt it—you dodge Bludgers better than any Seeker I've seen. That was just a tough break yesterday, having to play the Tornados without your usual Beaters.'

'Which school did you attend?' asked Harry.

'Blenchervale, in Northern Ireland.'

'Do teams recruit from Blenchervale, or did you go through recruiter trials over there?'

'Are you kidding? Recruiters haven't heard of Northern Ireland, let alone Blenchervale. I had to come to England for recruiter trials, and I didn't even get picked my first year.'

'I'm impressed you stuck with it,' said Harry. 'And now you're a starting Beater?'

'Yeah, for three years now. And yes, I played during the war ... I heard you let a few of the other Seekers have it.'

'That was just taunting. I'm happy for anyone who survived the war, assuming they weren't actively helping Voldemort.'

'No, I definitely wasn't doing that. By the way, thanks for ridding us of the fucker.'

'Cheers. I couldn't have done it without Ron and Hermione, and loads of others.'

'Yeah, I know. But they couldn't have done it without you. And I'm sorry people are shitting all over you.'

Harry shrugged. 'It's nothing new. At least they're not trying to kill me.'

They were quiet for a while, as Burns ate and Harry wrote letters. 'I heard about what Gilstrap said to you,' said the Beater.

'Which time?'

'During the match, about his father.'

'Yeah, that was the turning point. One of my best friends is basically an orphan because both of his parents were tortured to insanity, at the end of the First Wizarding War. They're still at St Mungo's.'

Burns shook his head in disgust. 'What a bleeding waste. Fucking wizards.'

Harry couldn't argue, so he just nodded.

'We gave Gilstrap hell after the match. I didn't even hear what he'd said at first, but I knew it had to be bad if he got punched by the kid who used a bloody Disarming Charm on Voldemort.'

'That's an interesting way of putting it,' said Harry.

'Thanks also for cracking those wards. Eighty years! I always thought it was just the English being the English—no offence.'

'None taken. But you realise Hogwarts is in Scotland, right?'

'Yeah, but the Ministry's in London. And the old families are mostly English, even though we've had magic in Ireland forever.'

'I should also point out that Hermione figured out the wards, along with Bill Weasley and Minerva McGonagall. I just bullied a portrait and went out with a ghost.'

'When you put it that way ...' said Burns, chuckling. 'Well, I'll leave you to your fan mail. It was nice meeting you.'

'Cheers, likewise.'

Harry put his letters and photographs into a drawer and propelled his wheelchair into the kitchen. One of the guests helped him with his plate, and he returned to his previous spot at the sitting room table.

'There you are,' exclaimed Lydia, who looked lovely in a dressing gown, but only in the usual, non-Light magic way. 'Why didn't you awaken me?'

'I woke up early and didn't want to bother you. Did you get enough sleep?'

'No, but I was worried when you weren't there.'

'Sorry about that. Will you go back to sleep?'

'Yes, but I wanted to see you first.' She bent down and whispered in his ear, 'I love you.'

'I love you too,' he whispered back, and they kissed briefly before she went upstairs.

He was feeling better after his conversation with Jack Burns and the exchange with Lydia, and breakfast helped as well. He chatted with the guests who came in search of food, including George. 'How was your bedroom?' asked Harry.

'Un-bloody-believable! I'm pretty certain gravity didn't work, but it was hard to tell because it all seemed normal somehow, like in a dream. Forget the Knight Bus—if you're ever strapped for gold you should turn this place into a theme hotel.'

'Interesting,' said Harry. 'What should I call it?'

'Assuming your name is still a draw, I'd suggest something like "Harry Potter's Fucked-Up Pleasure Palace."'

'That doesn't sound family-friendly,' remarked Harry.

'Friendly for starting a family, believe you me.'

'Don't tell me you pulled an Arthur up there and skipped the charms!'

'No, we cast them in advance, before departing conventional reality.'

George went back upstairs with two plates, and Harry resumed writing letters. A couple of passing players made snide remarks, including a suggestion 'to just have your house-elf do it,' but Harry ignored them. He was nearly knocked out of his chair, however, when a scantily-clad Romilda Vane threw her arms around him.

'Harry! I still can't believe you're in a wheelchair! I wasn't at the match unfortunately—there was a problem with Darren's ticket allocation—but I was listening to the radio and screamed when I heard you'd been injured.'

'I'll be fine in a few days,' he replied. 'The only reason I'm not better already is because I didn't want to take Skele-Gro and miss the party.'

'You're so brave! Suffering for four days, for the sake of your guests.'

'Morning, Snitchbottom,' said Darren. 'How's the pelvis?'

'Still broken.'

'Something tells me Lydia didn't mind too much. She seemed pretty happy on the roof last night.'

'She's so beautiful!' exclaimed Romilda. 'And rich too! Are you sure you won't marry her? Your kids would be stunning!'

'Yes, I'm sure,' replied Harry. 'Did you enjoy the party? How did it compare to last time?'

'I'm disappointed Rita Skeeter wasn't here,' she said, pouting. 'That was so much fun. I can't wait to tell everyone at Hogwarts about that morning in your bedroom.'

'Please leave Helena out of it. You know how she values her privacy.'

'But it was so romantic!' she protested. 'You were like Romeo and Juliet!'

_Didn't they kill themselves? _thought Harry uncertainly. _Hell if I know—I should ask Simon, or Hermione. _

'She broke your heart,' continued Romilda. 'And now you've renounced love and marriage, and you're ruining innocent young pure-bloods. It's perfect, and I got to witness when it all started. May I describe it that way?'

Harry closed his eyes in exasperation. 'Why not?' he said. 'Be my guest.'

Romilda looked delighted, and asked, 'Will you sign my copy of _Sorceress_?' But then she noticed the stack of photographs and said, 'Or a photograph, like the one you signed for that witch!'

'What? No!' cried Harry. 'And besides, you have Darren.'

'I know I do,' she said, looking up at him affectionately. 'And he gave me a Quaffle, and a jersey. And I made him sign a photograph just like yours, for our great-grandchildren to find.'

'Our?!' exclaimed Darren in horror.

She smiled slyly and said, 'Just kidding. I wanted to see how you'd react. But I'll go upstairs and fetch my magazine.'

When she was gone, Darren sat down and said, 'Bloody hell! Do you have any Calming Draughts in the house?'

'No, just pelvis repair potions. And Veritaserum.'

'Don't let Romilda find out you still have Veritaserum. When she heard you made Lydia take it, she wanted me to take some as well, to find out if I'd always been truthful with her.'

'Like about your Cannons ticket allotment?'

'No, she fell for that hook, line, and sinker. She mostly wanted to know how she compared to my other girlfriends.'

'Favourably, I assume, considering how long you've kept her around.'

'In one respect, yes. She's first-rate in that particular category. Otherwise she's clingier than loo roll. I promised to sneak away from practice on Wednesday and make a scene when she boards the Hogwarts Express, but after that I'm changing my wards.'

'I hope you haven't misled her with promises you can't keep.'

'Not at all,' said Darren. 'I told her my Muggle grandfather made me vow not to marry until I'm thirty, on pain of losing my inheritance.'

'Your inheritance?'

'His model trains. But she doesn't know that.'

Romilda returned with her copy of _Sorceress_, which she placed in front of Harry. 'I bought a fresh one for you to sign, since I marked up my first one with a highlighter. I keep trying to get Darren to reenact it, but he says that's not spontaneous enough.'

'Darren's right,' said Harry. 'You can't force these things. How should I sign it?' he asked automatically, before realising his mistake.

'_Dearest Romilda_,' she recited. '_I only wish it had been you. Expect my owl. Yours in sweet anticipation, Harry_.'

'I'm not writing that,' he said firmly. Instead he wrote: _'To Romilda, in appreciation for our long friendship. I'll always admire your courage and bold spirit—you're a true Gryffindor. Yours, Harry.'_

It wasn't entirely true—they hadn't exactly been friends. But Romilda had been an enthusiastic member of the D.A., and she'd fought bravely in the Battle of Hogwarts.

'I'm a true Gryffindor!' she said exultantly. 'I'll have to show this to the Fat Lady, the next time she doesn't want to let me into Gryffindor Tower after curfew. Although I suppose I'll have it framed.'

Romilda left the magazine on the table while she and Darren went to the kitchen for breakfast, and Harry was greeted next by Oliver Wood and Phil Routledge.

'This is unexpected,' said Harry when he saw them together. 'Isn't fraternisation against team rules?'

'No,' said Phil, 'we ran into each other in the corridor. The extremely long corridor, I might add.'

'Yes, I've heard reports. How was your room?'

'You're probably not familiar with an old television series called "The Twilight Zone,"' said Phil, 'but it was like the opening titles.'

'I've actually heard of "The Twilight Zone!"' exclaimed Harry proudly. 'To Serve Man!'

'I hope your house-elves haven't read that,' said Phil. 'How are you doing?'

'Still in a wheelchair but fine otherwise. And Oliver, how was your stay in what George Weasley has dubbed Harry Potter's Fucked-Up Pleasure Palace?'

'Fucked up. And pleasurable. Thanks for throwing another party, and sorry about all the ingrates.'

'He's not kidding,' said Phil. 'You'd better get used to being called Harry Toffer, because I think it's catching on.'

Harry shrugged. 'There's always something.'

'Should I get them to call you the Heir of Slytherin instead?' proposed Oliver.

'I heard "Death Eater Eater,"' suggested Phil.

'She's not a Death Eater,' replied Harry. 'Far from it.'

'I know that, and believe me, they're just jealous,' said Phil. 'Are you sure you're not going to keep her around? I think half the men here fell in love with her last night.'

'We'll keep seeing each other after she moves out, but not exclusively.'

'Tell her that roughly a dozen different wizards asked me if I could introduce them to her. I suggested they read the instruction manual first,' said Phil, indicating the issue of _Sorceress_.

'I should get some breakfast,' said Oliver. 'My fiancée and I want to see how food works up there. Thanks again, Harry, and see you soon.'

Phil sat down after Oliver left and said, 'Are you all right? I heard Gilstrap got to you again.'

'He did, and I'm fine. There are always going to be people who hate me.'

'Yeah, I had to tell a few of them off. I think people are really cheesed off about those wards at Hogwarts and elsewhere. I tried pointing out that you helped get rid of them, but you know how logical wizards are.'

'Is there anything I can do to improve matters?' asked Harry. 'Obviously I don't care what people think of me, but how can I help promote equality among wizards?'

'Good question. It's definitely not enough just to get rid of those wards. As long as people from Hogwarts and two or three other schools have a stranglehold on all the power and wealth, there's still going to be a lot of resentment.'

'Which school did you attend? Were you recruited by a team, or did you have to go through recruiter trials?'

'I went to Binglingham, which is high-status, so I was recruited straight from school. And no, I don't know why I was sent there as a Muggle-born.'

'So you're part of the privileged elite?' said Harry.

'No, I'm still a Mudblood. And I didn't get my starting Seeker position after a ten-minute test with the team manager.'

Harry sighed. 'Apparently that's common knowledge now.'

'Anyone who complains is just jealous. Nobody who's seen you fly can claim you didn't deserve the job.'

'Of course they can! Haven't you been paying attention?'

Phil chuckled and said, 'Good point. But believe me, you've won, and you earned everything that's come to you—even the stuff you didn't earn. Anyone who claims otherwise is just whinging.'

Phil left to get breakfast, and Harry responded to fan mail for a while longer. Romilda returned to reclaim her magazine, and she and Darren went back upstairs with a bowl of fruit and some whipped cream. 'We'll be gone by noon,' he promised Harry.

Harry decided to check on Lydia, so he put away his correspondence and propelled himself upstairs. He stopped in the entrance hall and tossed a few treats to Padfoot and the cocker spaniel, who were enjoying a leisurely morning together in a hammock.

'Which one is your godfather?' asked Gilstrap.

_You're still here?_ thought Harry irritably. 'The mongrel.'

'That's ironic.'

'Not at all. Sirius didn't choose his parents, any more than you or I did. His Animagus showed his true nature.'

'And your father was a prancing stag?'

'Yes. Prongs.'

'That seems appropriate, if he was the arrogant one. Are you an Animagus?' asked Gilstrap.

'No, I've never bothered. The only reason Sirius and my father became Animagi was to help their werewolf friend.'

'Yes, your third dead father.' Gilstrap was silent for a long interval. 'I'm sorry for what I said about my father.'

Harry was taken aback. 'About him being tortured?'

'Yes. My parents were safe during the war, thanks to a magical trunk provided by your old girlfriend's family. It was cramped, but they were able to stay with my sister and her husband, who doesn't have any recent Muggle relations. They had to take menial jobs in the Muggle world, but they were safe.'

'That's good.'

'The one advantage of an obscure school like Tinkerton is that it was beneath the Death Eaters' notice. Nobody bothered Imperiusing the headmaster, so as long as Muggle-borns kept a low profile, nobody came after them.'

'Unlike Hogwarts Muggle-borns, who were killed,' said Harry, thinking of Ted Tonks.

Gilstrap nodded. 'I only know a few people who died in the war. More of my relations were killed in the London Blitz than in either of the Wizarding Wars.'

'I don't know whether any of my mum's relations were killed in the Muggle wars. My aunt never said.'

There was another long silence, and then Gilstrap said, 'I don't hate you.'

'Then why do you need to tear me to pieces? Carl Wainwright is a complete arsehole above the pitch, but we get on fine the rest of the time.'

'Because you act like you're God's gift to wizardkind.'

Frustrated, Harry asked, 'Then how am I supposed to act? I'm just trying live my life, the same as anyone else. The only difference is I don't have any bloody privacy.'

'No one's forcing you to go on the radio every week. You didn't need to become a league Seeker either—heaven knows you don't need the gold.'

'I go on the radio every week to clear up misconceptions. If I didn't, people would still believe I'd given out a huge stack of my own Chocolate Frog Cards, seduced an underaged Veela, and was richer than the Queen. Oh, and they'd still be trying to harm my Muggle relations.

'As for why I became a Seeker ... I love flying. It was the only consistently good part of my life at Hogwarts. After spending years neck-deep in Dark magic trying to fight Voldemort I needed a bloody break.'

'You used Dark magic?'

'No, he did.' Harry looked around to make sure no one was listening. 'And we had to destroy it, otherwise he'd keep coming back. That's seriously classified, by the way, so don't spread it around.'

'Is that why you robbed Gringotts?'

Harry nodded. 'Again, classified.'

Gilstrap was quiet for a while. 'I'll admit your life was front-loaded with some major crap. But you've had outrageous advantages as well.'

'Yes. I'm a wizard. And a league Seeker. And a white male. Do any of these sound familiar?'

'You know what I'm talking about,' said Gilstrap.

'Yes, I know what you're talking about. I went to Hogwarts. I have a townhouse and an elf. If I didn't earn another Galleon in my life I'd be fine.'

'You have a seat on the Wizengamot,' continued Gilstrap. 'You could get a job anywhere you wanted, without sitting your N.E.W.T.s. You're a lord.'

Harry knew better than to say, _Lordships are bollocks_. 'What do you want from me?' he asked. 'And just disappearing isn't an option.'

'No, you've survived two Killing Curses,' said Gilstrap acidly.

'Yes, my mother's sacrifice was another outrageous advantage.' Gilstrap remained silent, and Harry said, 'I want to promote equality in wizarding Britain. It won't change overnight, or in our lifetimes necessarily, but I want to see less corruption in the Ministry. I want to bring together witches and wizards from different schools and different Blood Statuses—why do you think I'm throwing these parties?'

'For attention,' said Gilstrap. 'To show off.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'And if I didn't throw parties, or if I only invited my mates, I'd be aloof. I can't win, so I might as well do what I believe in. I assume you had a good time, or else you wouldn't still be here. And I imagine there's someone waiting for you upstairs.'

'There is. I should bring her breakfast.'

'The kitchen's downstairs,' said Harry. 'And thank you for the apology.'

'Thanks for hosting the party.'

It wasn't the warmest exchange, and they didn't shake hands, but Harry felt slightly less tense afterwards. He hovered upstairs and returned to his room, where Lydia was eating breakfast in bed and reading the _Prophet_.

'Is there anything about the party?' he asked.

'Yes, in the gossip column. But no photographs.'

'There wouldn't be,' he said. 'The house was warded against them. What does it say?'

She passed him the article, which he read:

_Harry Potter cemented his reputation as the leading host of young witches and wizards by opening his London townhouse to more than four hundred guests last night, including the entire Quidditch league. Although Potter, 19, was confined to a wheelchair due to a broken pelvis, he reportedly spent hours greeting guests, both with and without his current love interest, Lydia Travers, 18._

_At Potter's urging, Miss Travers eventually joined the rooftop dance party, which exclusively featured Muggle music curated by Chudley Cannons star Chaser Ryan Bellamy. Miss Travers was widely admired for her 'mesmerising' and 'celestial' beauty, and numerous wizards expressed a fervent desire to pursue her. But she only had eyes for Potter, and the two lovebirds retired to his bedroom not long after midnight._

_At press time, at least forty closed doors lined Potter's magically-enhanced guest corridor, suggesting that the sexually-charged atmosphere of his previous party was no fluke. It remains to be seen whether the nascent organisation Mothers Against Harry Potter will take issue with the young Seeker's style of entertaining._

_Guests praised Potter's hospitality, although some criticised his aristocratic pretensions, both in dress and in manner. 'He claims lordships are bollocks,' reported one guest, 'but he looked like a sodding duke, receiving guests in his wheelchair with [Miss Travers] fawning over him.' Others, however, described Potter as a gracious and solicitous host who was equally friendly to everyone who approached him._

_Bookmakers eagerly awaited the first dispatches from the party, and fortunes were undoubtedly made on the surprising revelation that the Black family tapestry now includes the name 'Harry James Black,' with a gold border indicating his status as Head of House. Late-night betting was rampant over whether Potter will officially change his name, with high uncertainty about which variant he might choose. As of press time, the favourite was 'Harry Potter Black,' with support also for 'Harry Potter-Black,' 'Harry James Black,' and 'Harry Sirius Black.'_

_Last night's do was less extravagant than Potter's birthday party last month, with only two house-elves and Floo access rather than portkey invitations. But there was no shortage of flowers, and the house itself sported new wallpaper. All the guests we spoke to expressed a wish that Potter host more parties, many with the hope that he'll be fully mobile next time._

'My aristocratic pretensions?' repeated Harry incredulously. 'Because I was sitting in a wheelchair and wearing robes? And you weren't fawning over me, were you?'

'No, I just told everyone how brilliant I think you are. That wasn't fawning—that was the truth.'

'At least they described you accurately,' he said. 'Your mesmerising, celestial beauty.'

'Yes, about that,' she said hesitantly. 'I received a letter this morning from my parents. Their elf Topper delivered it.' She held up a folded piece of note paper.

'Should I read it?' he asked.

'Yes, it concerns you as well.'

Harry read:

_Dear Lydia,_

_I am not writing this morning to try to persuade you and your seducer to marry. His response last week was unequivocal, and sadly you seem to have fallen victim to his opinions, as well as to his baser needs. He has clearly ensorcelled you with his powerful methods for corrupting young witches, and your mother and I only hope you'll eventually come to your senses and return to the family fold._

_The reason for this letter is to warn you of a danger far greater than the tragedy that's already befallen you. I had my suspicions on Wednesday, and I only wish I had pulled you from Potter's clutches in that very moment, because I fear the danger has already been realised. You undoubtedly recall that your grandfather and I have always warned you against the menace of so-called Light magic. As you know, the word 'Light' is a misnomer, just as 'Dark' does not accurately describe our own noble practice. _

_When I learnt on Wednesday afternoon about Potter's alleged reaction to the Glowpox vaccine, I foolishly dismissed the concern that something more sinister was afoot. But when I read this morning about your wanton display last night, I could no longer ignore my suspicion: I fear you have been infected with the scourge of Light magic. With a heavy heart I consulted your grandfather right away, as he is well-versed in the dangers of the Light Arts, and he agrees that the Veela-like effect you had on the low-born hordes at Potter's orgy goes far beyond your personal charms, prodigious though they may be._

_Has Potter glowed in your presence? If so, why did you ignore your training and not flee at once? As I write this, I worry you may be under Potter's Imperius Curse or a Love Potion, neither of which I consider beneath him. But even if you are in your right mind, I implore you to remove yourself straight away, lest the infection take hold. Your grandfather is currently consulting a trusted associate to learn whether full recovery is even possible, but time is of the essence. Please, my dearest Lydia, remove yourself from Potter at once. My only hope is that his current injury will reduce his ability to influence you, and that you may yet regain your higher reasoning._

_If you are unwilling to leave Potter, as I fear, would you at least consent to meet in a neutral location and reassure your mother and me that you aren't under the influence of his Imperius or Love Potion? As much as I abhor the thought of seeing him, I would request his presence and demand he cast a powerful _Finite Incantatem_. I would also ask that you take an antidote to a Love Potion._

_With your leave, I'll reserve a private room at Gringotts, which I trust Potter will find acceptable._

_All my love,_

_Daddy_

'What should we do?' asked Lydia. 'Obviously I'm not leaving you.'

'I can't travel to Gringotts,' said Harry. 'Not easily, anyway. We'd have to take the Knight Bus again, or figure out how to take a Muggle taxicab. And I have to go back tonight for my meeting at Penumbra, which isn't until eight.'

'How are you getting there tonight?'

'Hermione's going to shrink the wheelchair and hover me into a taxicab—and then out of it again—as if I were walking.'

'Couldn't we just do that earlier and have dinner in Diagon Alley before your meeting?'

'We could do, and that would give Kreacher and Kammy a break. But how are you at Hovering Charms?'

'Very good. My grandfather made Esme and me practise on each other, in case we needed to manipulate an enemy that way. That was before I left off studying the Dark Arts.'

'All right. Where should we have dinner?'

'Can we go to the French restaurant you went to with Vanessa's friend?'

'Mistigri? Of course, if they can seat us.'

Lydia insisted Harry write the reply to her parents, primarily so they would see his new stationery. He wrote:

_Dear Mr Travers,_

_I'm sorry you have such a poor opinion of me that you think I would rape your daughter, which is what you're implying. But I appreciate your concern for her well-being, and I'll do whatever I can to reassure you that she's acting of her own free will._

_Due to travel complications surrounding my injury, we're unable to meet you before five o'clock. I'll trust you to make the arrangements, and unless you send a letter contradicting me we'll plan to meet you at Gringotts._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

He also jotted a brief note to the restaurant asking for a reservation, and Lydia sent them with Kammy. The elf returned soon after with a terse acknowledgement from Lydia's father and confirmation of a six o'clock dinner reservation.

Lydia practised animating Harry using a Hovering Charm, but they feared his gait wasn't smooth enough to convince a Muggle. 'Perhaps if you used a cane,' she suggested. 'Do you have one?'

'There are probably some in the attic. I could ask Kreacher to check, next time I need his help. The poor fellow—he must be completely knackered.'

The last of the guests departed around noon, and Harry was unsuccessful in persuading the elves to put off cleaning until Monday. He and Lydia munched on leftovers and spent the afternoon reading and listening to records. Lydia was still deep within _Pride and Prejudice_, and Harry started reading _Great Expectations_, which Simon had particularly recommended. 'The language and situations are antiquated,' he'd told Harry, 'but I think the themes will resonate for you.'

At four o'clock, Kreacher helped prepare Harry to go out, and Lydia selected a smart Muggle outfit for him. 'Why Muggle clothes?' asked Harry, puzzled.

'Aren't we taking a Muggle taxicab?'

'Yes, you're right.' He frowned for a moment before exclaiming, 'Fancy dress! We could wear wizarding clothes and say it's for a fancy dress party.'

'That would certainly go with the cane,' she said. The only cane Kreacher had found that matched Harry's height had clearly been designed to go with the family ring. It was black, and the head was a golden snake with glittering emerald eyes. 'You can wear your new black robes with the gold-coloured buttons, and a green cravat.'

'Between the cane and the robes I'll look like a proper Slytherin,' he laughed. 'Fortunately I won't need it once I'm in the wheelchair again.'

'At least wear a lily-of-the-valley, to honour your mother. I'm certain my parents will notice it.'

Lydia successfully hovered Harry into the taxicab, and the cane disguised his lurching movements. 'Are you going to a fancy dress party?' asked the driver.

'How did you guess?' replied Harry, and the driver chuckled.

'I can see you've put some effort into it. Usually hired clothes don't fit very well, but those look like they were made for you.'

'Cheers, and yes, we did put some effort into it.'

With her wand concealed, Lydia lurched Harry from the taxicab, and once they were inside the Leaky Cauldron she was able to settle him into the wheelchair. He was finally permitted to push it himself, which felt great after his long day of inactivity.

'How's the pelvis?' called one of the patrons. 'Are you surviving so far?'

'It's improving, thank you,' said Harry, ignoring the insinuation. 'Travel is the hardest part, but I'll be cleared to Apparate on Tuesday.'

'But when will you be cleared to fornicate?' chuckled a red-faced wizard who was holding a tankard of ale.

'That's none of your business, seeing as you're not my type,' replied Harry, generating loud laughter.

'I still can't believe strangers talk to you like that,' said Lydia after they'd left the tavern. 'And that you respond!'

'It's worse if I ignore them,' he said, and he told her about his reputation for looking through people.

'Glare-y Potter? You've never looked at me like that.'

'Why would I?' he said admiringly, as they arrived at the bank.

A goblin greeted them. 'Mr Potter, Miss Travers, right this way.'

They were led to a small meeting room, which was empty. 'My parents will keep us waiting,' said Lydia. 'It's all about power.'

'I suppose it would be wrong to pass the time snogging,' he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

'Tempting, although it would support their Love Potion theory.'

'You're right, May I at least hold your hand?'

'Yes, but no glowing.'

'I won't. Seeker's honour,' replied Harry, and he began stroking her hand.

After ten minutes, a very handsome couple in their forties entered, along with a goblin Harry recognised. 'Trapskin,' he said, with a crisp nod. 'It's good to see you.'

'Good afternoon, Mr Potter,' replied Trapskin, with a matching nod.

'Mr Potter,' said Lydia's father. 'I'm Desmond Travers, and this is my wife Isobel.' Harry knew it was proper etiquette to wait for them to initiate a handshake, but no hands were extended.

'Oh, Lydia,' said Mrs Travers disapprovingly. 'And you!' she snarled at Harry. 'Despicable!'

Mr Travers lifted his hand and said, 'Isobel, there's no point. We discussed this.'

'Yes, dear,' she replied, dabbing her eyes with a small handkerchief.

'Mr and Mrs Travers,' began Harry, 'I know we'll never see eye-to-eye on matters, but I can assure you I'd never force myself on Lydia—or anyone else.'

'So you claim,' said Mr Travers. 'For whatever your word is worth.'

'How can you talk to Harry like that!' said Lydia indignantly. 'He's the most honourable wizard I've ever met. I love him—he's absolutely brilliant!'

Lydia's parents exchanged worried glances. 'I see we should start with the Love Potion antidote,' said her father, motioning to Trapskin.

'Miss Travers,' said the goblin, holding out a phial. 'Are you willing to take the Amortentia antidote? Gringotts will vouch for its authenticity.'

Lydia looked at Harry, who nodded. 'Yes,' she replied, and she drank it.

'How do you feel about him now?' asked Mr Travers.

'The same as before. He would never use a Love Potion on anyone!'

'Yes, I understand you weren't much of a Potions student,' said Mr Travers to Harry, 'although you knew how to obtain Veritaserum.'

'That was consensual,' replied Harry.

'Unless you'd already Imperiused her. Please perform the general counter-spell. The full version.'

'Of course. _Finite omnes incantates_.' As soon as Harry cast the counter-spell, the Black family ring became visible on his left hand, and both of Lydia's parents paused to examine it.

'Lydia,' said her father, 'were you under the Imperius Curse, or any other Compulsion Charm?'

'No, absolutely not. I've acted entirely from free will.'

'Or wilfulness!' said her mother.

'Isobel,' cautioned Mr Travers. 'Lydia, this has been extremely challenging for your mother and me, and for the entire family. We had no idea you were so ... dissatisfied with the life we've provided for you. Most young witches would envy your position.'

'I want to make my own life,' she said. 'To discover the world, the wider world, with a man I love.'

With those words, she looked at Harry and took his hand, and he squeezed it affectionately. _No glowing_, he told himself as his heart expanded.

'If you're in love, why don't you want to marry him?' said Mr Travers. In a more gentle voice he added, 'If you insisted, we'd give our consent. He's head of House Black, after all.'

'That's the least interesting thing about Harry. He's so much more than you realise,' she said. 'But I don't want to marry anyone right now, and neither does he. I'm moving into my own flat on Wednesday and I want my own life, without a husband getting in the way.'

'Lydia and I have agreed on this from the start,' said Harry. 'We'll never marry. We're too young, and we both want our freedom.'

'Your freedom,' spat Mr Travers. 'Your freedom to ruin young witches!'

'It was her choice,' said Harry.

'But what about the other ways you've corrupted her?' said her father. He narrowed his eyes and asked, 'Are you a Light Arts practitioner?'

'No. You probably know more about the Light Arts than I do.'

'Are you experiencing accidental Light magic?'

'Why is that any of your business?' asked Harry.

'Because you have our daughter in your clutches!'

'She's not in my clutches! She's of age and she's financially independent. I'm just giving her a place to stay until her flat is ready.'

'You say she's in not your clutches ... But all Britain knows about your seducer's arts, thanks to your outrageous lack of discretion.'

'My lack of discretion? I didn't talk to that magazine! Or do you mean because I don't go to portkey brothels? Those are the women you need to check for the Imperius Curse.'

Mr Travers ignored Harry's insinuation. 'You still haven't answered my question: Are you experiencing accidental Light magic?'

'I should have made myself clearer. That's none of your business,' replied Harry, glaring at him.

Mr Travers held his gaze, and Harry felt the prod of Legilimency. But instead of breaking eye contact, he looked insolently at Lydia's father, and powerful energy rose from his chest into his head.

'I learnt Occlumency the hard way, from Voldemort,' he said. 'You're not going to succeed.'

Lydia's father intensified his stare, and Harry felt a sharp jab behind his scar. But it was nothing to the old searing pain, and Harry's strong core energy easily repelled the attack. Mr Travers finally flinched and looked away.

'If I'm a Light wizard, do you really want to provoke me?' asked Harry. 'I understand Ollivander is rather choosy about who he'll sell wands to.'

'Are you threatening me?'

Harry widened his eyes innocently. 'If it's accidental Light magic, I can't control it. Anything could happen.' In a more conciliatory tone he added, 'But I don't want to hurt you, not at all. Lydia loves you, and I love Lydia.'

'Then marry her!' said Mrs Travers.

'I don't want to get married, not yet!' said Lydia. 'And not to Harry.' Sighing, she added, 'I don't feel ruined—I feel alive. And I've only just begun living.'

Harry said, 'You seem to think I've irreparably harmed Lydia, but all I've done is introduce her to a larger world.'

'You have no respect for wizarding traditions!' said Lydia's father. He pointed to Harry's ring and said, 'You've been given the opportunity to rise higher than any Muggle-raised half-blood could hope, but in your arrogance you've rejected it.'

'Harry doesn't disrespect wizarding traditions!' protested Lydia. 'Look at how he's dressed—he's brought robes back into fashion. And what could be more traditional than Quidditch?'

'But your flagrant disregard for social norms, for decency!'

'What's decent about torturing Muggles?' retorted Harry. 'What's decent about persecuting Muggle-borns like my mother? What's decent about supporting a mass-murdering psychopath?'

'The Dark Lord was protecting wizardkind from forces that would destroy it,' said Mr Travers.

'From a baby?' asked Lydia, reaching for Harry. 'You supported someone who tried to kill a baby, and who left him an orphan. The Lestranges tortured Harry's friend's parents to insanity ... how could you support that?' she asked, tears falling from her eyes.

'You don't understand,' said her father. 'It's not that simple.'

'This is why I stopped practising Dark magic,' she said. 'I didn't understand why at the time, but now I do. It would have ruined me, far more than Harry could have done.' She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 'I love you,' she said tenderly. 'I love you, and Esme, and Jacob, and I miss you terribly.'

Harry looked at Lydia, and he knew that Light magic was rising within her. _She's lucky she doesn't glow_, he thought.

'I don't want to lose you,' continued Lydia. 'I want you to visit my flat, and I want Esme to come to my salon, and Jacob once he's old enough, and even Charles if he's willing.'

_She's so beautiful_, thought Harry. He hoped her parents already saw her that way and wouldn't realise what was happening.

'We could never willingly cut you out of our lives,' said her father. 'But Light magic—it destroys families! Romulus Wynter lost his daughter to it. She married a Muggle and lives like a vagabond.'

'Did she reject her family or did they reject her?' asked Harry.

'She married a Muggle,' said Mrs Travers. 'What choice did they have?'

'Don't reject me,' said Lydia. 'I'll never reject you.'

'Stay away from Potter,' urged her father. 'Just come home.'

'No,' said Lydia, rising from her chair. 'Harry, let's go.'

He shot her a questioning look but she fixed her jaw determinedly, so he pushed away from the table. 'Goodbye,' he said to the Traverses. 'I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. And Trapskin, thank you.'

'Good evening, Mr Potter,' said the goblin with a crisp nod. 'And Miss Travers.'

'Mother?' she asked imploringly. 'Daddy?'

'Send for us once you're in your new flat,' said Lydia's father. 'And for Merlin's sake, if he starts glowing ...'

Lydia and Harry left the room and exited the bank without speaking. He led her to a secluded spot around the corner and asked, 'Are you all right?'

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. 'I've never contradicted my parents like that, except for when I gave up the Dark Arts.'

Harry found that hard to believe—as much as he loved her, he knew she was spoilt. _But maybe she never needed to contradict them before_, he thought. _Maybe they always caved in_.

'You were very brave,' he said sincerely. 'I'm proud of you.'

She was silent for a short while and stroked his hair. 'I felt it again,' she said.

'I could tell. You're lucky you don't glow.'

'I only felt it a little this time. It wasn't like last night.'

'It varies for me as well.'

Once she regained her composure, they ambled down Diagon Alley, peeking into shop windows on the way to the restaurant. He deliberately lowered his 'Leave me alone' wards as they proceeded and tried instead to look at everyone they passed. _This is hard_, he thought. Not because he was scared people would talk to him—he was with Lydia after all—but because he could no longer pretend he was invisible.

Their table at Mistigri was secluded, which suited them. 'I don't need for people to see us anymore,' announced Lydia.

'Because everyone knows you're ruined?' asked Harry.

'No, because it doesn't matter whether they know or not. I've changed too much—my parents couldn't un-ruin me if they tried. I couldn't un-ruin me.'

'You have changed,' he said. 'You've hardly pouted at all in the last few days, except for when you were trying to get Stan Shunpike to make Ernie turn the bus around.'

'I don't pout!' she protested, and Harry laughed.

'Oh yes you do.'

'Well, you do that thing with your eyes, where you try to look all innocent.'

'Does it work?' he asked, widening his eyes.

'You're the real Slytherin,' she said, swatting him from across the table.

After dinner she returned to Grimmauld Place by Floo. He invited her to attend the meeting with Davina Hampton, but she decided against it. 'I'm not ready to commit to studying anything,' she said. 'I'm not glowing, so there's no need for me to learn how to control it.'

As he propelled himself to Flourish and Blotts, Harry was stopped several times by children. 'Are you feeling all right?' asked a little girl. 'Will you be able to fly on Saturday?'

'That's what the Healer says, but I'll know more tomorrow.'

'Can I please see your scar?' she asked. Harry pushed his fringe out of the way, and she traced it with her finger. 'Did you really get it from You-Know-Who, when you were a baby?'

'Yes, but I can't remember it.'

'My cousin told me about You-Know-Who, and now I have bad dreams about him sometimes. I'm scared he'll come hurt me.'

'I have bad dreams about him too,' he admitted. 'But I promise he'll never hurt you.'

'Would you protect me?' she asked. 'In my dreams?'

'Only if you promise to protect me,' he replied. 'I hear he's afraid of little girls.'

'I'm a big girl,' she said indignantly.

'I'm sorry, I meant big girls. So if he ever shows up in your dreams again, just call for me and I'll stop him. Or you can stop him yourself, since he's afraid of big girls. And if I have a nightmare about him, I'll call for you. What's your name?'

'Tessie.'

'Good, I'll ask for Tessie. Thank you, I feel much safer now.'

She smiled and turned to her parents. 'I helped Harry Potter!'

Rolling away, he thought, _I never would have had that interaction if I'd been looking through her, or if I'd said I was in a hurry. _He had no illusion it would stop his nightmares, but he hoped it might stop hers.

He arrived at the bookstore before Hermione did, and he cast a quick Notice-Me-Not Charm so he could collect himself before the meeting. _I want to protect people, _he thought. _And I want to share Light magic with anyone who wants to learn it. _Closing his eyes, he expressed a wordless wish that he'd meet his teacher that night.

When he opened his eyes, Hermione was waiting—with a book of course. He quickly lowered his privacy charm and said, 'I'm right here.'

'Were you hiding again?'

'Yes, but not any more. Let's go,' he said, leading her down the passage to Penumbra.


	64. Chapter 64

Hermione hardly knew what to expect as she approached the vampire-owned bar. Ryan had never been there, and she only knew what Harry had told her, and what she'd read in _Sorceress_.

_I still can't believe I read a detailed account of Harry's sexual activities_, she thought. She knew it was an invasion of his privacy, but she told herself she needed to read it as his friend. She'd always read what was printed about him, both to defend him against critics and to offer him her support.

Before Harry joined the Cannons, the _Prophet_ usually found a reason to write about him every couple of weeks. But now, between the Quidditch news and his social life, he was featured nearly every day. That morning she'd been indignant on his behalf over the anonymous party guest who'd said he '_looked like a sodding duke, receiving guests in his wheelchair_.'

'He couldn't stand!' she said to Ryan. 'How was he supposed to receive guests?'

'You have to admit, he looked like a young Bond villain—particularly with Lydia draped over him,' said Ryan.

'Maybe a little. But he doesn't have "aristocratic pretensions."'

'No, of course not. But I heard a lot of people talking about him. I can only theorise, but I think the combination of the _Sorceress_ article, his townhouse, and Lydia looking like a Veela pushed a lot of wizards over the edge, as far as envy is concerned. People seemed to think he was showing off.'

'Harry has his faults, but he's not a show-off. Although I suppose his newfound swagger might make it seem that way.' Frowning, she added, 'Do you think he should take a break from the radio show for a week or two?'

'That's a good question. People enjoy it, but maybe he should step back for a little while. Assuming he doesn't need to correct any gross misconceptions like usual.'

'Fingers crossed,' she said. 'I'll suggest it tonight.'

Ryan played football with his mates that morning, and in the afternoon he and Hermione went flying over a secluded wood where they wouldn't be seen. She ate dinner with her parents and then met Harry for their meeting with the Light Arts master.

They went down the passage together, and she held the heavy door for him. _So this is Penumbra_, she thought as they entered. It was absurdly dark, and she sincerely hoped Harry wouldn't start glowing. As it was, they attracted everyone's attention, and she could hear people trying to work out why they were there.

'We have a private meeting with Alistair,' Harry told the scornful-looking hostess.

'Right this way,' she said, guiding them past tables and through a better-lit space near the bar. _The arena_, thought Hermione with amusement. _This is where the pulling happens._

The hostess led them to a door, which she opened for them. Hermione expected a dark, luxurious room with velvet upholstery, but it was actually quite ordinary: well-lit, with a wooden table and four chairs. They were the first to arrive, so they took their places at the table.

'Do we know anything about her?' asked Hermione, pouring glasses of fruit pressé from a bottle on the table.

'Only her name: Davina Hampton.'

'I don't think that's a wizarding surname,' she said. 'But obviously I'm no expert.'

After a few minutes, the door opened and Alistair ushered in a woman of indeterminate age. At first glance Hermione thought she was perhaps fifty, but something in her eyes suggested she might be much older, or possibly younger.

'Well now, this is a surprise,' she said upon seeing Harry and Hermione. 'Although I really should have seen it coming.'

Hermione rose, and Harry said, 'I'm sorry I can't stand up, but I was hit by a Bludger yesterday.'

'Don't worry,' she said, extending her hand to Hermione and Harry in turn. 'I'm Davina Hampton. And obviously I know who you are—it's a pleasure to meet you both.'

'Thank you for agreeing to talk to us,' said Hermione. 'And Alistair, thank you for arranging it.'

Alistair politely excused himself, and the two witches sat down. 'I must say, I never expected to discuss Light magic in a vampire-owned bar in Knockturn Alley,' said Davina, 'but life is full of surprises.' They exchanged greetings and she asked, 'Why are you interested in the Light Arts?'

'I can't speak for Hermione,' said Harry, 'but starting a fortnight ago I've been experiencing accidental Light magic.'

'I see,' replied Davina. 'Would you mind describing it?'

'I'll describe what I can,' he began uncertainly, and Davina already seemed pleased.

'Yes, if it's real Light magic you won't be able to put it fully into words, but go on.'

'The easiest part to describe is the glowing.' He told her how it had started in the Sainte Chapelle, and he listed the other situations that tended to trigger it. 'I could probably do it right now if I wanted. The problem is that I can't always prevent it.'

'May I see you do it?' she asked.

Hermione was curious to watch. She'd seen him glow before, but she wondered how he'd bring it about. He closed his eyes briefly, and his shoulders relaxed. She watched his expression soften in a way that felt intimate, and she was reminded of the photograph the _Prophet_ had run two months earlier with the headline _'The Man Who Lived.'_ The glow started in his hands, but within ten seconds the rest of him was glowing.

'And how do you feel?' asked Davina.

'Fantastic. And oh, love!'

'Are there specific physical sensations, or just pleasure?'

'Magic, or energy—I don't know what it is—it's flowing through me like waves. And love, oh my god. Love.'

'Do you feel yourself resisting the experience at all?'

'Why would I resist it?' asked Harry, but then he frowned. 'You're right, I'm holding back.'

_He's holding back? _thought Hermione. _This is the abridged version?_

'Yes, that's normal,' said Davina. 'Not all of you is ready to surrender to the experience. But can you make contact with the part of you that's resisting?'

'What do you mean by "make contact?"' he asked.

'You don't need to inhabit it or analyse it—just notice it, and acknowledge that it has a right to exist.'

Harry's glow began to dim. 'I've made so many mistakes,' he said unexpectedly. 'How can I be happy when I've done so many things wrong?'

_What does he mean?_ thought Hermione. _Is this still about Sirius?_

'Yes, you've made mistakes,' said Davina. 'We all do.'

'I don't deserve this,' he continued. 'Fred, Tonks, Moony ...'

'People who died in the war, right at the end,' said Hermione quietly, and Davina nodded.

'I want Lydia,' he moaned. 'Stupid broken pelvis.'

Hermione laughed. 'That's another Light magic symptom he's been having.'

'It's true,' said Harry. 'I realise I'm nineteen, so it's probably to be expected, but I can't get enough. And I fall in love at the drop of a hat.'

_Sweet mercy, is Harry in love with Lydia?_ thought Hermione with alarm.

He was still glowing faintly. 'It's hard to be away from her right now, because she's experiencing Light magic too, I think. Only not with glowing. She says she feels great, and she becomes impossibly beautiful, like a Veela.'

'Is this since you started dating?' asked Davina.

'Yes, only since yesterday. She comes from a Dark family, and her parents are afraid I've irretrievably corrupted her.'

Davina smiled and said, 'You might have done. Which family is she from?'

'Travers,' said Harry and Hermione simultaneously.

Davina raised one eyebrow. 'Perhaps history will repeat itself,' she mused.

'How do you mean?' asked Hermione.

'I come from a family like hers. Not as Dark as the Traverses, but Dark-leaning.'

'Hampton?' asked Hermione.

'No, Wynter. Hampton is my married name.'

'Is your father Romulus Wynter?' asked Harry. 'Lydia's parents mentioned him this afternoon—they said he'd lost his daughter to Light magic.'

'Guilty as charged. I married a Muggle and everything.'

'Yes, they mentioned that, and that you live like a vagabond.'

'Compared to my father I do. And yes, Light magic is almost certainly to blame. But that was my path and it needn't be yours, nor Lydia's. And she may only be experiencing sympathetic Light magic rather than the more persistent variety.'

'Does that mean it won't last?' he asked.

'It mightn't. But now she's had a taste of it, and she may find herself pulled in that direction. She doesn't practice the Dark Arts, does she?'

'No, she rejected them because she didn't like how they affected her elder sister. Her sister became less affectionate and developed a sort of sneer.'

'I know it well,' said Davina sadly. 'Several of my classmates returned from the holidays wearing that sneer, and our friendships eroded. As for Lydia, that was remarkably good judgment on her part—the Dark Arts are pure poison for the mind.'

Harry's glow had faded, and Davina turned to Hermione. 'And why are you interested in Light magic?'

'I'd read only bits and pieces about it, but then Harry told me he was experiencing it, and he showed me a book he found in the Black family library.' Hermione told Davina about the book by Jacobus Filch and what she'd read at work. 'I thought my interest was only academic, but when I saw the book at the Ministry I realised I'd experienced it as well.'

'Really?' said Harry. 'Do you glow?'

'No, and I'm envious,' she admitted, 'although I can see how impractical it is. But I had an experience I can't quite explain, nearly two months ago, and I think I've changed a lot since then.' She described her strange conversation with Luna and said, 'The change wasn't dramatic—just a tiny blip, really—but I'm no longer quite the same person.'

'Was that when you suddenly wanted to go flying?' asked Harry. Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Davina and said, 'Hermione's never liked flying, but after my first Cannons match she was suddenly desperate to get onto a broomstick.'

'Some people become less fearful and inhibited,' said Davina. 'Were you previously very cerebral?'

'I think so,' said Hermione, but Harry was nodding emphatically.

'I'm not convinced you've experienced Light magic per se,' said Davina, 'but it sounds like you've crossed the threshold, which is the hard part. The next step will be to link it to your magic.' After a pause he asked, 'What are you hoping to accomplish with Light magic? Are you planning to use it in battle?'

'I hope I never see another battle,' said Harry. 'I suppose the ability to protect people using Light magic would be useful, particularly if it could be done without hurting anyone. But otherwise I just want to know more about it, particularly now that I'm experiencing it. I don't know where it'll lead, to be honest.'

'And what about you?' she asked Hermione.

'I'm not interested in battle either,' she replied. 'Not specifically, anyway. But Light magic sounds much more effective than most of what we learnt in Defence Against the Dark Arts, so I suppose it's worth knowing just in case. But I mostly want to understand it. If there's another way to make sense of the world—particularly one that runs counter to conventional understanding—then I need to know more.'

'Those are good reasons,' said Davina. 'One of the ironies of Light magic is that it's hugely effective in certain battle situations, but you won't get very far if that's your motivation.'

'I want to prevent the next war,' said Harry. 'I don't know whether Light magic can help, but that's a huge goal of mine as well.'

'A lofty ambition,' said Davina. 'Whether you'll succeed is another question—the causes for war are far deeper than anything we can control in the moment. But you can't have a better motivation than that.'

Hermione could no longer contain her curiosity. 'Davina, could you please say more about your own practice, and where you learnt about Light magic?' She paused and added, 'I hope that's not an inappropriate question.'

'It's a highly appropriate question. You don't want to study with someone who hasn't learnt it properly herself. I was first exposed to the Light Arts when I was around your age, or a little younger. I fell in love with a classmate during my final year at Hogwarts. I was in Slytherin, and he was in Hufflepuff, so you can imagine how my parents felt about it.'

Hermione was astonished. 'You were in Slytherin?'

'Yes, most of my family was, and when I was eleven I hadn't yet developed my independent streak. The Sorting Hat proposed Hufflepuff, but I was horrified and insisted on Slytherin. Of all the insults!' she said, chuckling. 'Anyway, I fell in love with a Muggle-born Hufflepuff named Peter, and my family threatened to disown me if I married him. Back then I was obedient enough that I broke it off, but not before spending a final night with him in the Astronomy Tower.'

Davina saw how Harry and Hermione were looking at her, and she said, 'Not that kind of night. Sometimes the most powerfully romantic experiences are the most chaste, and this was along those lines. He was experiencing a form of accidental Light magic—not glowing—and that night I experienced it sympathetically. In my case it stuck, possibly because I'd spent the entire afternoon crying and was therefore vulnerable. I'm not entirely sure why, but feeling hopeless or despondent can be a precursor to a huge internal shift.'

Hermione almost raised her hand in excitement. 'That's how it was for me! Ron had just broken up with me, and then I had a disastrous meeting at work—I nearly started another goblin war. Luna took me to dinner that night, and that's when things shifted.'

'And for me it was when I knew I was about to die,' said Harry. 'The last night of the war, I had to give up my life to prevent Voldemort from coming back.' He briefly explained what had happened in the Forbidden Forest, without mentioning Horcruxes.

'That's not what I'd call a typical Awakening experience, but I can see why it worked,' said Davina. 'Anyway, I was changed after that night with Peter. It's ironic that in trying to obey my parents, I set the wheels in motion for disobeying them far more thoroughly.'

Hermione was indignant on Davina's behalf. 'Or you could say that by tearing you from someone you loved, your parents set the wheels in motion for you to stray even farther. Assuming that's what came next.'

'It was. That summer after I finished school I was heartbroken, but I also felt like a newborn foal stretching my legs. I suddenly noticed a whole world around me that I'd previously ignored.'

'The Muggle world?' asked Hermione.

'Exactly. I had an internship at the Ministry, which was the appropriate job for a young pure-blood of my station. I was expected to meet a suitable wizard and stop working as soon as we married. But instead of flirting with my coworkers, I used to wander around Muggle London during lunch and after work. I went to galleries and concerts and poetry readings ... and to places a well-brought-up young witch should never have gone. I stayed up late listening to what I thought were deep conversations amongst so-called intellectuals, although looking back it was mostly blather. But there were seeds of truth scattered amid all the rubbish, and those led me along my path.'

'Excuse me,' said Hermione. 'Are you talking about your path as a Light Arts practitioner, or a spiritual path?'

'There's no difference,' said Davina. 'The only distinction is that wizards experience a magical component, but otherwise the core experience is the same.'

Harry asked, 'Does that mean a Muggle could experience everything I do while glowing, except for the glowing itself?'

'Yes, although they might attract attention in other ways.'

'Such as?' prompted Hermione.

'Personal magnetism or charisma,' said Davina. 'Or a slightly intoxicated look of pleasure, if they're still getting used to it. I sometimes describe it as "bedroom eyes."'

'Harry, she's describing you,' said Hermione. 'Minus the glowing, of course.'

'Brilliant. So on top of everything else, I look like some kind of pervert.'

'You'll learn to integrate it,' said Davina. 'That's what's tricky about the early stages—the experience is unstable, so there's a tendency to overcommit, for fear that it might otherwise disappear. That's what causes manifestations of involuntary magic, like glowing or an allure.'

'Why do you suppose Lydia developed an allure instead of glowing?' he asked.

'There are lots of factors, but it often depends on priming. Young women are under more pressure to be attractive than men are, and as a Travers she was probably raised to be ornamental above all else. So it's not surprising her accidental Light magic would flow similarly.'

'She is vain,' said Harry. 'But I don't think she cared or even noticed that she was attracting so many other men.'

'It's true,' said Hermione. 'She only had eyes for Harry.'

'He was the source of her Light magic,' replied Davina. 'And I'm sure she's fond of you, if you're a couple.'

'Yes,' he said contentedly. 'We're in love.'

Hermione must not have hidden her reaction well, because Harry said, 'Don't worry, we'll never marry—in spite of her family's best efforts. She's moving out on Wednesday, and after that we aren't even planning to date exclusively.'

'But if you're in love?' began Hermione.

'It's not like that. It's less personal somehow ... I feel tremendous love when we're together, and thinking about her now, but I don't want to possess her. I think we both want our freedom more than we want each other, if that makes sense.'

'It's fortunate you both feel that way,' said Davina. 'I've seen painful interactions between partners where they were both in love, but only one of them wanted an ongoing commitment.'

'That's definitely not the case with Lydia. Last Sunday I got down on one knee and proposed never to marry her, and she accepted. It's become a running joke.'

Hermione relaxed, although she couldn't relate to what he was describing. _I love Ryan and I want to be with him_, she thought, picturing frogs hopping down a church aisle.

Davina continued describing her journey into the Light Arts. 'I originally thought my experience with Peter was a purely magical phenomenon, but in my secret life exploring Muggle London I discovered that Muggles can access it as well. And unlike wizards, Muggles aren't tempted to use it in battle, although that's not the only pitfall. But we needn't discuss those now.'

'Was that how you met your husband?' asked Hermione.

'Yes, and that's when I could no longer hide my secret life from my family. I'd been at it for several years, and I'd snubbed the wizards who tried courting me, so they assumed I'd be an old maid and could be trusted to look after my elders. But when I was twenty-two I met Christopher, and there was no question I wanted to marry him. He was brilliant and deeply curious, with the critical thinking skills wizards so often lack.'

'Was?' said Hermione, fearing the answer.

'He died nearly ten years ago. Not because of wizards, but in a car accident. We were both seriously injured, and when we were unconscious we were taken to a Muggle hospital and rushed into surgery. I recovered—miraculously well, according to the doctors—but Christopher didn't make it.'

Davina didn't seem emotional as she spoke, but Hermione didn't want to risk upsetting her with more personal questions, so she asked again about Light magic.

'It wasn't easy to find a Light Arts teacher,' said Davina, 'since it's fallen so far out of fashion. Several so-called Light magicians tried defeating Grindelwald, but they didn't succeed, and eventually Albus Dumbledore defeated him without using Light magic.'

'I wondered about that,' said Hermione. 'Do you know if he ever studied the Light Arts?'

'He probably learnt the theory, but I don't think he ever practised them.'

Hermione was reluctant to ask her next question, but Harry asked it for her. 'Dumbledore was hugely powerful, in terms of magical strength. How would Light magic have interacted with that?'

Davina looked at him appraisingly. 'Are you asking about Dumbledore or about yourself?'

'Not about me,' he replied. 'I'm barely above average in that respect.' He glanced at Hermione but didn't elaborate.

'Magical strength plays a role, but not nearly as much as with traditional magic or the Dark Arts. And it doesn't help with learning Light magic in the first place. In fact, it can be a hindrance, since the powerful wizard mightn't be willing to persevere when something doesn't come naturally to them.' She turned to Hermione and added, 'Powerful witches or wizards seldom bother unless they experience it spontaneously first.'

Davina told them about some of her Light magic teachers, and where she'd studied. 'There are a handful of schools for the Light Arts around the world, but none in Britain. Mostly it's taught by individuals or in small groups, which is how I learnt it, but that may be changing. I had an owl from a friend in Canada last week, and more people have approached him for instruction lately. And my friend in Italy mentioned something similar.'

'There may be an explosion of interest when it comes out that Harry is experiencing it,' said Hermione. 'He won't be able to keep it secret much longer.'

Davina hadn't heard about Harry's Glowpox incident. 'I'm afraid I don't follow the news very closely, but I'm certain your enemies took note. How's your Occlumency?'

'Alistair tested me and said I'm impregnable. And Lydia's father tried Legilimency on me this afternoon and couldn't make a dent.'

'And Hermione, have you learnt Occlumency?'

'No. I watched Harry struggle with it for years, but I never tried it myself. I suppose I should start.'

'Ask Owen for help,' said Harry. 'He's much better at teaching Mind Arts than Snape was. That's how I'm able to spot the Snitch.'

Davina was amused that Harry used the Mind Arts in Quidditch, and she asked him for details. 'You should teach Hermione,' she said. 'Not to catch the Snitch, of course, but how to cultivate both attention and awareness. That's an essential skill for advancing in Light magic.'

Harry laughed and said, 'This will be the first time I've ever taught Hermione anything. It's always been the other way around.'

'That's not true,' said Hermione. 'You taught me the Patronus Charm.'

'Which is Light magic,' said Davina. 'And I expect you to learn at least as much from each other as you learn from me. Assuming you'd like for me to teach you.'

'If you're willing,' said Harry, and Hermione nodded enthusiastically.

'Yes, you've passed my test, such as it was. I wanted to make sure you weren't just looking for a new way to annihilate enemies. And it helps you've already both experienced it. Speaking of which ... I suppose you're wondering how important it is to keep it secret.'

'That was my next question,' said Harry. 'Rita Skeeter already knows, but she won't reveal anything without my permission. Although I don't think she'll let me postpone it forever.'

'No, and your enemies probably know. So it's just a question of whether you want everyone else to find out.'

Harry sighed. 'I could do without the attention. But what do you think? Is there any benefit to announcing it?'

Davina thought for a moment. 'You'll definitely ignite an interest in the Light Arts. But may I warn my fellow practitioners first? It'll be international news the second you go public, and it would be good if the other teachers were prepared.'

'For the onslaught of new students?' asked Hermione.

'Precisely. Although it's not easy to teach, once you get past subjects like the Patronus Charm.'

'When I talk to Rita about it, will you be willing to advise me, or even talk to her yourself?' asked Harry. 'I can't believe I'm suggesting it, but she and I have a contract now that imposes penalties if she lies about me. All I'm required to do is offer her right of first refusal when I have a big announcement.'

'This would count as a big announcement,' said Davina. 'And yes, I'll be glad to speak with her when the time comes.'

'She'll probably mention your family background,' warned Hermione. 'Harry, can you prevent that?'

'I don't know. Davina, would that be a problem?'

She sighed. 'My family knows I'm back in England. I write to them annually, and whenever I change location. But they haven't wanted to see me since I married. And they never met my children.'

'Their own grandchildren?' exclaimed Hermione.

'Yes, but it's not surprising—neither of my children are magical. And neither of my grandchildren has shown accidental magic, but they're young, so it's not out of the question.'

Hermione was tempted to ask her more, but she refrained in case it was a sore subject. Instead Harry and Davina worked out a schedule for their lessons, starting a week from Monday, since Davina was travelling again to the Continent. At first she declined payment, but Harry insisted.

'I pay my other tutor, and there's no reason you shouldn't be paid as well.' He chuckled and said, 'But I'll pay you from the Black family vault if you prefer, just for the irony.'

Davina laughed. 'You may be amused to know that Cygnus Black tried to court me. We went to tea once and I wasn't at all interested—he married Druella Rosier instead.'

'That was Andromeda's father,' remarked Hermione. 'And Walburga's brother.'

Before they parted company, Davina gave Harry advice about his accidental Light magic. 'When it arises, try to identify any resistance you might be having to the experience, and then allow that resistance just to exist within your larger awareness.'

'So I don't need to analyse the resistance, or reason with it?'

'No, just let it be, and relax. And enjoy the experience! Over time, that will dissolve your resistance as well.'

Harry looked reluctant to pose his next question. 'What about the libido aspects? How should I handle that?'

'Is it causing a problem?' asked Davina.

'Except for the one time I was late to practice, no. But I'm getting a reputation for promiscuity.'

_At least he didn't say 'manwhore,'_ thought Hermione. Unfortunately she'd heard him described that way several times at the party.

'Does it bother you?' asked Davina.

Harry shrugged. 'People are always criticising me for one thing or another. At least this is fun.'

'As long as it doesn't become a distraction, and you're not mistreating your partners, I don't see a problem with it.'

After the meeting, Hermione helped Harry into a taxicab and they returned to Grimmauld Place. 'Thank Merlin I can start walking with a cane tomorrow,' said Harry once they were indoors.

'You're home!' cried Lydia as she ran upstairs from the sitting room. 'Hermione, thanks for getting him in and out of the taxicab. Did the driver ask again whether he'd been to a fancy dress party?'

'No,' replied Harry. 'Hermione wasn't dressed for it, so she told him I was in a play. She was very convincing, and I didn't have to say a thing.'

'My parents took me to see _The Importance of Being Earnest _on Friday, so I used that.' She turned to Harry and said, 'It's by Oscar Wilde, whom you should really ask your tutor about.'

'Yes, it sounded good—perhaps I should see it if I ever have a spare evening.'

'Actually,' began Hermione, 'I was thinking you might want to consider taking a break from the radio show for a week or two.'

Harry frowned. 'Do you think it's becoming a problem?'

'Not yet ... but you don't want to risk overexposure.'

'It's not a bad idea. I never intended to do it indefinitely. And with any luck I won't need to set the record straight about anything this week, assuming the _Prophet_ doesn't come out with fresh lies tomorrow.'

Hermione went to her parents' house instead of Ryan's flat that night, since she had an early Spinning class the next morning. But she rang him to ask about his meeting with his Charms professor.

'It was terrific,' he said. 'He was impressed with my research proposals, although he's sceptical I'll ever devise a magical compact disc player.'

'You didn't really suggest that!'

'No, I just wanted to see if you were paying attention. How was your meeting with the Light Arts teacher?'

'Wonderful—she recommended several books, all of which should be returned to the Ministry library in the next week or so. But she said books are of limited use and that practice is the most important thing, and that Harry and I should work together whenever possible.'

'That's good. I know you were concerned you and Harry were starting to drift apart.'

'Is that how I phrased it?' she asked. 'I thought it was just that didn't see each other as often, now that we're no longer both dating Weasleys.'

'You did say that, but you also said it felt weird that I spend more time with him than you do now.'

'Oh right. Well, that won't change—he and I will only meet a once or twice a week, including our lesson with Davina. But it'll be nice to have a shared activity again.'

She went to bed thinking about the meeting, and reflecting in particular on what Harry had said about being in love with Lydia. _How does he fall in and out of love so quickly? _she wondered. Admittedly she'd fallen for Ryan less than a week after Ron had ended things, but Harry had already had multiple love affairs since joining the Cannons, not to mention his 'night of sweet exhaustion.'

_It's a good thing I never fancied him_, she mused. _Either I'd have pulled a Ginny and broken his heart, or he'd have pulled a Harry and broken mine._ Ryan was perfect, as far as she was concerned, and she fell asleep feeling grateful for how everything had turned out.


	65. Chapter 65

Harry awoke on his back, his pelvis still immobilised. Turning his head, he saw Lydia was still asleep, with her hair in a delightful tangle across the pillow. _Who has untidy hair now?_ he thought triumphantly. But he was reluctant to delay his recovery by reaching for her, so he cultivated Light magic instead.

It flowed through him almost instantly, and Lydia groggily peeled off her nightie and draped it over her eyes to block the light. His thoughts were largely nonverbal, expressed only by the word 'love,' and he lay quietly for a while. But then he recalled Davina's advice to look for any resistance to the experience.

It appeared like an ugly wound. '_You're not allowed_,' it said. '_That's not for you. You shouldn't even get the partial experience_.' He felt his pleasure recede, and his light began to dim. _But I want it_, he thought hungrily. _Why not me? _His pleading was fruitless, however, and the Light magic began to disappear entirely. He tried cultivating it again, and it wouldn't come, which bolstered the parts of his mind that believed he didn't deserve it.

_Hang on, I can allow the thoughts of resistance to exist. All Davina said was not to analyse them, and to let them be. _He expanded into broad awareness, as he did while flying, and from there he noticed a subtle tug of war between the parts of him that resisted Light magic and the parts that desperately grasped to it. _Just let them exist_, he reminded himself. _All of them._

The tug of war settled into a stalemate and relaxed entirely, but then a new emotion arose: sadness. _It's been here all along_, he thought mournfully. He knew Davina would tell him just to allow it, but he didn't want to. _Why won't Lydia wake up?_ he thought impatiently.

He was tempted to poke her, and after a minute he did just that. 'Lydia,' he murmured. 'Are you awake?'

She pulled her nightdress off her head and looked at him blearily. 'Did you just wake me on purpose?'

'Yes, can you forgive me?'

She scooted closer and rested her head next to his. 'Yes, but only because you're perfect and I love you.'

'I'm glad your parents made us verify you weren't Love Potioned, because I'm starting to wonder.'

'You're perfectly horrid,' she said affectionately. 'You woke me from a sound sleep, and your hair is appalling, and you ruined me and no decent wizard will have me. And now I'm polluted with Light magic and they'll probably send me to St Mungo's, or maybe a Dark Arts hospital on the Continent.'

'Are there really Dark hospitals?' he asked. 'How would that even work?'

'No, I made that up. But there's a spa in the Alps somewhere that uses blood magic and illegal charms to help witches and wizards look younger. I don't know the details, but I've heard rumours it involves kidnapped Muggle children.'

Harry was aghast. 'Don't tell me your family goes there!'

'No, they all scorn it, at least publicly. But my great-aunt Lydia—I was named for her—disappeared for several weeks last winter and returned looking radiant and with a much younger companion from some Eastern European country. Her grown children ended up paying him off, for fear she'd marry him and leave them without a Knut.'

'Listening to you describe your relations almost makes me grateful I haven't any,' said Harry. 'But I shouldn't have awakened you ... do you want to go back to sleep?'

'No, I have a million things to do before moving into my flat on Wednesday.'

'Can you still come to Claridge's with me for tea this afternoon? I need to prepare for my visit to Malfoy Manor on Sunday, and today's my only day off.'

'Of course I'll come,' she reassured him. 'Didn't I say I would?'

He summoned Kreacher to help him out of bed. 'Good morning, Master,' said the elf brightly, but Harry was concerned by how tired he looked.

'Are you all right? You're looking a bit peaky.'

'Kreacher is perfectly fine,' he protested. 'Kreacher is deliriously happy to serve Master in his hour of need.'

'You've been a tremendous help—I'd be lost without you. But you deserve rest as well.'

'Is Master threatening to punish Kreacher?'

_Here we go again_, thought Harry. 'Yes,' he said firmly. 'After you help me get dressed, I'm confining you to your attic for the rest of the morning. You've been very naughty!'

'Cruel, cruel master!' cried Kreacher ecstatically, and Harry and Lydia both clamped their mouths shut to keep from laughing. 'But who will cook Master's breakfast?' said the elf.

'Kammy will,' said Lydia. 'And lunch as well.'

Kreacher's eyes bulged with alarm, and he looked desperately at Harry. 'Lydia, that's very generous, but I require lunch from Kreacher.'

Mollified, Kreacher helped Harry from bed and brought him to the bathroom. After his shower, Harry tried to forbid Kreacher from shaving him, insisting he rest as soon as possible, but the elf wailed until Harry consented. _Would it be wrong to let him continue as my valet once I'm healed?_ he wondered afterwards. _Not the showering, of course—just the shave._

Harry had wizarding business that afternoon so he opted for robes, and Lydia declared him a remarkably dashing invalid. 'Your interior designer is liable to fall in love with you,' she said playfully.

'The interior designer and his assistant are both male, so I don't think I'm likely to return their affections.' Harry was taking advantage of his unplanned day off to meet with the decorator whose assistance he'd negotiated in his contract with the furniture store.

'Are you sure you don't want my help?' asked Lydia.

'I do want your help with the final decisions, but if you're here today, the designer will only talk to you and bypass me completely.'

'That's true,' she said. 'And you seem to like how gloomy the house is, which of course I'd never tolerate.'

'Yet another reason we shouldn't marry,' he said affectionately.

His florist had sent an array of boutonnières relating to his injury, including yarrow for healing, a light pink rose for gratitude, and another bachelor's button for celibacy. 'Whoever selects the flowers is very cheeky,' observed Harry. 'I should probably owl my thanks.'

'You need to owl Lee and George about the broadcast,' Lydia reminded him.

'You're right,' he replied, and he wrote a quick note.

_Dear Lee and George,_

_I hope this isn't a problem, but I'd like to take a break from the radio show for the next couple of weeks. Hermione pointed out that I'm risking overexposure, and I agree. I also have a match against the Harpies the weekend after next, and I'd rather not give Allie Hobbs more ammunition. _

_I may change my mind at the last minute if some new horror appears in the _Prophet_, but otherwise you should plan on doing the show without me. I promise to return once my life settles down a bit, which I'm told might actually happen someday._

_Best wishes,  
__Harry_

Lydia posted the letter with Lysander, and they ate breakfast together in the dining room. 'Kammy cried when I asked her to serve us in the kitchen,' said Lydia. 'You and Kreacher were in the bathroom, and she admitted she served me in the kitchen all last week only because you insisted, and that she had to punish herself afterwards.'

'No!' cried Harry. 'That's terrible! Do you know what she did?'

'She wore a soiled tea towel. It was charmed so we wouldn't see it, but she knew, and she said it was mortifying.'

_That's better than anything Dobby came up with_, thought Harry with relief, but he was sorry Kammy had made herself suffer.

They read the _Prophet_ over breakfast. Harry was mentioned in the Quidditch news as usual, and there was an item in the gossip column:

_Potter's Mysterious Meeting: Not even a broken pelvis could keep Harry Potter away from Penumbra last night, but Lydia Travers probably needn't worry her randy Seeker is straying. The devoted pair dined together at Mistigri, dazzling onlookers with their obvious mutual affection, and afterwards he joined his fellow Order of Merlin recipient Hermione Granger for a closed-door meeting at Penumbra with an unidentified older witch. The meeting lasted an hour, and Potter and Granger were spotted leaving the Leaky Cauldron by Muggle taxicab, presumably to accommodate his injury. On the remote possibility, however, that Potter and Granger are renewing their long-rumoured romance, we invite Miss Travers and Cannons Chaser Ryan Bellamy to console each other, if only for the pleasure of photographing them together._

'Really?' said Harry with exasperation. 'They still think Hermione and I have a secret past?'

'Ryan's awfully good-looking,' mused Lydia. 'But I wouldn't dream of coming between him and Hermione—they're madly in love.'

'They are, aren't they? It's so different to how she and Ron were as a couple.'

'I can't even picture them together! They really have nothing in common, except for you.'

'That's not true. We were all in Gryffindor, for one thing.'

'Fine. What else?'

'We fought Voldemort together.'

'And?'

Harry paused. _What did they have in common?_ he wondered. 'None of us liked Umbridge.'

'Dolores Umbridge? I don't know anyone who liked her. My grandfather called her "an odious necessity."'

'I wouldn't call her a necessity, but it's nice to know your grandfather and I agree on something. I'll keep that in mind the next time we're trapped in a lift together.'

'Can you really not think of anything else Hermione and Ron had in common, besides you and your mates?'

'Honestly, no. I never quite understood why they fancied each other, but that's just how it was.'

They were interrupted by Kammy, who was carrying an envelope. 'For Mr Harry Potter,' she said, and she handed it to him with a curtsy.

He thanked her and opened it. 'It's from Rita Skeeter,' he said, frowning. It read:

_Dear Harry,_

_Please accept my wishes for a swift and complete recovery. The entire wizarding world is figuratively draped in black over the injury to what can only be described as a national treasure._

_I'm writing in response to the intriguing statement you made on Saturday afternoon, regarding your ambition to prevent the next war. Obviously you were under the influence of Healing potions, so I'd never accuse you of violating our agreement by revealing something important without consulting me first. _

_If you wish to dissolve our partnership and discuss it with other reporters, please let me know so I may pursue other research opportunities. But I'd much rather preserve our alliance, wouldn't you?_

_I understand if you're not ready to discuss the topic further, which is your prerogative and would leave our relationship intact. But if you wish to discuss it publicly, please either ask for my assistance or notify me that our contract is void._

_Admiringly yours,  
__Rita_

'Ugh, I forgot I was supposed to give her right of first refusal,' grumbled Harry. 'Fortunately I barely said anything about it at the time.'

'You should probably owl her,' said Lydia. 'You don't want to get onto her bad side again.'

'Good idea—and I need to owl Lara as well, about tickets for Saturday's match.' Sighing, he said, 'I really need another owl. And don't tell me to send Kreacher, because he's sleeping.'

"I wasn't going to say that. You definitely need another owl—something better than your current one.'

'What's wrong with Lysander?' he asked, anticipating her reply.

'He's so common. You should really have something more distinctive, like a black owl.'

'Are there black owls? I don't think I've ever seen one.'

'They're rare,' she said. 'But that's what you need. You're head of House Black, after all.'

Harry grimaced. 'I can't decide if having a rare black owl would be pretentious or not. My instinct says it is.' After a pause, he said, 'On the other hand, Hedwig was snow white. So it would almost be a tribute to her if I had a black owl. I could certainly never replace her.'

'We should go to Diagon Alley this afternoon before we get tea at that Muggle hotel,' proposed Lydia.

'Good idea,' said Harry. 'Will you be off now?'

'Yes, I need to go to Gringotts to discuss wards for my flat, and then establish the Floo connection and a thousand other things. But I'll be home by three, and we can go out together.'

Lydia left, and Harry went upstairs to write letters. The note to Lara was simple—he asked her to send fourteen tickets to Fiona for the residents of the WORF group home. But he put careful thought into his letter to Rita:

_Dear Rita,_

_Thank you for your good wishes, and also for reminding me about our contract, which I value highly. I'm not yet ready to discuss my goal of preventing the next wizarding war, but I believe it dovetails with my other upcoming announcements. We already discussed one on Wednesday, when I reacted to the Glowpox vaccine, and you've undoubtedly guessed what the other one is. I promise you'll be the person I contact when the time comes._

_Yours sincerely,  
__Harry_

Everyone in wizarding Britain knew he was likely to change his name, but Harry wanted to wait at least until after his visit to Malfoy Manor on Sunday. Lydia would have moved out by then, and perhaps he would manage to go a week without some new scandal. _Not that I want to,_ he thought wickedly. _Scandals are fun._

He didn't think it was because he craved attention, at least not primarily. _But everything I do attracts attention, so I may as well do as I please, as long as I'm not hurting anyone._ Lydia had given him permission to date other witches after she moved out, and he was keen to get started. He loved Lydia but he didn't want to grow attached to her, so he was already thinking about whom to pursue next.

Harry's first choice would have been Fiona, but Owen had warned him not to toy with her. And he'd met several other appealing witches at the party, including a couple of Quidditch players, but he was unwilling to date someone else in the league. _Too much taunting potential if we break up_, he thought. The last thing he needed was a rival Seeker taunting him about his frequent nightmares.

His train of thought was interrupted by Lysander's tap at the window. Harry wheeled over to let him in, and the owl perched on his arm as he read Lee's reply: _'Not to worry—we have heaps of material and can fill the time easily. But of course you're always welcome should you change your mind, even at the last minute.'_

Harry gave Lysander the letter to Rita, and then he waited for Healer MacAlister to arrive. _I've actually finished my team correspondence,_ he thought with satisfaction. _I can't decide whether to send it back with MacAlister or to hand-deliver it to Mrs Thwip tomorrow, just to see her shocked expression._

'Harry, how are you feeling?' asked the Healer when he arrived, after the Cannons had all gone to lunch. With a more stern expression, he added, 'Have you been following my instructions?'

'Yes, to the letter! My house-elf has been tremendously helpful.' MacAlister looked at him uncertainly, and Harry said, 'Oh dear, that came out wrong.'

They both laughed, and after a short conversation the Healer hovered Harry to the sofa for an exam. He performed diagnostic charms and said, 'You're healing well. A little ahead of schedule even, so you're free to start walking with a cane.'

'What about magical transport?' asked Harry hopefully.

'Not until tomorrow morning.'

'Oh well. I suppose Muggle taxicabs will be easier now that I no longer need a wheelchair.'

MacAlister showed Harry how to use the cane, and he gave him several more potions from his bag. 'Take these tonight, no later than midnight. And try to stay in bed as late as possible tomorrow morning, other than going to the toilet and such. But then feel free to Apparate to practice, and you can stop using the cane.'

'That sounds great,' replied Harry, knowing how happy Lydia would be to eat breakfast in bed. 'Could you deliver this to Lara when you return?' he asked, holding out the letter. He'd decided to deliver his completed fan mail in person on Tuesday.

'Yes, or course. And thanks for reminding me ... Mrs Thwip sent this for you,' said MacAlister, pulling a thick sheaf of papers from his bag.

Harry's shoulders slumped. 'More post?' he groaned. 'I'd finally caught up.'

'Well-wishers,' replied MacAlister. 'Apparently you received a lot of baked goods as well, but Mrs Thwip had to Vanish them.'

After the Healer left, Harry practised walking with the cane, mostly for the pleasure of using his legs again. He ate lunch in the kitchen and noted with relief that Kreacher was looking less tired, although he seemed disappointed Harry no longer required a wheelchair.

At half past one, Harry went to the reception hall to greet the interior designer. The fireplace flared green, and a very well-dressed man in his fifties stepped out. 'You must be Mr Finial,' said Harry, extending his hand.

'Yes, but let's make room for my assistant, Alex,' replied the designer, moving away from the hearth.

'Of course,' said Harry, carefully stepping backwards.

To Harry's surprise, Alex was a young woman. _An attractive young woman_, he noted with interest, and he unconsciously ran a hand through his hair. She was perhaps an inch taller than he was, with remarkably good posture, and he'd never seen anyone with such long and thick eyelashes. Her features were unusual, and she wasn't conventionally pretty, but she took his breath away.

_Don't glow,_ he warned himself, and he paused to regain his composure. 'Thank you for coming on short notice,' he said. 'It's rare for me to have a weekday at home.'

'Of course, Mr Potter,' said Finial. 'I'm Stephen Finial, and this is Alex Barrington.'

'Please, call me Harry,' he replied, belatedly tearing his eyes away from the striking young witch. 'I can tolerate being called Mr Potter in public but not at home.'

After everyone agreed to use their given names, Stephen and Alex started looking around.

'I love how gloomy it is,' declared Stephen. 'So much character. But don't let me bias you; what are you hoping to accomplish?'

'Not very much, to be honest,' said Harry. 'I rather like the house as it is, but I have new wallpaper thanks to my over-enthusiastic house-elf, and I'd like to make sure everything still goes together. And it would be nice to add a few touches to make the house more comfortable. My girlfriend Lydia bought a throw blanket for the sitting room and some pillows for the master bedroom, and I'm certain the rest of the house could use other details like that to warm it up.'

'That's where Alex can help,' said Stephen as they walked into the dining room. 'She's a Transfiguration expert, and she can temporarily conjure items and change colours, so you can preview what I have in mind.'

'I'm not an expert yet,' corrected Alex. 'I'm still working on my Mastery—this job is an internship.'

'Trust me, you're an expert,' said Stephen. He looked at the large chandelier hanging above the midpoint of the table and said, 'Harry, how do you feel about that chandelier?'

'I almost like it?' he replied uncertainly.

'Yes, exactly,' agreed Stephen. 'Alex, can you remove the facets from all but the central teardrop? And make the scallops on the collars around the candles look less like fingernails?'

She pulled out her wand, which was as dark as ebony and exceptionally long and slender. Harry watched her as she wordlessly transfigured the light fixture, more interested in her look of concentration than in the chandelier itself. Judging from her satisfied expression, he could tell she'd done a good job.

He examined her handiwork. 'Wow! If I didn't know you'd changed it, I'd think it was the same chandelier as always. Only now I actually like it.'

'It's not permanent,' replied Alex. 'You'll need your house-elf to prevent it from changing back.'

'That's fine, he'll be delighted. How long will it stay like this?'

'Twenty-four hours, maybe longer.'

'Marvellous, thank you.'

Stephen, who was still looking around, said, 'Would I be correct to assume you'd like more changes along these lines, preserving the character of the house but making it a hint more modern and slightly less ... creepy?'

'That sounds like a good slogan for my tenure as Head of House,' joked Harry. '"_A hint more modern, and slightly less creepy_." At least I hope so,' he added.

Stephen and Alex both laughed, and they continued exploring the house. Stephen asked Alex to perform more transfigurations, nearly all of which Harry liked. The only one he rejected was an attempt to stabilise a hatstand that Tonks had consistently knocked over.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'An old friend used to always bump into it, during the war, and she'd invariably start swearing. She's gone now, but whenever someone knocks it over I think of her.'

'That's a perfect reason not to change it,' said Stephen, and Alex smiled warmly. _She squints a little when she smiles_, he thought admiringly, and he automatically smiled back at her.

She raised a single eyebrow at him, as if to say, _'Are you really flirting with me when everyone knows you have a girlfriend?' _Chastened, he assumed a serious expression and followed Stephen up the stairs.

_How do I convey that Lydia and I won't be exclusive after Wednesday?_ he wondered. The more he watched her perform complicated transfigurations, the more taken he was with her. _She's so unusual looking, and clever to boot. _

_Calm down, Gryffindor_, he told himself. _This is probably just the Light magic talking._

They went through the entire house, and Alex transfigured and conjured according to Stephen's suggestions. The conjured items corresponded to products available for purchase at Wendell's shop—mainly pillows and poufs to make the house more friendly.

'Is it still gloomy enough?' asked Harry. 'I've grown quite fond of what my mates and I call "pure-blood decorating," and I don't want to dilute it too much.'

'You needn't worry,' said Stephen. 'This is still what I'd call traditional Dark decor. Ironically, you'll no longer find it in the Darkest family manors, except in the study or a private inner sanctum where Dark rituals are performed. For example, I've never seen Malfoy Manor, but I'm told it's surprisingly cheerful.'

'I was there at night, and mostly in the cellar, so it was anything but cheerful,' said Harry. 'But the drawing room had large windows, and I'm certain it gets more natural light than this house does. And Lydia is accustomed to a much more cheerful house than this one—she's always complaining about how dreary it is.'

'Then she'll be a good litmus test. If she still thinks it's dreary, that'll mean we haven't changed it too much,' said Alex. 'But will she be disappointed?'

'She's moving into her own flat on Wednesday, and I doubt she'll be here often after that,' said Harry, who was grateful for the opportunity to convey he'd be single again soon. 'It was never a serious relationship.'

He realised he might have been looking at Alex a bit too meaningfully, because Stephen coughed and Alex blushed and looked away. _Does that mean she's interested?_ Harry wondered. _Or did I just sound like a creep? Oh bugger, we're in the master bedroom! Of course I sounded like a creep!_

'Which wallpaper do you prefer in here?' asked Stephen. 'I see you had your house-elf install several options.'

'The dragon was a joke,' explained Harry, who was also blushing. 'And Hermione called the peacock feather pattern "sybaritic" and said it either belongs in the entrance hall or a brothel.'

'No,' replied Stephen. 'It's perfect up here. The botanical print is lovely, but the peacock feathers are classic pure-blood decor. Alex, what do you think?'

She levelled her gaze at Harry and addressed him directly, her tone deliberate. 'I agree with Stephen. It's absolutely perfect up here.'

_Well now_, thought Harry. _There's my answer! _He couldn't help smiling, and Alex's lips curled upwards as well, which told Harry everything he wanted to know.

They walked downstairs to the formal fireplace, and Harry thanked them for their help. 'I'll owl the shop about which items I'd like to purchase,' he said. 'And then Wendell can arrange a time to photograph everything—I won't need to be home for that.'

'It's been a pleasure to work on such an historic property,' replied Stephen. He handed Harry his card and said, 'Please let me know if you need any other advice about the place.'

They shook hands, and Stephen disappeared through the fireplace. But then Alex handed Harry a card as well. 'If you ever need help with Transfiguration,' she said evenly. 'Or anything else around the house.'

'Cheers,' murmured Harry, never breaking eye contact with her. She blushed again and turned away, tossing Floo powder into the fireplace and vanishing. _Mischief managed,_ he thought, and he carefully placed her card into his pouch.

He went back upstairs to change into Muggle clothing, in anticipation of his visit with Lydia to Claridge's, and she arrived just as he was straightening his necktie.

'You're standing!' she exclaimed joyfully, and she wrapped her arms around him. But after they kissed she started scolding him. 'I hoped the house would be more cheerful, but other than a few pillows it's as gloomy as ever.'

'Good, that means we didn't ruin it. I assume your flat is the complete opposite?'

'Yes, you'll hate it.'

'I don't hate cheerful spaces,' he protested. 'I just like my house this way. For Merlin's sake, it's called Grimmauld Place—I can't change it too much.'

He and Lydia took a Muggle taxicab to Diagon Alley, in search of an owl. They'd intended to poke into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes on their way to Eeylops Owl Emporium, but the store was packed. 'Blast, school starts on Wednesday,' he said to Lydia. 'Or is it just Hogwarts?'

'No, all wizarding schools start on the first of September, or the Monday after.'

'Ugh, do you think they'll have anything left at Eeylops?'

'I don't know,' she said. 'But we might as well look.'

When they entered the store, Harry's heart sank—there were far fewer than the normal amount of owls, and none of them looked interesting enough to satisfy Lydia. Several families were there, trying to choose among the remaining owls, and the only reason Harry didn't leave was so he could ask when they expected to restock.

'It'll be a few weeks at least,' said the white-haired, bespectacled clerk, who Harry thought might be the owner. 'Are you looking for something in particular?'

'I need a second owl,' said Harry. 'And Lydia was hoping for something a bit more distinctive than the one I have now, which is a common tawny owl.'

'Do you ever have black owls?' she asked.

'Oh, no,' said the shopkeeper. 'Not only are they rare in nature, but they're not inclined to deliver post. I've only seen a few in my entire career.'

Harry sighed. 'Then I suppose I'm just looking for an owl that's fast, and who can handle long distances.'

The shopkeeper looked around the store and shook his head. 'No, we're too picked over by now. Unless ...' he trailed off.

'Unless what?' asked Lydia.

'I've been keeping them as pets—I didn't think anyone would want them—but I have a pair of jackdaws who are remarkably fast and capable.'

'A pair of them?' asked Harry.

'Yes, they mate for life.'

'Why didn't you think anyone would want them?'

'They won't tolerate a cage, for one thing. They require an aviary.'

'I have an owlery,' said Harry. 'It's probably about ten feet square.'

'That'll do,' said the shopkeeper. 'But they also prefer an urban environment—I couldn't sell them to a country wizard.'

'I live in London.'

'Are there a lot of bins nearby? They prefer a bit of squalor.'

'You've described my neighbourhood perfectly,' replied Harry.

'Indeed! Perhaps we should see if they like you. Follow me.' He led them to the back of the store and up several flights of stairs to a large aviary on the roof. 'Orsino, Viola, come here!'

Two medium-sized black birds flapped towards them. 'They're black!' whispered Lydia. 'I wasn't sure what jackdaws looked like.'

'Neither was I,' admitted Harry.

'What do you think of this young fellow?' the shopkeeper asked the birds, who had perched on each of his thumbs. He moved his hands in front of Harry to give the birds a closer look.

They peered at Harry in curiosity, their heads moving jerkily. 'Lift your hand,' instructed their keeper, and Harry cautiously raised his left hand. One of the birds perched on his thumb and immediately bent towards his middle finger, where the Black family ring was concealed. The other bird, which was still on the keeper's hand, did the same.

'They seem to like my ring,' observed Harry. 'Can they see it?'

'Jackdaws are kin to magpies, which means they love shiny objects. And they probably can see it, otherwise they wouldn't be good at delivering post.'

'They look like you,' remarked Lydia. 'They match your hair.'

'Would you be willing to deliver post for the lad?' asked the keeper, and the birds chirruped agreeably.

'They're a bit small for post birds,' observed Harry. 'How large a parcel can they deliver?'

'As large as you need,' said the keeper. 'They're a bonded pair, so they'll happily fly together. I reckon they'd deliver a parcel to America, if you asked them.'

'Would they get along with my current owl?'

'Look around,' said the shopkeeper, indicating the other owls in the aviary. 'They're used to owls. They might fight a bit at first, but maybe not, since your owl is nocturnal and jackdaws aren't.'

'And they're fast?'

'Nearly as fast as an express owl, only they don't require charmed feed.'

Harry was growing suspicious. 'If jackdaws are such good post birds, why aren't they more popular?'

'As I said, they prefer the city and you can't cage them, which doesn't work for most city dwellers, and they want a mate. And some people think they're bad luck because their plumage is black.'

Lydia ran her hand over Harry's head. 'You have black plumage, and you're not bad luck.'

'It all depends who you ask,' said Harry, and the shopkeeper laughed.

'That's true, you were definitely bad luck for You-Know-Who,' he guffawed. 'Speaking of which, I'll give you a good price.' He quoted Harry an amount that was more than a single premium owl would cost, but less than the cost of two.

'Will they mind being separated if I send them on different deliveries?' asked Harry.

'As long as it's not more than a couple of days, they'll be fine.'

'That sounds good,' said Harry, who was still holding one of the birds. 'I'd shake your hand, but then I'd have to let go of my cane.'

'No, we can't have that. But just tell them your address, and you can send them home directly.'

'I will, but first tell me which one's which.'

'It's hard to tell with jackdaws, but Viola's a bit bigger than Orsino.'

'Should I recognise those names?' asked Harry.

'Shakespeare, Twelfth Night,' replied the shopkeeper.

'Oh, perfect! Hermione named my owl Lysander, from A Midsummer Night's Dream.'

Harry told the birds his private address and sent them off, and the three humans went downstairs to complete the purchase. As he and Lydia walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry expressed his satisfaction. 'Helena used to tease me about getting a raven, but jackdaws are perfect. They're distinctive but not as pretentious.'

'I can't fathom why anyone would think you're pretentious,' said Lydia.

'Of course you would say that. But actually, you're the perfect person to identify everything I'm doing that's pretentious.'

'How?'

'You just need to list everything I'm doing that you wouldn't describe as hopelessly common.'

She thought for a moment. 'Are you saying the stationery I bought you is pretentious? Because your old stationery was hopelessly common.'

'Exactly. What could be more pretentious than my initials and a stag watermark?'

Lydia looked insulted. 'Then by your definition, nearly everything I do is pretentious, except for the habits I've picked up from you, like eating pizza.'

'No, you're not pretentious, because you've always done things that way. Whereas I look like I'm trying to be something I'm not.'

'I still don't think you're pretentious, but I'll try to come up with all the ways you're not hopelessly common.' She looked at him as they walked and said, 'Your clothing. It's far from common, especially with the flowers.'

'Completely pretentious. I look like a sodding duke.'

'That cane. Your house. Kreacher.'

'Those all belong to the Blacks. I'm just an upstart.'

'No you're not, you're on the tapestry.'

'Sirius must have Confunded it. I'm just the worthless son of a Mudblood and a middle-class blood-traitor.'

'True, but you attended Hogwarts. Even I didn't attend Hogwarts.'

'You're right—I'm pretentious simply for going to Hogwarts, even though it wasn't my decision. Those bloody wards ...' he grumbled. 'Hang on, did you know about the other schools? You must have done, since you attended one of them.'

'I knew about them but I couldn't keep them straight. Only a handful of schools mattered ... the rest were an insignificant jumble.'

'Didn't you think it was odd that your Hogwarts relations kept asking which house you were Sorted into?'

'Nobody even asked ... they just assumed we were Slytherins.'

They exited Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron and took a taxicab to Claridge's. Harry took Lydia's hand before they entered the hotel and said, 'Thanks for accompanying me. I know you think it's silly that I need your help with this.'

'I don't think it's silly. You were patient with me when I was afraid of your tutor.'

They hadn't walked in yet, but his heart was already racing. 'We were only at Malfoy Manor for several hours, but it was a nightmare. Hermione deliberately hit me with a Stinging Hex in the face, so I wouldn't be recognised. But they knew it had to be me, since I was with Ron and Hermione. Lucius Malfoy wanted to call Voldemort right away, but Bellatrix freaked out when she saw we had Gryffindor's sword.'

'Why?'

'I can't tell you, it's classified.' What he didn't say was, _Because that would have meant we'd been inside her vault and had taken the Horcrux_.

'They locked Ron and me in the cellar, with the other prisoners, but we could hear Bellatrix torturing Hermione. She was screaming ...'

'Shh,' murmured Lydia. 'You're safe now, and so is Hermione. You all escaped.'

'Dobby didn't escape,' said Harry raggedly, and he knew he was about to cry. He was embarrassed because they were still standing in front of the hotel in full view of passers-by. 'I should have cast a Notice-Me-Not,' he choked, and his tears began to flow.

Lydia held him and he started weeping openly. Pedestrians were watching, and a concerned-looking woman asked Lydia, 'Is he all right?'

'No, his parents died,' she explained, and Harry began to sob. Whispering, she said, 'We don't need to go inside. We can just go home.'

He shook his head, which was on her shoulder as she held him. 'No, I need to do it. I was able to enter a few weeks ago.' He took several deep breaths and slowly pulled away from her. 'I'm sorry,' he said to the onlookers. 'That was unexpected. I was here with my parents, and it all came flooding back.'

For some reason the lie calmed his nerves, and his breathing became steady again. The woman who'd spoken earlier said, 'I'm so sorry. You're far too young to have lost your parents.' He nodded mutely, afraid he'd start crying again.

'Are you ready to go inside?' asked Lydia, taking his hand again. 'I'll be right next to you.' He nodded again, and they crowded into a single compartment of the revolving door.

Once Harry was inside the hotel, his memories of Penelope returned and he felt more grounded. 'I can handle this,' he said. 'I think the anticipation was the hardest part.'

They had time to kill before their reservation for afternoon tea, so they walked through the public areas of the hotel. 'This does look like Malfoy Manor,' said Lydia.

'Really, you were there? I forgot to ask.'

'Yes, but not since I was a little girl. They held a party for Draco's eleventh birthday, and all the children from Dark families were invited. It was June, so we were mostly outside in the garden, but Esme and I went inside to explore. Esme was convinced I'd eventually marry Draco, and we wanted to see where I'd live.'

'What did you think of your future home?' asked Harry.

'Oh, it was lovely. As bright and elegant as my parents' house, and with grounds as vast as my grandfather's. I was very pleased at the prospect of living there one day.'

'And yet you threw it all away,' chided Harry. 'You wicked, naughty girl.'

'Don't blame me ... I fell victim to your seducer's arts.' In a whisper she added, 'And it was worth it.'

It took all of Harry's willpower not to snog her then and there, but he just kissed her lightly and said, 'It's time for tea.'

They walked into the foyer, and the hostess led them to a table in the middle of the room. 'This is lovely,' said Lydia once they were seated. 'I don't think even my mother could find anything to criticise here.'

'Except for me,' smirked Harry. 'The despicable half-blood who cost you Malfoy Manor.'

'I thought about that, you know. When I was deciding whether to be ruined, I had to accept the possibility I'd never live in a manor house.'

Harry stifled the urge to snigger. 'And was that hard for you?'

'It gave me pause,' she admitted. 'But then I remembered the kinds of wizards who usually own manor houses, which made it easier.'

'Wizards like Draco,' noted Harry. 'Did you interact with him at his party?'

'No, he's a year older than I am, so I was just a little girl as far as he and his mates were concerned—they spent most of the party on broomsticks. But the girls all talked about what a catch he was, as the heir to the Malfoys and the Blacks.'

'They were half right,' observed Harry. 'I suppose they all thought they'd marry him.'

'I'm certain they did, but none of us admitted it. Except for Pansy Parkinson, who described her plans to ensnare him at Hogwarts. I actually cried after the party because I knew I was probably headed for Stodgings, which meant I'd miss my chance with him. But my mother assured me that it was an advantage to go to a different school, since I'd retain an air of mystery and catch his eye at a ball during the holidays. That's how she caught my father, after all.'

'Did you ever see him at a ball? And by the way, I can't even believe I'm talking about balls in 1999. Although I suppose we had a Yule Ball at Hogwarts.'

'No, I wasn't old enough for a ball until the final year of the war, and the Malfoys didn't attend the Ministry's New Year's Ball that year. Nor last year, of course.'

'Oh right, that. I was invited last year, but Ginny and I declined and spent the evening with our mates. Did you attend?'

'Yes, but we left early because my mother wasn't happy with our table. She was convinced someone had magically altered the layout of the ballroom to put all the Dark families near the kitchen and the orchestra, simultaneously.'

'Your suitors must have been crushed when you disappeared,' remarked Harry.

'They were, and I was disappointed as well. Not because I fancied any of them, but I wanted to be acknowledged the belle and asked to start the dancing, although I knew it was unlikely because of my surname. I daresay they'd have chosen Ginny Weasley if you and she had attended.'

Harry laughed out loud. 'That's really not Ginny's style. Merlin knows she's pretty enough, but she's a tomboy at heart.'

'Yes, I could never figure her out,' said Lydia. 'Everyone used to speculate about her, you know.'

'Who do you mean by everybody?'

'Everyone I knew at Stodgings. My girlfriends and I thought she was common, but I overheard some wizards saying they could fancy a crack at her. Blood-traitor witches have a reputation, after all.'

'Let me guess,' said Harry. 'For being easy?'

'Exactly. But they're still pure-bloods, so you can see the temptation.'

Harry was still a little insulted she'd called Ginny 'common,' but he didn't want to press her on it. 'Did you reach any other conclusions about her?'

'We admitted she was pretty, in spite of all those freckles. And the Potters were blood traitors, so it was an obvious match—that's before it came out you were head of House Black.' Lydia sighed and added, 'But there was a photograph from your Order of Merlin ceremony that showed only the two of you. Neither of you were facing the camera, and you were just looking at each other. She didn't care that your robes were ordinary and your hair and eyeglasses were appalling. And you didn't care that she had a million freckles and looked uncomfortable in her dress. You were just in love with each other, and that was obviously more important than the new medal on your robes, or anything else.'

Harry had liked that photograph, mostly because it captured Ginny so perfectly. But he could see that Lydia was getting emotional, so he looked at her affectionately.

A tear rolled down her cheek and she said, 'Seeing that photograph made me question whether Dark wizards were as clever as I'd been led to believe. Because you and Ginny looked so happy together, even though she didn't have a dowry and your children would be half-bloods. And meanwhile, my family wasn't even invited to the ceremony, even though Wizengamot families are always invited to that sort of thing.'

She continued, 'There were two whole pages of photographs from your ceremony, and you weren't even trying to appear in any of them. It was subtle, but I could see you were pushing Ron and Hermione towards the front—Ron in particular. And meanwhile, my mother was complaining about how much of the newspaper was devoted to you, and grumbling that they mightn't print even a single photo when I got married.'

'Little did she know that you'd appear in the _Prophet_ loads of times this year,' he remarked. 'And they'll probably have a special section when you do marry, eventually.'

'You may be right ... but if my father hasn't forgiven me by then, you'll have to give me away.'

'That sounds tacky,' replied Harry. 'Like I'm supposed to walk you down the aisle, pat you on the arse, and tell the groom, "I broke her in for you."'

Lydia was sipping tea at the wrong moment and started to laugh. After she stopped coughing, she said, 'Merlin, that would be appalling! And hilarious!'

'Let's hope your family forgives you by then,' he said. 'But I have a feeling they will—it was dead obvious how much they love you.'

She shook her head sadly. 'How is it possible that they're able to love me—and Esme and Jacob—but they don't think it was wrong for the Dark Lord to try to kill a baby, or that the Lestranges tortured Neville's parents?'

'I don't know,' said Harry. 'But people aren't all good or all bad. I think we're more like a garden, with some flowers, but also weeds and poisonous plants. I'm certain I have my share of them.' He furrowed his brow and added, 'And love is the key. The reason Narcissa Malfoy told Voldemort I was dead when I wasn't was because she loved Draco and wanted to know if he was alive.'

'But do you think she's actually improved?' asked Lydia. 'Or was that just a one-time occurrence?'

'Good question—I have no idea. I suppose I can ask her on Sunday,' he added with a smirk.

By this point they'd been served finger sandwiches, which Harry was devouring. 'How are you so hungry?' asked Lydia. 'You didn't even go to practice.'

'Habit,' he replied between bites. 'And besides, I'm healing.'

Lydia was still daintily nibbling at her sandwiches after Harry had finished his. 'You're doing that thing with your eyes again,' she said.

'What thing?' he asked innocently, looking at her uneaten sandwiches.

'You're trying to play on my sympathies by looking like a neglected little orphan.'

'Strictly speaking, I am a neglected little orphan.'

'I don't think the word "neglected" applies to you anymore, considering you can't go anywhere without attracting attention. Even the Muggles are looking at you! How do you do that?'

'They're probably wondering why I didn't comb my hair, even though I did. So their next puzzle is why someone like you is here with me.'

She looked around and said, 'Actually, I think you're right. But I assume it's because of my appearance and not my Blood Status.'

This time Harry choked on his tea. 'They definitely don't care about your Blood Status. No, it's undoubtedly because you're the aristocrat and I'm the commoner. So now they're trying to work out if I'm rich, and whether I got that way legitimately or through the criminal underworld. Or maybe they think I'm poor, and that I scrimped and saved for a month working at a chip shop to impress you on our first and last date.'

'But what about your clothing?' asked Lydia. 'It looks high quality—for Muggle clothes.'

'Oh right, I bought this on Savile Row. So now we're back to the criminal underworld.'

'Maybe you should move your cane so it's visible,' she suggested. 'That's bound to confuse them.'

'Good idea,' he replied, and he repositioned the cane so the gold and emerald head was visible. 'But don't make me reveal the ring, or they'll definitely think I'm some kind of lowlife.'

She motioned towards her plate and said, 'You can have the rest. I want to save room for the pastries.'

Harry made short work of Lydia's remaining sandwiches, and soon their scones arrived, which he bolted down as well. When Lydia raised one eyebrow at him, he said, 'I'm healing! I'm certain MacAlister would encourage me to eat this much.'

His appetite finally slowed down when the pastries arrived, to Lydia's relief. 'The frightening part is that you'll probably be ready for dinner in two hours,' she said.

'I'm not that bad,' he replied indignantly. 'You should have seen Ron while he was still growing, or even now.'

'I can scarcely imagine how you survived for months on mushrooms and whatever else you could forage.'

'That was the easy part,' he muttered. Suddenly emotional, he added, 'I still can't believe we survived ... that I survived, and that I'm here now with you.'

'I'm just as surprised to be here with you,' she said, reaching for his hand. 'But grateful.'

'Even though it cost you Malfoy Manor? Draco definitely won't have you now.'

'Pansy Parkinson can have him,' she said. 'And manor houses are overrated.'

After he paid the bill, Harry stood and looked around one last time. He closed his eyes and recalled that terrible night during the war, when Hermione was tortured and Dobby died. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Lydia, who was standing with the bag containing their leftover pastries. They walked together to the main entrance, and this time he was able to go through the revolving door on his own.


	66. Chapter 66

As predicted, Lydia was delighted when Harry told her about Healer MacAlister's instruction to remain in bed as long as possible the next morning. 'We should probably turn in right after your lesson with Hermione,' she said saucily. 'To maximise your healing.'

'Yes, I'm prepared to spend hours tonight not using my pelvis,' he said in a low voice, close to her. 'I'm told that ingenuity is a Black family trait—perhaps we should test whether I'm worthy of the surname.' Harry emphasised his point physically, but after a minute Lydia pulled away.

'We can't start now, unless you want Hermione to walk in on us again.' Her eyebrows shot up and she exclaimed, 'That wasn't on purpose last week, was it?'

'Merlin no! I have little enough privacy as it is—I don't need spectators. But you're right, we should wait until after our Occlumency session.'

When Hermione arrived at half past seven, Lydia excused herself to the sitting room, and Harry and Hermione went to the library. 'Owen is almost certainly a better teacher than I am,' he said, 'so I'll just repeat what he taught Gemma last week.'

After explaining the difference between close attention, which he likened to Omnioculars, and broad awareness, Harry told Hermione the first steps for training her mind. 'Set a strong intention to rest your attention on the sensations of the breath at your nose. And when you find you've wandered off, just be happy you noticed it and return to the original object.'

'But that's only attention,' said Hermione. 'What about awareness?'

'By rejoicing when you discover you've lost the object, you're training your awareness to notice it in the future. That way it'll become automatic, and eventually you won't forget what you're doing.'

He had her practise with her eyes closed for several minutes, and she quickly grew frustrated. 'I lost it almost right away,' she said afterwards. 'I didn't catch myself for a minute at least.'

'Did you rejoice?' asked Harry.

'No, I was irritated.'

'Gemma has the same problem, and I did too when I was trying to learn Occlumency. The problem with getting irritated when you catch your mind wandering is that you're punishing yourself for noticing it, when you want to train it instead.'

Hermione nodded in understanding. 'So it's as if I wanted to train a cat to catch mice, but then every time he caught a mouse I scolded him for not catching it sooner?'

'Exactly. So your job right now is to pat yourself on the back every time you notice you've wandered off.'

They practised several more rounds, and Harry admitted he lost the object regularly as well. 'But didn't Alistair say you've mastered Occlumency?'

'He did, but that's because I've learnt to move my inner energy from my torso into my head, which not only feels good but also seems to block Legilimency. I don't know why it works, but it does.'

Hermione glared at him. 'This is as bad as sixth-year Potions, when you were using Snape's old textbook to cheat.'

'I'm not cheating. I just don't know how to teach what I'm doing, so I'm giving you Owen's instructions instead.'

'Do you have more instructions tonight, or should I just start practising?'

'Just practise. Owen suggested Gemma practise at home every day for at least half an hour. And if you don't have enough free time on a given day, do at least a few minutes just to keep the habit going.'

'All right,' said Hermione, with a determined expression Harry knew well. 'Is the goal eventually to clear your mind, like Snape taught?'

'Owen says it's not actually necessary to clear your mind, and that anyone who thinks they're clearing their mind is probably just suppressing thoughts.'

'But then how do you keep from being distracted? Or in the case of Occlumency, from allowing someone to pull memories from you?'

'He said it's fine just to let thoughts remain in the background—in peripheral awareness. As long as they don't capture your attention, you can let them be.'

'Is your mind clear when you practise Occlumency?' she asked.

Harry took a moment to consider the question. 'It's quieter than normal. There's an energy that feels a bit like a balloon filling the space, and the background emotion is love.'

'Of course it is—love is your new middle name. But did you feel love when Lydia's father was trying to invade your mind?'

'Yes, but I also felt contempt that he was even trying, when I knew he hadn't any hope of breaking through. He's probably a very accomplished Legilimens, but after learning to withstand Voldemort, there was no way I was going to succumb. Honestly, it was like flicking an insect away.'

She chuckled. 'That sounds like what I call your swagger.'

Feeling a bit sheepish, Harry said, 'I've really become horribly arrogant, haven't I?'

'Yes and no. On the one hand, you're no longer at all downtrodden. Between your clothes and the way you carry yourself, you positively ooze confidence. But other than your obnoxious Seeker moments, you never put other people down. You used to do that in school, particularly with Malfoy, but you don't need to bolster yourself like that anymore.'

'I can't say I like hearing I "ooze" confidence—or anything else for that matter.' She laughed, and Harry continued. 'But seriously, you're making me sound like Lockhart. Am I really that bad?'

'No, not at all. He was smarmy—and a huge fraud—whereas you're completely sincere.'

'That's a relief. But apparently a lot of people were slagging me at the party, and yesterday morning some of the Quidditch players insulted me to my face.'

'They spent the night at your house and then insulted you?'

'Yeah. Variants on the "Harry Toffer" theme.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'They're just jealous.'

'Maybe. But is there something I should be doing differently? I already told Lee and George I'm going to take a break from the radio show for a couple of weeks, unless something new and horrid comes out in the _Prophet_.'

'That's good, but don't stay off the air forever. Overall it's been beneficial, since Lee and George are so popular, and you've done tremendous good, like with werewolf rights. It hasn't been a week yet, and I've already seen a number of new "FLOOF Certified" logos in shop windows.'

'Really? That's good news. But what about the Harry Toffer thing? I remember how obnoxious Malfoy was about money, and I don't want to be like that.'

'He used to deliberately show off, and put people down! Don't you remember what he used to say to Ron, about how his family lived in a pigsty?'

'You're right, I'd never do that. But was it a mistake to change the way I dress so radically?'

Hermione shook her head. 'You look great in your new clothes, and you deserve to feel good about yourself after being put down for so long. I know Sirius would be delighted to see you this way, once he got over the shock that you like wizarding robes and not, say, motorcycle leathers.'

Harry smirked. 'That would certainly surprise everyone. But no, I don't see that happening.'

'Back to your question, it wasn't a mistake to dress better or host parties, but you did it all very suddenly, and in a way that inadvertently provoked envy.'

He sighed. 'Believe me, I know how envy feels,' he said, recalling Christmas mornings with the Dursleys. 'I'm genuinely sorry if I caused that, but at the same time, I'm not going to stop wearing robes, or pretend I don't live in a townhouse.'

'No, and it wouldn't make a difference anyway.' She paused and said, 'It'll probably help when you and Lydia are no longer together. She may be ruined, but she's still a Travers, and beautiful to boot. She definitely feeds into the Harry Toffer phenomenon.'

'I suppose she does,' he said. 'And then there's the fact that I attended Hogwarts, and that the other schools have been ignored. How should I help promote them?'

Hermione chuckled. 'Don't take this the wrong way, but you sound particularly full of yourself when you say "How should I help promote them?"'

'Ugh, you're right. It's like when I suggested to the other Seekers we try to get the Quidditch rules changed. Even though the only reason I did it was because my teammates hassled me about it.'

'I don't know about Quidditch, but when it comes to Britain and the other schools, you're already helping. But you can't solve it singlehandedly—just do the best you can as an individual, and it'll naturally ripple out.'

'I hope so. And I definitely have room for improvement—Gemma told me I'm known for looking through people in public, and I'd like to appear slightly more approachable, at least by children.'

'And by pretty witches,' said Hermione slyly.

'Oh right, I have that reputation as well. Speaking of which, I should probably kick you out and spend time with Lydia.'

'Go right ahead, pelvis willing. And don't worry too much about the arrogance. After all, you still have the power the Dark Lord knows not.'

'They'll never take that away from me!' cried Harry with mock defiance. 'I don't get to talk to snakes anymore, but by Merlin I'm going to love like there's no tomorrow!'

They parted at the formal fireplace, and Harry went downstairs to find Lydia, who was still reading _Pride and Prejudice_. 'I no longer think you're like Wickham, even though he turns out to be a seducer. But you're not Mr Darcy either, because he's too good, except for being snobbish.' She paused and added, 'But maybe you're a cross between the two of them.'

Harry was lost, not having read the book, but he smiled appreciatively. 'Do you want to keep reading, or shall we play a round of _"Everything but the pelvis?"'_

'We should definitely do that,' she said, rising from the sofa. They went upstairs and very successfully navigated around his restrictions before going to sleep.

Harry woke at three o'clock from a nightmare. This one took place in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, where he was being held captive. Initially he had companions—Ron, Luna, and others—but they disappeared one by one until Harry was alone, listening to Bellatrix torturing Hermione. He tried desperately to Apparate without a wand, and he succeeded in reaching the dining room upstairs, which was set for a large party.

Lydia glided into the room, escorted by Draco, only her face was contorted by the Dark Arts sneer. She said, 'Draco, darling, tell the Dark Lord that Potter is here, so we can start the party.' Draco raised his sleeve and touched the Elder Wand to his Dark Mark, and Harry felt searing pain in his scar. And then he was Voldemort, punishing Lydia and Draco for allowing Potter to escape, and her screams rang in Harry's ears as he awoke.

His heart was racing, and in the dim light he saw Lydia sleeping peacefully next to him. He was tempted to awaken her, but instead he snuggled closer in the hope she'd stretch her arm over him. Unfortunately she rolled in the opposite direction, leaving him essentially alone. He tried listening to her breathing, but he couldn't hear her when she was turned away, and the room was silent.

_I don't even have city sounds_, he thought sadly, because the house was charmed against them. He tried expanding into broad awareness, but it wouldn't come, and he felt very alone. _This is how it felt walking down the main staircase at Hogwarts, when I was about to die,_ he thought, until he realised how melodramatic he was being. _Quit whinging, Snitchbottom. You're in bed with a beautiful witch who'll be awake in a few hours. _

He finally drifted back to sleep, and the next time he awoke it was light out and Lydia was emerging from the bathroom in her undergarments. 'You're awake!' she said. 'May I send for breakfast? I didn't want Kammy to disturb you.'

'Of course, and I'm sorry you had to wait,' he said. 'But this is a lovely way to start the morning.'

Lydia returned to bed, and before long they both had trays hovering in front of them. His was pewter as usual, and hers was gleaming silver.

'Are you going to keep nicking silver trays from your parents indefinitely?' he asked.

'I'm sure they don't mind, if they even notice it. They'd probably find it reassuring.'

'That you haven't been incurably infected with Middle-Class Magic?' joked Harry.

'Exactly. They'll be relieved I'm not living in squalor like you do.'

They unrolled the newspaper, and at first Harry thought he wasn't on the cover, but there was a box prompting readers to turn to the Letters section for a statement from 'Mothers Against Harry Potter.'

'Ugh, here we go,' he groaned, turning to the page indicated. It said:

_We feel compelled to speak out against a growing problem in wizarding Britain: Harry Potter and his harmful influence on our children. _

_Let us preface our statement by acknowledging our deep appreciation for Potter's service during the war. We are eternally grateful that he freed Britain from You-Know-Who, and we believe he fully deserved to be awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class. However, Potter has an ongoing responsibility to serve as a role model, and in this he is failing grievously._

_Until just a few months ago, we as mothers had little objection to Potter or his influence on the younger generation. We lamented his decision to drop out of school, but his choice to serve as an Auror seemed to justify it. His occasional outbursts of temper were concerning but still well within the bounds of normal behaviour, and his personal life was beyond reproach._

_Unfortunately, that version of Harry Potter is but a distant memory. He is now an unabashed libertine and doesn't even attempt to keep his personal life private. On the contrary, he boasts about his adventures every Tuesday on a radio programme aimed at children. We refrain from repeating his most outrageous statements, but any reader who is curious need only ask a nearby ten-year-old._

'_Don't let your children listen to him on the radio,' you might suggest. But with school resuming this week, there is no way to protect our offspring from their classmates, who will be only too glad to tell them what they missed. Furthermore, the radio is not the only source of scandalous revelations. It is impossible to walk past a newsagent's without seeing evidence of Potter's debauchery. This might be acceptable if he were being condemned for flouting wizarding norms, but instead he is celebrated for ushering in an era of post-war decadence._

_Don't be fooled by his traditional dress or his airs of gentility: Harry Potter's unrestrained behaviour is a threat to our collective moral fibre. We therefore ask parents to warn their children against following his lead, with a note that the signs of his influence may be subtle. For example, your sons may ask that their school robes be fitted rather than loose, and they may deliberately stop combing their hair. As parents you should stamp out this rebellious behaviour, which can only lead to imitating Potter's more abhorrent vices._

_Finally we appeal to Potter directly: Please, consider your effect on the next generation and behave accordingly. There is nothing to stop you from finding a nice witch and marrying her, other than a so-called 'vow' we all recognise as falsehood. As for whom you might marry, we invite you to reevaluate the young witches you've already dallied with and heartlessly spurned._

_Again, we have nothing but gratitude for Potter's sacrifice and service during the war, and until recently we encouraged our sons and daughters to admire him. It is our hope therefore that Potter will regain his lost moral footing and once again become a proper role model for the youth of wizarding Britain._

_Yours sincerely,  
__Mothers Against Harry Potter_

Harry sank back against the pillows in exasperation. 'Merlin forbid I go ten minutes without someone else coming after me.'

'You're a public figure and you do whatever you like—of course people are going to come after you,' said Lydia.

Harry knew she was trying to help, but he was still irritated. 'So I'm supposed to get married just to keep some old busybodies from getting upset? Which of the women I've heartlessly spurned should I propose to? Are you interested or shall I go down the list chronologically?'

'I shan't marry you,' she said, kissing him on the cheek.

He smiled in spite of himself. 'I should ring Penelope—the Muggle—and shock her senseless by telling her I'm a wizard and that I want to make an honest woman out of her. Or maybe Sophie ... I've had it up to here with uptight Anglo-Saxons! Or Vera, the one who sold her story to _Sorceress, _even though the reason we shagged all night was because we had nothing to talk about. Helena and Ginny already turned me down, and technically I didn't ruin Vanessa. That just leaves Elizabeth, who was fine but not as interesting as her successors.'

'Harry, you're ranting.'

'You call this a rant? I haven't even started yet! Maybe I should look through the marriage proposals I receive in care of the Cannons, or choose someone from the stands the Saturday. It's a home match, so I'm bound to have some takers. Or wait, I've got it! Romilda Vane! I'm sure she'd marry me in a heartbeat and start calling herself Lady Romilda Black.' He paused, 'Now here's an idea ... I could change my name to Harry Sirius Aquarius Priapus Black and auction myself off at the WORF gala to the highest bidder. I'm certain the Black surname would fetch a good price, if it's not tainted by the Potter associations.'

Lydia just looked at him archly as she ate her breakfast.

'I have a responsibility to serve as a role model, you know. It was in the prophecy, right after the bit about the power the Dark Lord knows not.' He changed his voice to a spooky monotone and said, '_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will thenceforth be obligated to serve as a role model, which will either entail getting married at nineteen or sneaking off to portkey brothels like a proper wizard.' _He turned to Lydia and asked, 'Do you think I should take my robes back to the tailors to make them baggy, like cloaks? Oh wait, I could just start wearing traditional Wizengamot robes wherever I go, and one of those funny hats. That would definitely get Mothers Against Harry Potter off my back.'

He looked at the letter again and said, 'Why didn't they include their names? What are they trying to hide?' His expression changed, with dawning realisation. 'What if it wasn't written by mothers at all? Maybe Draco Malfoy wrote it! I've heard he's bored stiff under house arrest! Or maybe Fred and George wrote it!'

Harry stopped when he heard himself say it. In a calmer tone, he said, 'I'm sorry, Lydia. I completely lost my temper.'

'You were hilarious, but it's fortunate you weren't on the radio,' she observed.

'Bugger me, the radio! I told Lee and George I wouldn't appear on the broadcast tonight, but I can't just let this go unanswered!'

'Yes you can,' said Lydia. 'They haven't made any new accusations you need to refute.'

'They have so!' he insisted, pointing to the letter. 'They accused me of lying about my vow not to marry until I'm twenty-one.'

'You're right, they did. Was it a magical vow?'

'No, but it still counts—I gave my word. And I certainly didn't make it up like everyone thinks. The only reason I haven't cited Helena is to protect her privacy.'

Lydia looked thoughtful a moment. 'You could go to Gringotts and swear under Veritaserum that you took a vow. Do you remember the date?'

'Yes, the first of August.'

'That should be enough to convince everyone you didn't make it up,' she said.

'All right. Perhaps I'll go there today after practice.' He started eating his breakfast.

After a silence, Lydia asked, 'Who's Fred?'

Harry sighed. 'Fred was George's twin brother. He died in the Battle of Hogwarts. They started the shop together—Lee didn't become a partner until after the war.'

Lydia nodded sadly. 'And what was the power the Dark Lord knows not?'

'Love,' he said sheepishly. 'As opposed to the power to deliver long tirades at the drop of a hat.'

'Love,' she repeated. 'That's perfect.' She stroked his cheek and said, 'Don't be upset about that letter. You'll go to Gringotts and prove you weren't lying, and the rest will blow over. Honestly, this is my fault as much as yours—people wouldn't be so upset if I hadn't demanded you ruin me.'

'Perhaps not, but I don't regret it.'

'Nor do I,' she said affectionately, and they finished eating.

At a quarter to nine, Harry got out of bed and quickly prepared for practice. 'At least I'm cleared to Apparate. And tomorrow I can fly again. That's probably why I'm so grouchy, come to think of it—I never go this long anymore without flying.'

He arrived at the Cannons training grounds just as his teammates were about to start running. 'Snitchbottom!' cried Janet. 'How's the pelvis?'

'Not bad. How's yours?'

'You'll have to ask Ron,' she said saucily.

'So you're still together? You haven't cursed each other to smithereens yet?'

'No, but we had a new argument at the party, and I'm still angry.'

'Oh dear, what happened?'

'George's girlfriend Rebecca asked why I hadn't yet been to Sunday dinner at the Burrow.'

Harry winced. 'Had you heard yet about Sunday dinner at the Burrow?'

'I had not, and I'm angry at you as well.'

'What, for not telling you about it? That's not my job.'

'Of course it is—you're my Weasley informant. You're practically one of them, after all.'

'Not anymore. I haven't seen Ron's parents since the match against the Arrows. But apparently they still think they have the right to criticise me like family—I get all sorts of concerned messages by way of Ron and George.'

'Do you reckon Molly is a Mother Against Harry Potter?' she asked.

Harry sighed, 'Don't get me started ... I already gave Lydia an earful.'

Janet left to start running, and Harry went to see Healer MacAlister. 'Have you been following orders?' asked the Healer.

'Yes, no Apparating until this morning. And no activities that put strain on the area.'

MacAlister raised an eyebrow and said, 'I'll be the judge of that.' He instructed Harry to lie down on the examining table and performed various diagnostic charms. 'You're doing well. I'd tell anyone else they could sit a broom this afternoon, but I don't trust you to take it easy.'

Harry inhaled sharply. 'Please, may I? I really miss flying.' He realised he'd widened his eyes the way Lydia accused him of doing, and he did his best to stop.

'All right, but not on a racing broom.'

'Bugger, my broom is broken! I completely forgot,' exclaimed Harry. 'But yes, of course, I can use a boring broomstick today, assuming they have one.'

MacAlister directed Harry to the weight room, where one of the trainers was waiting, but Harry stopped at Lara's desk first. 'What happened to my broomstick?'

'Er, you broke it,' she said cautiously. 'Don't you remember?'

'Yes, I remember—what I meant to ask was whether you've replaced it yet. But you've given me an idea ... do you still have the pieces?'

'Yes, I'm planning to owl them to Silver Arrow today. It's standard practice whenever a broom fails, so they can analyse what went wrong.'

'It was struck by a Bludger,' said Harry. 'There's no mystery.'

'What are you getting at?' she asked.

'I thought we could see if WORF wants to auction it off next month.'

'That's a good idea! I'm sure Silver Arrow won't miss it, as long as you don't switch to some other broomstick and say they failed you. You want another Silver Arrow, right?'

'Yes, definitely.'

'That's good, because they already sent one, along with a fruit basket.' Harry looked around the room and Lara added, 'Sorry, we ate it yesterday. But I can send you a new one from the team if you like.'

'No, that's fine. And is there a boring broomstick I can use today? MacAlister says I can fly if I take it slow.'

'Yes, we have heaps of them in the shed. I'll find you something suitably glacial.'

Harry spent the next few hours in the weight room with a trainer, and afterwards he looked in on Mrs Thwip. When he handed her his stack of correspondence and signed photographs, she nodded with an expression bordering on approval. 'Thank you, Mr Potter. Apparently we need to hit you with a Bludger the next time you fall behind.'

'Merlin, I hope not!' he exclaimed. 'But on a different subject ... just how much hate mail have I received recently in the "Loose morals" category?'

'Not as many this week as last week,' she said.

'That's good, I guess. But do you think my injury played a role in the decrease?'

'I doubt it. Several of the letter-writers said your injury was divine retribution, and one suggested that your mother orchestrated it, to teach you how to behave.'

_By playing 'Everything but the pelvis?'_ thought Harry. 'Are there any other trends in hate mail I should know about?'

'No, but you received a certificate of appreciation from the Wizarding Horticultural Society.'

'Because I like flowers?'

'Yes, and because you've sown interest in flowers amongst the younger generation.'

Harry was touched. 'That was very kind of them. Could you add that to my take-home stack so I can send a personal reply?'

'Of course. And you also received an invitation to join a private gentlemen's club.'

'A private gentlemen's club? What does that even mean?'

'Perhaps their letter could explain it best,' she said, using her wand to float the letter from a distant pile into Harry's hand.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_First, please accept my best wishes for a speedy recovery. Injuries are always unpleasant, but for an energetic young wizard such as yourself it must be particularly trying._

_I am writing on behalf of the membership committee of the august institution known simply as Pratt's. Through no fault of your own, you are probably not familiar with Pratt's, but I'm certain your father and godfather would have known about wizarding Britain's oldest and most exclusive gentlemen's club. Generations of Potters and Blacks have been members, and it is our sincere hope that you follow in their footsteps._

_You may be surprised to learn that so-called Dark and Light families mingle freely within our walls, but at Pratt's we leave our affiliations in the vestibule and interact solely as men of the world. As male wizards we have a wealth of common interests, which serve as a basis for lively interactions and decades-long friendships. And rest assured that our premises are warded against harmful curses, lest tempers flare under the influence of the finest spirits and elf-made wines. _

_One of the things that distinguishes Pratt's from upstart gentlemen's clubs is our unique location on the intersection of two ley lines, which permits smooth transport to a particularly welcoming institution in France. But this is by no means all that Pratt's has to offer. For many of our members, Pratt's is a 'home from home,' offering respite from the irritants present in even the happiest of households. Many a young father has come to cherish their stolen hours at Pratt's, away from the cares of domesticity._

_Normally we don't offer membership to wizards younger than twenty-one; young wizards normally accompany their fathers starting at age seventeen, but this was tragically not possible in your case. For centuries, wizards have ushered in their majority with a nighttime visit to Pratt's, and we regret that numerous intervening circumstances prevented you from enjoying this rite of passage._

_We invite you to visit Pratt's at your leisure to see for yourself whether you wish to become a member. Please owl us in advance so we know to expect you. The only rules you need know are that women are not permitted, and that proper wizarding attire is required. Naturally you have no concerns on this latter point, and you may find like-minded wizards amongst our members. We also ask for your discretion, as membership and club activities are seldom discussed in public._

_Yours respectfully,  
__Silas Yawton_

Harry could hardly process what he'd just read. 'Mrs Thwip, are you familiar with Pratt's?'

'Yes, Mr Potter. Although obviously I've never been there.'

'Is it a portkey brothel?'

'No. I'm told that their location allows travel to France without the use of portkeys.'

Harry looked at her. 'Just to be clear, the only word you're objecting to in that phrase is "portkey."'

'That's correct.'

Holding up the letter, he said, 'My inclination is to ignore it, but they claim that Dark and Light wizards mingle freely there. Do you know if that's true?'

'There have been exceptions, like during the final year of the last war. But otherwise yes, Pratt's is known for uniting wizards from opposing factions.'

'Are there other clubs like this? It sounds like there are, only they require portkeys for ... international travel.'

'There are newer and less exclusive clubs, but I'm told that Pratt's membership is the most coveted.'

Harry shook his head in bewilderment. 'I have no idea whether that's good or bad. On the one hand, it might be useful to mix with important wizards, but on the other hand it's more of the same elitism. Have I been invited to join any of the other clubs?'

'No. I'm under the impression that club membership often correlates with schools.'

_And Pratt's is probably warded, or maybe even potioned_, thought Harry. 'Thank you, Mrs Thwip. May I assume you won't talk about this to anyone else?'

'That would be highly unprofessional, Mr Potter.'

'Thank you. You certainly deserve your reputation for being the best.'

He heard his teammates gathering for lunch, so he excused himself. 'Snitchbottom!' came the cries, and Harry felt absurdly happy as he accompanied them to the pub.

'So, what's this about mothers hating you?' asked Suresh. 'Is it just Lydia's mum, or have all your spurned would-be mothers-in-law banded together?'

'I have no idea,' replied Harry. 'For all I know it's one of you lot.'

'How can you accuse us, your teammates, of such treachery?' exclaimed Janet. 'We'd never malign you under a pseudonym!'

'Except maybe for Cannons Against Harry Potter, but hopefully it'll never come to that,' said Gary.

'What are you going to do about it,' asked Renée. 'Will you write a statement, or just address it on the radio tonight?'

'I wasn't planning to do the broadcast tonight, or next week either,' replied Harry.

'Why not? It's the most popular show in Britain,' said Suresh.

'That's just it ... Hermione pointed out that I'm becoming overexposed, and she's right. I should give people a break.'

'But you aren't on the show for self-promotion,' argued Renée. 'You use it to clear up misconceptions, and to promote good causes.'

'Do you think people realise that? I'm getting the impression a lot of people think I'm in love with the sound of my own voice.'

'Are you referring to people at the party?' asked Suresh.

'Yeah. I heard multiple reports about "Harry Toffer," and I was insulted in person as well.'

Suresh shook his head dismissively. 'They're just jealous, and it was only a handful of them. I think it died down when you and Lydia disappeared, and they could get busy finding their own partner for the night.'

'Which brings us back to Mothers Against Harry Potter,' said Janet. 'You have to appear on the radio tonight, or else people will think those old cows intimidated you.'

'Bugger, I hadn't thought of that,' said Harry. 'And at the very least I'd like to defend myself against the accusation that I lied about the vow.'

'I still can't believe that was real,' remarked Ryan. 'I know it's true, but it sounds so much like a lie.'

'Lydia suggested I go to Gringotts and testify under Veritaserum that it's a real vow.'

'You could do that on the air,' said Janet. 'George and Lee would gladly cover the cost, for the glory of broadcasting it.'

'Are you insane? I can't take Veritaserum on the radio! For one thing, Kingsley Shacklebolt would have a heart attack.'

'You'd only have to answer one question,' argued Janet. 'You could take the antidote right afterwards.'

Dumbstruck, Harry shook his head repeatedly. 'It would remove all doubt,' said Renée, and the others nodded.

'But Veritaserum! What if I start spilling secrets spontaneously?'

'Can't they use the delay?' asked Janet.

'No,' said Ryan. 'The in-store audience would still hear.'

'So have Lee use a Silencing Charm on the booth temporarily, and let the audience listen to the radio version instead,' proposed Gary. 'I'm sure they can tolerate a delay for a minute or so.'

'That would work,' acknowledged Harry. 'But I can't believe I'm considering this.'

'Are there any other misconceptions you want to clear up while you're at it?'

'You mean give Lee and George a list of questions?'

'Yeah, why not?' said Gary. 'Loads of people still think you leaked that story about quitting the Ministry and joining the Cannons.'

'Or that you're lying when you claim the Blacks squandered their fortune,' added Suresh.

'And that you fancy men as well as women, in spite of your denials,' said Janet.

'Hang on, I haven't even heard some of these rumours,' replied Harry.

Suresh pulled out his notebook, and together they compiled a list of persistent rumours and lies surrounding Harry.

'This is actually a great opportunity to prove your detractors wrong,' observed Ryan.

'I know,' said Harry. 'I'm sort of looking forward to it.'

When they returned to the Cannons training facility, Harry wrote a short letter to Lee and George and asked Lara to send it by express owl. 'What a brilliant idea!' she exclaimed. 'You can finally prove you wrestled that giant squid.'

Harry looked at Lara in disbelief, and she said, 'Just kidding.'

He spent a very agreeable, if tame, hour on a Comet 240 Lara had unearthed. 'I couldn't do a proper feint if I tried,' he told Gemma as they practised spotting a modified Snitch.

'Welcome to my Quidditch career prior to last year, when I bought my Firebolt.'

'Really, you flew a Comet 240?'

'No, I had a Comet 220. The 240 was the improved version.' Smirking, she asked, 'Is it true your professor gave you a Nimbus 2000 the day after your first flying lesson?'

'Nice try, but I'm not going to repeat my tirade from Saturday.'

'But I heard it was brilliant! I can't believe I missed it—I was right outside the library, on the landing. But at least I got a first-hand reenactment.'

'Are you saying it evolved over time?' asked Harry, concerned.

'I don't think it did, actually. There was really nowhere for it to go—it was already perfect. And don't worry, everyone thought it was fantastic.'

'Did they call me Harry Toffer?'

'A few did, but I told them I'm the only one who can call you that.'

'That's true—feel free to use it whenever Snitchbottom doesn't fit the occasion. By the way, a lot of people asked me about you on Saturday. You impressed the hell out of everyone, catching the Snitch your first day out.'

'Yeah, that was good timing. It made me feel a bit less anonymous, with the entire Quidditch league there. Before the match I was afraid I'd be ignored, or that people would only ask me about you.'

'I'm glad that wasn't the case.'

'No, they all asked me about you. But they congratulated me first for catching the Snitch.'

Harry sat out the practice match, which Gemma played against Bruce. He was glad for the opportunity to catch up with Owen, who was paying close attention to the match but was still free to talk.

'Is Joanne feeling better?' asked Harry.

'Yes, she's fine now. I'm sorry she couldn't make it—she would have had a good time.'

'I'm sorry too, but I enjoyed talking with Fiona.'

Owen lowered his Omnioculars and faced Harry. 'Leave her alone.'

'I'm sorry, what?'

'Don't toy with her. She's not a one-night stand.'

'I didn't toy with her,' said Harry, irritated. 'We mainly talked about WORF.'

'Was that when you gave her a flower?' asked Owen pointedly.

'What are you talking about? I didn't give her a flower ... Oh, you mean my boutonnière? She mentioned she liked jasmines, so I gave it to her for a moment so she could smell it. It's not as if I stood under her window with a red rose.'

'Harry, I saw you with her, and you were clearly flirting.'

'I'm sorry if you got that impression, or if she did. I mean yes, we all know I find her attractive, since I blurted it out last time, but I wasn't deliberately flirting with her.'

'Keep it that way. I'm serious—she's not one of your flings.'

Annoyed, Harry asked, 'Should I tell her I won't attend the WORF auction? I don't want to give her the wrong impression by standing in the same room with her.'

'Treat her like you'd treat our teammates, or Lara. And I'm sorry, I didn't mean to suggest you were trying to seduce her. But I think you're still learning how to interact with new acquaintances, and your default behaviour with women is to turn on the charm.'

Harry sighed. 'You may be right—I have no idea. It was all so much easier when I was with Ginny. I loved her and nobody else even caught my eye. But now I'm under strict orders to play the field, and I have accidental Light magic on top of that. So I might unconsciously be trying to charm women I'm attracted to.'

'I'm glad you can recognise it,' said Owen. 'Not everyone is that self-aware.'

'Right, but can you tell me exactly why Fiona is off limits? I know she's a widow with a child, but does that mean she's off the market forever?'

'Of course not. But she's very vulnerable. She and Rob started dating in school, and we all knew they'd get married one day. They were true soulmates, from what I could tell.'

'How did he die?'

'It was a few months before the war ended, in early spring. He was a pure-blood, but he didn't support Voldemort and was trying to undermine his power base.' Harry raised an eyebrow, and Owen said, 'He worked in the Department of Mysteries. He was convinced you were the only one who could stop Voldemort directly, but he thought there might be a way to weaken the Death Eaters in general. That's all we know.'

'What do you mean, that's all you know? How did he die?'

'The head Unspeakable told Fiona he died, and that the details were secret. She received a box with his belongings, including his wand, and that was it.'

'Are you certain he's dead?'

'As far as we can tell, yes. They tried the usual methods, like owling him or sending a Patronus, and they also performed location spells using hair samples and his wand.'

'And that was a year and a half ago?'

Owen nodded. 'For about six months Fiona was like a ghost. She took care of Matthew but otherwise she was vacant. There, but not there. Joanne and I tried to help as much as we could, and so did our friends, but to be honest she pushed a lot of them away. Joanne was persistent, and our kids have always played together—Matthew is only a year older than the girls—so we were able to stay close with her. But she still hasn't reconnected with most of our old friends. They were frustrated that she rejected their help, and subsequently she felt hurt that they weren't there when she needed them. I know it sounds paradoxical, but that's the situation.'

'No, I understand completely,' said Harry. 'When Voldemort returned and Cedric died, everyone had their own ideas about how I should feel, but they were wrong, so I raged at them continuously and did my best to drive them away. And meanwhile, I felt like nobody was there for me.' Harry's throat tightened, but he took a deep breath and expanded into awareness.

'That sounds similar to Fiona, only I suspect you shouted a lot more.'

'You know me too well,' admitted Harry.

'She started working part-time at WORF last autumn, and it's been good for her. She made some new friends, and she sees that she's not alone in her suffering. But she's still fairly isolated—I don't think she sees her work friends outside of the office, so it's mostly just Joanne and me, and some of her relations.'

'Is she able to make ends meet? Or did she have to move in with her family?'

'No, she was all right. Rob was from an old family, and he left her enough to get by. No townhouse or elf, but enough.'

'Has she dated at all since he died?'

'No. Joanne was delighted when you came onto her at your first party, because Fiona was convinced she was a fossil. But she's only recently started coming back to life, and I don't want you or anyone else to treat her casually and cause her to shut down again.'

'I understand. But what does she want?'

'She doesn't confide in me, but Joanne says she'd eventually like to marry again and have more children.'

'And I'm currently not that person,' said Harry.

'No. And why should you be? You just turned nineteen, and you're recovering from your own trauma.'

Harry wasn't convinced Fiona wouldn't benefit from a fling, but he nodded and told Owen he'd try to be more mindful around witches.

They turned their attention to the match, and Harry asked, 'How do you think Gemma's coming along? Other than catching the Snitch on Saturday, of course.'

'It was great for her confidence, but her spotting still needs a lot of work. You took to the method quickly because of all your past experience, but I'd have been surprised if she'd picked it up that fast. So that leaves her between two shores—I want her to break the Omniocular habit, but her awareness isn't nearly as developed as yours or mine is.'

'So I'm not out of a job yet?' joked Harry.

'No, the Knight Bus will have to wait. The good news is that she can still win matches, because she's so fast. But we need to start taunting her hard. She was blindsided by Wainwright, and I think she still has a lot of vulnerable spots. And I hate to suggest it, but you're in a good position to exploit them.'

'Me? How?'

'She feels like an outsider in the wizarding world. Having her wand snapped and living as a Muggle for a year really did a number on her, on top of being Muggle-born and raised by a single mum. Between your fame and your overall standing in wizarding society, you can really pound on her weak spots.'

'No, I can't do that,' protested Harry. 'It's one thing with rival Seekers, since they're all starters and well-established. But you're asking me to be cruel to someone who's genuinely vulnerable. Please, isn't there some other way?'

'It won't be one-sided. I've already pointed out some of your weak spots, and she's sharp—I'm certain she'll find more.'

Harry sighed. 'If you say so. But don't be surprised if she ends up liking Tuttle better than you.'

Owen chuckled and said, 'I have no problem with that, Snitchbottom.'

The match ended with Bruce catching the Snitch, to Gemma's dismay. 'Keep training your awareness,' Owen told her. 'You'll get through this phase—I promise. And in the meantime you get to insult Harry tomorrow.'

When Harry returned to the building after practice, Lara gave him the reply from Lee._ 'Brilliant idea! By the time you read this, I'll have set up a silencing system on the booth, and George will have arranged things at Gringotts. Our next step will be to paper Diagon Alley with signs about tonight's broadcast, which I know will be the stuff of legend. See you tonight!'_

'I guess I'm doing this,' he told Lara. 'Wish me luck.'

Harry went straight home to Grimmauld Place, where Lydia immediately thrust a poster in front of him. At first glance it looked like his old 'Undesirable Number One' poster, only the headline screamed, '_Veritaserum - Live Broadcast_,' with Harry's name and the details below. It even used the same photograph, with his eyeglasses.

Lydia shook the poster frantically. 'I said go to Gringotts, not on the radio!'

'I know, but my teammates talked me into it, and I think it's a good idea.'

'A good idea to take Veritaserum on the radio? I know you hardly have any secrets left, but that doesn't mean you have to forcibly pry them out!'

Harry described the plan to her, and she calmed down considerably. 'Oh, that's a good idea. May I see the list of questions?'

He showed it to her, and she even added one. 'I'm sorry to frighten you like that,' he said. 'I didn't realise they'd poster all of Diagon Alley with it.'

'Actually I saw this in Manchester. I think Lee and George hired people to spread the word.'

Harry ran his hands through his hair and exhaled sharply. 'It's not the craziest thing I've ever done, not even close,' he said, mostly to himself.

'Yes, you broke into Gringotts and Imperiused my uncle. And then you used a Disarming Charm on the Dark Lord. This probably isn't even in the top ten.'

They were seated on the sofa, and he showed her the letter inviting him to join Pratt's. 'They invited you to join, and you're not even twenty-one?' she exclaimed. 'You have no idea what an honour that is. Charles didn't receive his invitation until at least a month after his birthday, and Esme said he was a bundle of nerves the entire time.'

'For a gentlemen's club? That seems extreme.'

'Pratt's isn't just a club, it's the ruling elite. There have even been Ministers of Magic who weren't invited to join Pratt's—those are generally the ones who can't get any legislation passed.'

'Are you implying that Kingsley Shacklebolt is a member?'

'I don't think he is, actually, but I don't know for sure. Charles tells Esme next to nothing.'

'But Kingsley passed plenty of legislation,' argued Harry.

'It was right after the war,' she said dismissively. 'My grandfather said Shacklebolt could have proposed a law revoking the Statute of Secrecy and naming himself King of England and those toadies would have passed it. Everyone who'd tacitly collaborated during the war but hadn't been charged with a crime wanted to prove how Light and forward-thinking they were.'

'So are you saying I should join this club?'

'Oh, no, you'd hate it! It's a bunch of rich and powerful wizards trying to get richer and gain more power.'

'But the letter says, _"Generations of Potters and Blacks have been members."_ I can believe it about the Blacks, but not the Potters.'

'No family is perfect, or perfectly consistent. You don't have any relations, so you don't know just how varied they can be. The Weasleys, for example—are they all alike?'

'No, you're right. In fact, Ron and George's brother Percy would be a perfect candidate for Pratt's. Do you know whether any Weasleys belong?'

'Only if they're rich—Pratt's membership costs a fortune.'

'So should I just have Mrs Thwip reply and say "Thanks but no thanks?"'

'Are you kidding? You have to go there!'

'But you just said I'd hate it,' protested Harry.

'You need to go there and tell me about it. And then I can tell Esme, and she'll talk to me again. Although I suspect she'll want to visit me the moment Charles turns his back. They probably both bought _Sorceress_ in secret and she'll have any number of questions, particularly if she's had a glass of wine first.'

'Are you sure I should go? I mean, is Charles likely to be there, or your father or grandfather?'

'They might be, but it won't matter. Wizards set arguments aside there, generally speaking, and their biggest problem with you is that you're influential but you don't respect wizarding traditions. So if you turn up at Pratt's, they'll be relieved, because it means you'll eventually toe the line.'

Harry sighed. 'Do you want me to go to the brothel as well? I refuse to have sex with a prostitute. And really, it's hardly necessary.'

'They're not prostitutes, they're _filles de joie_. And of course it's not necessary for you—there's no end of witches who want you, particularly after that article. But with _filles de joie_ you're paying for discretion.'

'No wonder they invited me to join,' remarked Harry. 'They're trying to stop me from upending wizarding Britain with all my indiscreet shagging.'

'Exactly! When can you go?'

'Thursday?'

'Yes, please. And then come straight to my flat and tell me all about it, including the brothel.'

'Shouldn't I shower first?' joked Harry.

She swatted him and insisted he owl them his reply. 'You can use your new stationery and one of the jackdaws. They'll be very impressed, and they might believe you actually want to join. What are you going to wear?'

'Something that comes off easily,' he smirked, and she swatted him again.

After dinner they went upstairs and she chose his robes for the radio broadcast. 'None of these boutonnieres are right,' she declared, 'but I'll make you one from a white chrysanthemum downstairs—they signify truth. I'll have to shrink it a bit, but that's fine.'

Once outfitted, Harry travelled by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, which was more crowded than usual. 'Are you really going to take Veritaserum on the radio?' asked a young witch.

'Yes. I intend to set the record straight on a number of subjects, starting with my vow not to propose marriage before I'm twenty-one. I'm tired of being accused of lying.'

'Are you sure you trust them?' asked a wizard.

'Lee and George? Absolutely.'

'That's good, because they could ruin your life tonight.'

'Probably not,' replied Harry. 'I hardly have any secrets left, and all of those concern the war. They're classified, but I wouldn't be in danger if they came out.'

'We'll all be listening,' said the wizard. 'And good luck!'

As Harry walked to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes he noticed large crowds at all the pubs he passed. 'Demand is huge,' said George as he ushered Harry inside. 'The shop has been packed solid for the last hour.'

'I honestly hadn't intended to create this big a stir. I just wanted to clear up misconceptions.'

'I understand that,' replied George, 'but Lee always talks about the particular magic of live broadcasts, and this is a perfect example. The fact that anything could come out of your mouth is just too enticing. And I've heard the bookmakers have all sorts of odds on which questions you won't answer, since that's basically an admission.'

'Blimey, you're right! Do you have a list?'

'We most certainly do. But first, may I introduce my new goblin friend, Dirk.'

Harry had never met a goblin with such a human-sounding name. 'It's nice to meet you, Dirk,' he said with a curt nod. 'Thank you for helping us on short notice.'

'Gringotts values honesty as well as valour,' replied Dirk, with a shallow bow.

George led Harry into the booth, where Lee reassured him he'd worked out the charms. 'I won't bore you with the details, but we'll start the broadcast the normal way, and then when you're ready to take Veritaserum we'll silence the booth completely, and the audience will just listen on the radio. Afterwards we can switch back. That means that if you reveal anything classified or horribly embarrassing, we can use the delay. And then George and I can blackmail you privately, at leisure.'

Harry nodded. 'Fair enough. Can we go over the questions? Lydia came up with a new one since I sent you the list, and I want to see what the bookmakers have.'

Lee passed Harry a sheet of paper, which Harry reviewed. 'Classified ... Classified ... Are you kidding me? Why would anyone want to know that? ... Classified ... Oh, for Merlin's sake.' He crossed out several questions and handed back the list, along with Lydia's question.

George looked it over. 'This is tremendous. You're a true Gryffindor.'

'I'm just telling the truth. I'm delighted if it means people will believe me.'

'Right, but let's establish some ground rules,' said Lee. 'Have you ever taken Veritaserum before?'

'No.'

'So we don't know whether you're the chatty type or more taciturn.'

'We don't, but I've been known to get chatty while drunk, so keep your finger near the delay.'

'About that ... as long you haven't revealed something classified, or mortifyingly personal, would you be willing to allow the occasional slip?'

George added, 'I realise this is a huge act of trust on your part, so it's all right to say no. But you should be aware that Fred may be watching from the great beyond, and he would be very disappointed by your lack of faith in Lee and myself.'

'Did you just play the dead twin card?' asked Harry, incredulous.

'Yes. And I'm certain Fred would approve.'

Harry thought for a moment. 'I'll trust you to decide whether to broadcast any unplanned slips. But I also reserve the right to hex you later.'

'That's fair,' replied George.

Lee raised his pocket watch. 'Thirty seconds.'

Harry sipped water as they waited, and George asked, 'After the Veritaserum segment, do you want to discuss Mothers Against Harry Potter?'

'No, I gave Lydia an earful this morning, and it definitely wasn't suitable for broadcast.'

'Are you sure? We could give you a Calming Draught first.'

'Nice try, but no. I only want to respond to their accusation of lying.'

Lee counted down on his fingers and the broadcast began. 'Good evening listeners! My name is Lee Jordan, and my comrade George and I would like to welcome you to a very special episode of Weasley's Wizard Wireless. And without further ado, we'll introduce our exceptionally brave guest, Harry Potter.'

The crowd applauded wildly, and Harry said, 'No nicknames this week? Have you run out?'

'Not even close, my friend. We just didn't want to delay the moment everyone is waiting for. But first, your Patronus please.'

'Right, I'll send it to Hermione, who's probably white-knuckled with terror. _Expecto Patronum!'_

The glowing stag leapt from Harry's wand, and Harry said, 'Prongs, would you please take this message to Hermione? Hermione, I'm so sorry to put you through this, but it'll be over soon. And if it all goes wrong, blame Ryan, since he's one of the people who talked me into it.' He waved Prongs away with his hand, and the stag flew off.

'Excellent,' announced George. 'Harry has proven his identity, although I suppose we could have saved time by asking him his name under Veritaserum. Speaking of which, we'd like to invite Gringotts representative Dirk into the booth to provide the potions.'

George opened the door and directed Dirk to a step stool, which allowed the goblin to speak into the microphone and see the audience.

'Dirk, would you be so kind as to introduce yourself and state your business?' asked Lee.

The goblin cleared his throat. 'My name is Dirk and I'm a junior account specialist at Gringotts. I'm here to provide Veritaserum Potion and its antidote, and to vouch for their authenticity.' He raised two small bottles and said, 'The red bottle contains Veritaserum, which was tested for efficacy this afternoon. Gringotts can unequivocally state that it's genuine Veritaserum and that whatever Mr Potter says under its influence is completely truthful. And the blue bottle is the antidote.'

'Thank you,' said George. 'And before we proceed, I'd like to explain to our audience what in the hell we're doing.' He waited for the audience to stop laughing and then continued. 'Harry is not, as you might imagine, a complete idiot, which means we'll be asking him questions from an approved list. We also have a broadcast delay, which we'll use if Harry reveals something classified, or hideously embarrassing.'

'Harry,' began Lee, 'you have to admit this is more insane than your usual behaviour. Would you care to tell us why you're doing it?'

'Yes. I'm tired of being accused of lying all the time, when in fact I'm a very truthful person. In this morning's _Prophet_, a group called Mothers Against Harry Potter accused me of lying about my vow not to propose marriage before I'm twenty-one. But it's true and I'd like to prove it, and also address other longstanding rumours.'

'Thank you,' said Lee. 'Before we proceed, I should tell our in-store audience that this week they won't be able to hear everything Harry says ... I know, I know,' he said when the audience started booing. 'We'd have loved to reveal all his secrets, but he knows way more about Voldemort than you ever want to hear, so really, we're doing this for your own good. Which means our in-store audience will listen to the radio broadcast on a delay, just like everyone at home. However, they'll have the privilege of watching Harry as he spills intimate secrets to thousands of strangers.'

Lee performed a series of charms, and the shop assistant turned on the radio. 'Wave when you hear this,' announced Lee. 'And now we'll wait thirty seconds for our in-store audience to hear it. But in the meantime, let's ask Harry about his pelvis. How are you feeling?'

'I'm almost fully healed. I even flew this afternoon, on a laughably slow broomstick, and tomorrow I'm cleared to fly normally.'

'I understand you broke your Silver Arrow on Saturday. Will your new broom be the same model, or are you going to try something else?'

'I'm sticking with the Silver Arrow,' replied Harry. 'Even though my teammates swinishly ate the fruit basket they sent me yesterday.'

The audience members started waving, and Lee said, 'The charms worked! Which means our in-store audience won't find out why Harry, Ron, and Hermione broke into Gringotts.' Dirk scowled, and Lee added, 'Oops, I should not have mentioned that. But anyway, it's truth serum time! Dirk, would you please confirm that Harry takes the proper dose?'

George measured three drops of Veritaserum into a teaspoon, under Dirk's watchful eye, and Harry swallowed it. 'Gringotts confirms that Mr Potter just received a full dose of Veritaserum.'

Harry relaxed visibly, and Lee said, 'Please tell us your name.'

'Which one?' replied Harry.

'Do you have more than one?'

'Yes. I have my birth name and the name on the Black family tapestry.'

'Let's start with your birth name.'

'Harry James Potter.'

'And the tapestry name?'

'Harry James Black.'

'Did you or anyone else tamper with the tapestry to make it display your name that way?'

'No. All we did was repair the scorched sections.'

'Very good. Next question: Were you asked to take a vow not to propose marriage before you turn twenty-one.'

'It wasn't strictly a vow, but it was a sincere promise.'

'Did you make that promise?'

'Yes.'

'When?'

'August the first.'

'Have you ever been romantically involved or had intimate relations with Hermione Granger.'

'No, she's like a sister to me.'

'Have you ever had intimate relations of any kind with George's brother Ron.'

'No.'

'Did you break the Elder Wand?'

'Yes, after repairing my original wand.'

'Did you enter your name in the 1994 Triwizard Tournament.'

'No, I had no idea how my name was entered until after the third task.'

'Ha!' shouted George. 'I told you so!'

'Who are you talking to?' asked Lee.

'Oh, he knows,' said George ominously.

'Returning to the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, did you kill Cedric Diggory?'

'No. Voldemort ordered Peter Pettigrew to kill him.'

'Thank you!' exclaimed George. 'Another longstanding rumour is dispelled.'

'Harry, were you the Heir of Slytherin?'

'No.'

'Did you ever wrestle the giant squid in the Black Lake at Hogwarts?'

'No.'

'Have you wrestled any other giant squids?'

'No.'

'Were you raised by immortal warlocks?'

'No.'

'Listeners,' said Lee, 'this concludes the relatively tame portion of our list. We will now advance to what might be called "the juicy questions," some of which were provided by our friends in the bookmaker community ... Harry, how many sex partners have you had? There's been wild speculation on the topic.'

'Intercourse?' asked Harry.

'Yes.'

'Er, seven. First was Ginny ...'

'No names!' cried Lee and George in unison, and Lee poised his finger over the delay rune.

'Next question,' he said hastily. 'Have you ever paid for sex?'

'No. Although I took Penelope shopping and we stayed at a posh hotel on the second night. But that was my idea, not hers.'

'Is Penelope a witch?' asked Lee, reaching again for the delay rune.

'No, she's a Muggle.'

Lee relaxed. 'Was the article in _Sorceress_ true?'

'No,' replied Harry, prompting gasps from Lee and George. 'I didn't wake her up on purpose for more sex.'

'Don't frighten me like that,' said George. 'Was the rest of the article true?'

'Yes.'

'Six times in one night? Really?'

'Yes.'

'Do you actually know how to cook breakfast? She said you claimed you were too knackered to cook.'

'Yes, I know how to cook breakfast. I was raised by Muggles.'

'Right, but do you actually ever cook anymore?'

'When Kreacher lets me.'

'Listeners, Kreacher is Harry's somewhat domineering house-elf. Harry, do you normally take breakfast in bed?'

'Not unless someone's with me, or I'm sore from practice, or injured. Kreacher was tremendously helpful when I was in the wheelchair,' said Harry. 'And now he shaves me!'

Sniggering, Lee reached for the delay rune. 'Where does he shave you?'

'In the master bathroom.'

'No, what parts of your body does he shave?'

'My face.'

Lee and George looked at each other and nodded, and Lee withdrew his finger from the rune.

'Returning to the _Sorceress_ article ... Do you keep your Order of Merlin medal on the bedside table?'

'No. It's in a drawer.'

'Did you leak the story yourself?'

'No.'

'Did you leak the story to the _Prophet_ about quitting the Ministry and joining the Cannons?' asked George.

Harry became somewhat more animated. 'You know I didn't! You were there with me.'

Lee said, 'Harry, just to clarify, did you leak the story about joining the Cannons?'

'No. It was pure hearsay.'

'Had you seriously considered quitting the Ministry or playing league Quidditch before you read the article.'

'No.'

'Have you had intimate relations with any of your teammates?'

'No.'

'Do you fancy men?'

'Not particularly,' replied Harry. 'Although Eric was a good kisser.'

Lee and George exchanged amused glances, and Lee held his finger over the delay rune again.

'Who's Eric, and when did you kiss him?'

'He's Laetitia's fiancé and a Muggle. We kissed in Paris last month, at a nightclub.'

'Does Laetitia know?'

'Yes, she was right there.'

'Is that all that happened between you and Eric?'

'Yes. It was just one kiss. But a Frenchman chatted me up because I was wearing makeup. He said it was very British rocker.'

Lee pressed the rune, and he and George burst out laughing. 'What do you think?' asked George. 'Can you remove that last bit about the makeup?'

'Yeah, hang on a moment.' He performed a wand motion and then touched the rune again. 'Listeners, we had to edit out one revealing detail, speculation over which will probably haunt Harry to the end of his days. But let's move to a different topic ... Harry, did the Blacks really squander most of their fortune, as you claim, or are you richer than the Muggle Queen?'

'I'm not richer than the Muggle Queen, or even close. The Blacks squandered most of their fortune, and the Potter number was exaggerated as well.'

'Was your mum ever romantically involved with Sirius Black or Remus Lupin?'

'Not that I'm aware of.'

'And did she deliberately lead on Severus Snape?'

'No, not to my knowledge. Although why she liked my father is a mystery, considering what an arrogant twat he was. But Dumbledore said he improved later, so I'll take his word for it.'

'You seem to be getting increasingly chatty,' remarked Lee. 'Fortunately we only have one more question, from the Quidditch community: Will your pelvis be fully healed tomorrow?'

'It should be,' said Harry. 'MacAlister says I'm healing well, and Lydia and I have learnt to play _"Everything but the pelvis."'_

Lee and George started laughing again, and George said, 'Harry, you performed admirably, and you've earned your antidote.' He gave Harry another teaspoon, this time with drops from the blue bottle.

Harry's eyes regained their focus, and his face fell with dawning realisation. 'You bastards!' he cried. 'I trusted you!'

'Oh come on, what's the big deal?' said George. 'So you kissed a bloke in a nightclub. Until ten minutes ago, most of our listeners believed that you and my brother shagged daily from puberty onwards.'

'That's a good point,' said Harry. 'But Lydia's going to kill me!'

'I'm sorry, but we couldn't possibly censor _"Everything but the pelvis,"'_ said Lee. 'The public needed to know, and about the shaving as well. Would you care to elaborate?'

Harry sighed. 'The first time was on Saturday, while I was injured.'

'Hang on,' interjected George. 'Do you somehow use your pelvis to shave? Have I been shaving wrong this entire time?'

'No, of course not, but I needed Kreacher's help with everything else, and he really wanted to shave me. And I have to say, he does a seriously good job, so I've let him continue.'

'Let's have a look,' said George. Harry tilted his chin and turned his head in both directions so Lee and George could examine him.

'He's right,' announced Lee. 'That's a damn good shave—carry on. And now we'd like to thank Gringotts and our friend Dirk for his assistance this evening. Dirk, will you attest one last time to the authenticity of the proceedings?'

'Yes,' replied Dirk. 'Mr Potter spoke the truth.'

George opened the booth door for the goblin, allowing him to leave. 'Harry, are you really angry with us? You should be relieved about all the misconceptions you finally cleared up.'

Harry reviewed his memory of the interrogation. 'You're right, I am relieved. Now everyone will believe me that my vow was legitimate, and not just some story I made up. And thank Merlin no one's going to come after me for the Elder Wand. So yes, this was a good experience.'

'You look ready to leave,' observed Lee. 'Perhaps to play another round of that intriguing new game you mentioned.'

'No comment,' said Harry. 'And yes, I'm ready to leave—you'll just have to give my warm regards to Walburga.'

'She frequently sends her regards as well,' replied George. 'And now, Lee will restore the live audio for our in-store audience.'

While Lee performed charms, George escorted Harry from the booth. 'Well done, mate. No one will care about the Paris thing.'

'Yeah, I'm not worried. Thanks for abetting my mad idea.'

Harry pressed through the crowd towards the exit, receiving congratulations and pats on the back. One wizard jokingly puckered his lips, and everyone laughed when Harry raised two fingers at him. He signed autographs in the street for several minutes and then Apparated home.

Lydia was glaring at him. 'Oh dear,' said Harry. 'Am I in trouble?'

'You told them about _"Everything but the pelvis!"'_

'I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. But I can hex Lee and George if you like.'

'Yes, please,' she said, sulking.

'Are you really upset?' he asked, tentatively stroking her upper arm.

After a silence, she said, 'You've had seven partners.'

Harry sighed. 'And you're upset about that? Why?' he asked gently.

'Because I'm one in a crowd. I'll just be another story.'

He wrapped his arms around her. 'You're not just one in a crowd. And you're more than just a story. I love you.'

'But you fall in love easily. That's why she made you take that vow—you fell in love with her too. Only you wanted to marry her.'

'Are you upset that I won't marry you?'

'No, I don't want to be married. But you're the only wizard I've known who I'd have wanted to marry, and it hurts that you don't want to marry me. I'm just one of your flings.'

'Oh, Lydia ... maybe I'm doing flings wrong, but what we have isn't just sex. I love being with you, and it's been wonderful having you here this past week. Nobody else has lived here with me, not even Ginny. And you've taught me so much about the wizarding world, and you came to Claridge's with me ...'

He could hear that Lydia was starting to cry. 'I'll miss you,' she said.

'I'll miss you too. I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed waking up with you in the morning, and eating breakfast with you, and letting you pick my robes.'

'I don't want to be married,' she repeated. 'Not now. But if I did, I'd want it to be you. I'd even become Lydia Potter if you wanted.'

Harry stroked her hair and held her as she cried. He knew there was no point in contradicting her, or pointing out that they wouldn't agree on decor or a thousand other things.

'I've been so happy this last week,' she continued. 'I've never felt this alive, and it's not just the sex. Life with you is so exciting ... I've discovered music, and books, and the cinema, and the Knight Bus ...'

He pulled away and smiled at her. 'Are you really getting emotional about the Knight Bus?'

'No, it was ghastly. But you were there with me.'

'And I nearly threw up. You were the best thing about the Knight Bus, when you charmed Stan Shunpike into taking me home. And all those other things, like Muggle music and books—those aren't going away. You still have a whole world to discover, and it won't matter whether I'm there or not.'

She pulled the pocket square from his robes and attempted to blow her nose delicately. _Not bad_, thought Harry. _She really has exceptional manners_. 'You're right,' she said. 'I can still explore all those things on my own, or with someone else. But how will I discover them? You at least have a tutor.'

'Why don't you engage a tutor? I'm sure there are others.'

Lydia looked slightly cross. 'Why can't I hire Simon?'

'By all means, hire Simon! I just thought you might be reluctant because he's a werewolf.'

'He's FLOOF-compliant,' she said. 'And I wasn't scared of him by the end.'

'You can ask him about it on Friday, when we go to the theatre. And you have more free time than I do, so you can see him more often if you like. And then maybe you can take me to some of the places he's brought you, like museums or cathedrals.'

'I could invite him to my salon!' she said brightly. 'We could read Muggle books and discuss them, or just talk about culture.'

Harry looked at her affectionately. 'You have such an amazing life ahead of you, in your own flat and with so much to discover. And we'll still see each other, and you'll see other wizards. Half the men at the party were dying to meet you, after all.'

'I should insist that my partners read that article from _Sorceress_. Not that I'll have as many as you do, of course,' she added hastily.

'That's up to you. I'd be a hypocrite if I judged you for it.'

'You're sweet, but witches get reputations, and I need to be careful. I may be ruined, but I mustn't be cheap.'

'Are there portkey brothels for witches?' smirked Harry.

'No, but there are gigolos, or so I've heard. But I don't need one, because I can always owl you.'

'Oi! I'm a gigolo now?'

'Of course not! I'd never pay you, And obviously if you have a girlfriend I'll look elsewhere. I'm capable of discretion, even if you aren't.'

'Says the woman who had photographers document our first date.'

She swatted him and they went upstairs. 'What did they have to censor on the radio,' she asked.

'I revealed that a Frenchman chatted me up when I was wearing makeup. Were you imagining something worse?'

'No, you already said you didn't fancy men.'

'What will your family think about my admission that I kissed a bloke? And the Veritaserum in general?'

'They won't care about the bloke thing—most of the men in my family went to Hogwarts, after all. As for the Veritaserum, they were probably disappointed you didn't reveal anything incriminating. And my mother almost certainly fainted when you said _"Everything but the pelvis."'_

They retired to the bedroom and went to sleep several hours later. Harry slept well, and when he awoke the next morning he looked affectionately at her. It would be her last day at Grimmauld Place, and he knew he'd miss her. _'Flings are brilliant,'_ he thought fondly, wrapping his arm around her sleeping form.


	67. Chapter 67

'Bollocks of steel,' announced Darren at practice that morning. 'I still can't believe you took Veritaserum on the radio.'

'I hardly have any secrets left, so there wasn't much risk,' replied Harry.

'Apparently there was some risk, or they wouldn't have censored you,' observed Janet. 'Come on, what was it?'

'It was something Ron specifically doesn't want you to know about.'

Janet's eyes grew wide. 'Now I have to know! I'll get it out of him—I have ways, after all.'

'Sweet Merlin, what secrets have you pulled from him so far?' asked Harry.

'All sorts of war stuff,' she said. 'Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Although I think he wanted me to know, because they were all times when he was the hero.'

'Let me guess,' said Harry. 'Was a sword involved? And an forest pool?'

'Why yes! And a certain ... item,' she replied, pointing at an imaginary locket around her neck.

'Did he tell you what the item said to him?'

'He said it revealed his greatest fears, but he wouldn't elaborate.'

'No, I don't imagine he would,' smirked Harry.

Their teammates were staring in astonishment. 'Is this all classified?' asked an awestruck Gemma.

'It has to be,' replied Darren, never taking his eyes off Harry and Janet. 'He's never talked about any of this before.'

'And you won't hear any more of it,' declared Harry. 'None of that was classified by the way, although it was a hair's breadth away from it.'

'Anyway, what did they censor?' persisted Janet. 'I know Ron doesn't want me to find out, but you need to punish him for giving away secrets.'

Harry looked around to verify that only Cannons personnel were present. 'I wore makeup to the nightclub in Paris. Muggle makeup. But not lipstick. And a Frenchman hit on me.'

His teammates hooted, and Suresh said, 'We need to see this. Are there photographs?'

'God no!'

'Then we have to reenact it,' said Janet. 'Did you apply the makeup yourself?'

'Are you kidding? No, Sophie did, and it took a while. She's a model, so she really knew what she was doing. It was mostly eye makeup.'

'Yes, I can see that,' said Suresh. 'Very glam rock.'

'I think I still have that French bloke's card somewhere. Should I introduce you?'

'Was he fit? I'm not into creepy old Frenchmen.'

'Yeah, he was pretty good-looking. I was flattered.'

'Well done, Snitchbottom!' said Janet. 'I assume Ron doesn't want me to know you wore makeup in case I force him to do the same?'

'That's right. Should I tell him you know, or do you want to spring it on him?'

'The latter. And I'm already crafting plans to combine it with my debut at the Burrow this Sunday.'

'I'm tempted to come witness it,' said Harry. 'I should really go see the Weasleys, but I'm dreading the inevitable "talk" about how I've gone off the rails.'

'This could be a distraction,' suggested Janet. 'Keep it in mind.'

Healer MacAlister gave Harry a clean bill of health and, after their morning laps and calisthenics, Lara presented him with a long silver box. 'Your new broom,' she said. 'Try not to break it.'

Harry was pleased to discover it was just as good as his previous Silver Arrow, and he threw himself completely into the flying drills. 'You've clearly recovered,' said Tuttle. 'Nice job following Healer's orders. Bagman couldn't have done it—he'd have re-broken his pelvis three more times until they put him in a Body-Bind.'

'I'm relieved to know I have more self-discipline than Ludo Bagman,' said Harry dryly.

'No, probably just more ingenuity. He'd never have thought of _"Everything but the pelvis."'_

That afternoon was his first practice match against Gemma, which he'd been dreading. Owen insisted he not warn her in advance, and to hit her with everything he had. 'Will you at least tell her afterwards that I protested vehemently?'

'Yes, although I should mention that she didn't protest at all when I told her to taunt you.'

'I don't imagine she would,' sighed Harry. 'Wish me luck.'

'You don't need luck. You just need to be the most arrogant son of a bitch this side of ... your father.'

Harry launched into the air and started circling when the four balls were released. He expanded into broad, powerful awareness—nearly to the point of glowing—and then set a strong intention to spot the Snitch, avoid Bludgers, and say exactly what Gemma most needed to hear.

Gemma didn't track him initially, since she was practicing Owen's spotting techniques. Harry eventually dove into a feint, and she swerved to follow him. She flew fast but never caught up, and if it had been a real Snitch-sighting she wouldn't have caught it.

As Harry approached her, he paused to recall the memory he'd seen of his father bullying Snape. _Gemma, I'm so sorry_, he thought, before delivering his first blow.

'I thought you were a good flyer,' he said coldly. 'But you didn't even come close.'

His words weren't particularly harsh, but his tone was, and Gemma flinched. 'I wasn't tracking you. And it was only a feint.'

'You probably should track me,' he replied. 'You're never going to master Owen's techniques.'

'It's only been a week,' she said. He could tell she was trying to sound relaxed, but she wasn't succeeding.

'I caught the Snitch against Owen on my first day. And that was before I even had my eyesight fixed. Face it, you're just a fluke.'

He already felt sick from what he was saying, and particularly by how easily it was flowing out of him. He flew away just to clear his head, and he resumed circling on his own.

After a while, Gemma shot into a feint, but a quick glance confirmed the Snitch wasn't there, so he didn't follow her. But he found her afterwards.

'Nice try. That might have worked when you were flying for West Kettleton.'

'It's East Kettleton, you ignorant snob. Or didn't you ever learn the cardinal directions?'

'I did, but in retrospect I hardly needed to. You, on the other hand ...'

'... didn't have everything handed to me, and wrapped in real gold foil. No, I had to work for everything. Including my Quidditch job.'

'Too bad you'll never be starter. Your career has already peaked.'

'Not if you keep showing off and getting struck by Bludgers.'

'That was a fluke. Jack Burns from the Magpies said I dodge Bludgers better than anyone he's seen.'

'Then you'll get ejected, courtesy of your temper and your public clusterfuck of a life.'

'Whereas your life is a private clusterfuck.'

'You don't know anything about my life,' she scoffed.

'What is there to know?' he shrugged. 'Working class, raised by a single mum, descended from some no-name Squib. Why did you even bother rejoining wizarding society after the war? You'll probably get farther with your A-levels.'

'I'm a league Seeker, aren't I?' she said defiantly.

'Reserve. On the team with the league's best Seeker, who's your age, and probably the most famous wizard in the world,' he replied. 'You'll never be starter—at least not on the Cannons.'

'You won't last,' she said scornfully. 'You'll spin out one way or another. You'll either shag the wrong witch or drink the wrong potion, or just fall in love with your own reflection in the mirror. But you're not long-term.'

'I love flying,' he said through gritted teeth. 'This is my career.'

'Like you need a career. You act all noble, shaving your head for werewolves, but you're hogging a job you don't need. Is it for the gold or for the attention?'

Harry accelerated suddenly towards the opposing Chasers, zig-zagging before turning sharply in pursuit of an invisible Snitch. Afterwards he flew straight and fast into empty space, to clear his head. _Broad awareness,_ he reminded himself. _Spot the Snitch. Rip her to shreds._

He circled for a long while, willing the Snitch to appear so he could drop his 'vicious arsehole' guise. But it didn't work, and he invited Andrew Gilstrap to speak through him.

'You're not my type,' he said calmly.

'I'm sorry?' she replied, confused.

'You're not my type of bird. I don't mind short, but you're too curvy. Everything's too close together.'

'You pig,' she scowled. 'You don't see women as human, do you? We're just sex objects.'

'Clearly not everyone,' he sneered, hating himself.

'What makes you think I even want you?'

'Because everyone does?' he said questioningly, as if she were daft. 'Even if they think I'm too short, or too promiscuous, after that article I could shag any witch I wanted.'

'Isn't that what you're doing?' she retorted. 'What is it now, six women in eight weeks?'

'Believe me, that was restraint. I could have had someone new every night. Have you seen the post I receive? Or did you not realise people wrote to the Cannons? I doubt you'll receive much.'

'That's where you're wrong, Toffer. I received a whole stack of post.'

'Let me guess: _"Dear Gemma, Congratulations on catching the Snitch. You're an inspiration to young Muggle-borns at no-name schools everywhere, for briefly attracting attention in the wizarding world. By the way, can you teach me some of those charms you used for waiting tables? You should probably stay in practice, just in case. Yours sincerely, So-and-so. P.S. What's Harry Potter really like?"'_

She didn't reply, so he decided to give her a break by launching into a feint. It was a fun one and not particularly reckless, and he hoped it would help clear her head. _And mine,_ he thought disgustedly. _That was pure Gilstrap._

He circled alone for a long while, hoping desperately the Snitch would appear. Surprisingly, Gemma approached him.

'You're more like him than you realise,' she said.

'Like who?'

'Voldemort.'

'No I'm not,' he scoffed.

'Not entirely,' she said. 'He was tall. And clever, and a powerful wizard. People assume you're powerful, because of your Patronus and those two Killing Curses, but I don't think you are. The Patronus is just Light magic, which you mostly can't control, and the Killing Curses were your mum.'

'You're right, I'm not a powerful wizard. I'm about average.'

'So you're different from Voldemort in that respect, but otherwise you're alike. Half-blood orphans, raised by Muggles. Mistreated. Parselmouths—and before you object and say you aren't one anymore, you grew up as one. You knew you were different, and a little bit ... wrong.'

'That was Voldemort, not me.'

'Your relations knew. That's why they rejected you. There had to have been something off about you, for them to reject a baby.'

'It was Voldemort,' repeated Harry.

'But it rubbed off on you,' she said. 'He's gone, but you still have it. You say you're channelling your father when you're being arrogant, but I think you're channelling him. Voldemort thought he was special. And he's the only reason you're famous—did you ever think about that?'

_She's right_, he thought. _I'm only famous because of Voldemort. I mightn't even be a Seeker if it weren't for him._

'The only reason people think you're great is because he was great. Not that I'm a fan, of course—he was a monster. But your greatness comes from him, and you've got some of the monster as well.'

'No I don't. I'm a Light wizard.'

'A sex-addicted Light wizard. An attention whore. Did you really need to take Veritaserum on the radio? You could have done it at Gringotts.'

'I'm not like Voldemort.'

'No, you really are. He had aristocratic pretensions too. And a huge ego—what kind of person renames himself like that? Oh wait, you do.'

'It's not the same. I'm head of House Black. He wasn't head of House Voldemort. But you wouldn't understand, not with your background. I might have been raised by Muggles, but I still went to Hogwarts.'

'Yes, the school that kept trying to kill you, run by a headmaster who manipulated you. How lucky you were to receive a Hogwarts letter! Which house do you think I would have been Sorted into.'

'Hufflepuff. They'll take anyone.'

'That was Cedric Diggory's house, right?'

'Yes.'

'Talk about a tasty wizard! My classmates all cut out his photograph when he was in the Triwizard Tournament. What a shame you couldn't save him.'

_Owen must have told her I'm touchy about Cedric._ 'No, he was killed immediately.'

'So many deaths. So many people you couldn't protect. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for everything you did, but for a Chosen One you did a piss-poor job of it.'

Harry felt himself expand into broad awareness under Gemma's relentless taunts. _May the Snitch appear, _he breathed, and he felt the strong intention radiate from him.

He spotted the gleam of gold, but he didn't chase after it, knowing she'd outfly him. _How do I lose her? _he thought, but he knew the answer: _One last deadly insult. _

'Owen said you're not improving fast enough. I mean, he knew you wouldn't pick up the technique as fast as I did, but he's surprised by how slow you've been. He said he'll give you until the fifteenth, but after that he's owling Stuart.'

Gemma was dumbstruck, and Harry eased into a solitary circling pattern. He kept his focus on the Snitch and flew there calmly, speeding up only when it changed direction. He wrapped his hand around it and the match was over.

He immediately found Gemma, who had resumed circling when Harry caught the Snitch. 'I'm so sorry,' he cried. 'I didn't mean a word of it!'

She was looking away, and he said, 'I'm serious, I didn't mean any of it, and I made up that last bit, about Owen wanting to cut you from the team. That was pure fiction.'

Gemma turned to him, and Harry saw that she was crying. 'What kind of person even thinks of talking that way? I thought I was lying when I said you were like Voldemort, but now I'm not so sure.'

Harry felt awful. 'I'm so sorry,' he repeated. 'Owen told me to give you my absolute worst. I didn't want to do it—I begged him. Please, let's go talk to him.'

He flew towards Owen, and Gemma followed. When they landed, Harry turned again to Gemma and said, 'I feel terrible, I didn't mean any of it. Owen, tell her none of it was true.'

'Nothing Harry said was true,' said Owen. 'I told him to do his worst.'

'He was a thousand times worse than Wainwright,' she said angrily. 'There's taunting and then there's cruelty.'

Harry sighed heavily. 'I'm sorry, I should have realised you're not accustomed to this kind of abuse. But you did really well! You hit me hard too—things I've never heard before—and the only reason you didn't get the Snitch was because I knew better than to go for it with you right next to me. That's why I said that last thing and then started circling. You would have got it otherwise.'

Gemma had stopped crying and seemed to be alternating between anger and despair. 'Are you saying the Snitch was visible that whole time and I didn't see it?'

Harry's shoulders slumped. 'I'd just hit you with a horrible insult—and a complete lie—so it's no wonder you didn't see it.'

'What did you say exactly?' asked Owen.

'He said I wasn't improving fast enough and that you were going to cut me by the fifteenth.'

Owen raised his eyebrows and looked at Harry sceptically. 'You really went full Gilstrap on her, didn't you.'

'You told me to give her my worst. Gemma, I didn't want to, I swear!'

'This is my fault,' said Owen. 'Harry's been taunted harder than anyone in the league, and before that he was abused. I should have realised his worst would be too much.'

'So I'm not strong enough for league Quidditch?' said Gemma indignantly.

'You're definitely strong enough,' replied Owen. 'There's no doubt in my mind we chose the right Seeker. For heaven's sake, you already won a match!'

Gemma took a deep breath. 'Cheers, yeah.' She seemed to settle a bit, and Harry's panic receded.

Tuttle arrived and asked, 'What's going on here? Is everything all right?'

'Harry taunted Gemma hard. I told him to do his worst, which was a bad idea in hindsight.'

'Relax, Rees,' said Tuttle. 'Potter's the kid who taunted You-Know-Who. The first time's always the worst, and you survived it.'

'It's true,' said Harry. 'I was a wreck the first time Owen tore into me, and everyone knows what happened with Gilstrap.' He turned to Tuttle and said, 'I imitated Gilstrap's tone, on top of everything else. Not even Owen did that.'

'Rees, you've got the makings of a great Seeker,' Tuttle told her. 'For fuck's sake, you already won a match! Just ignore everything this gobshite says above the pitch and you'll be fine.'

Gemma nodded and even smiled. Turning to Harry, she crowed, 'I'm getting a pay bonus for catching the Snitch and you're not! No new robes for you, nancy boy!'

'She compared me to Voldemort,' added Harry. 'That was a first—not even Gilstrap did that.'

Tuttle clapped Gemma on the shoulder. 'You'll do fine. Between your flying and your taunting you're already better than some of the starters out there. Now get your arse to the benches so I can tell off the Chasers.'

They walked to the benches and Harry sat near Gemma but tried not to crowd her. He still felt awful—he'd never made someone cry like that, and the guilt was overwhelming. _I should have trusted my instincts,_ he thought sadly.

After Tuttle's notes and their stretches, Harry cautiously approached Gemma, and Owen joined them. Gemma smiled feebly and said, 'I'm sorry I fell apart like that.'

'Don't apologise. I was a world-class arsehole up there.'

'You really were!' She turned to Owen and said, 'He criticised my appearance ... said I wasn't his type.'

'Ignore him,' replied Owen. 'And I should get you in touch with the other female Seekers—they'll tell you stories.'

'About Harry?'

'No, I've never insulted a witch like that, ever! Ugh, I'm so sorry—I didn't mean it.'

'So I am your type?' she said saucily.

'He's experiencing accidental Light magic—everyone's his type,' said Owen dryly. 'But no fraternisation.'

'I know,' she laughed. 'And he's got his hands full anyway. Go on, Toffer, go home and take your pelvis out for a spin.'

'Figuratively, not literally,' added Owen.

After showering, Harry Apparated to the sitting room as usual, but Lydia wasn't there. However, there was a cream-coloured envelope on the table, with his name written in elegant script. Inside was a note from Lydia, instructing him to arrive at her flat at six. _'Dress appropriately,'_ the letter said.

He was unsure what she meant until he went to his bedroom and saw she'd selected an outfit for him. It was the formal robes he'd ordered from Thimble, modelled after the portrait he'd seen in France, and next to it lay a pair of silk gloves. _I'm not wearing gloves in public,_ he thought irritably, but he tried them on anyway. _She must have measured my hands while I was sleeping,_ he thought, noting the perfect fit.

He had Kreacher shave him, and then he dressed in the impeccably-cut robes. Lydia had even selected his boutonnière, freesia, and he smiled as he slid it into his lapel. _Innocence,_ he thought, and he fondly recalled their scandalous appearance at brunch. Finally he pulled on the gloves, resolving to remove them if she wanted to leave the flat.

Harry paused in front of the mirror to adjust his cravat, and he was shocked by how much he looked like Robert de Montesquiou, the French aristocrat from the portrait. _Except he had a moustache and his hair wasn't appalling. _The resemblance was unsettling, and Harry had never so viscerally perceived himself as posh. _If I picked up Lydia's accent and commissioned a hair potion, I could pass for a true-born Black. _

He deliberately hardened his expression, as he'd done while taunting Gemma, and something shrivelled inside him. _This is how I might have looked if I'd befriended Draco Malfoy instead of Ron. This is what the Horcrux might have done to me without my mother's protection_.

An opposing thought arose. _Bad news, Snitchbottom: You already look like this to a lot of people. That's why they call you Glare-y Potter—tailored robes were just the final piece._ He softened his expression and recalled his anguish when he realised he'd made Gemma cry, and his throat tightened with remorse. _The potion from the Grimoire was wrong, _he thought sadly. _I'm a tremendously powerful wizard, only not with magic. _

He looked in the mirror and tried to disregard the whole of his face, which was so like his father's, and see only his mother's eyes. Harry had only a few strong memories of her looking at him—from the Mirror of Erised and the Resurrection Stone—and he remembered the love that had shone from her expressive green eyes.

_Poor Snape_, thought Harry. _He had to look at me every day: the spitting image of his nemesis, except with a knock-off version of Lily's eyes. _Harry knew they were his best feature by far, but James Potter's arrogance spoilt them.

_But I'm a Seeker_, _and Seekers taunt._ And Harry was taunted far harder than anyone else in the league._ Arrogance is my only defence. _

_Or is it? _he wondered. He had never actually questioned the practice. Obviously other Seekers would keep trying to rattle him, Gilstrap in particular, but there was no rule requiring Harry to respond in kind. _I defeated Voldemort with a Disarming Charm,_ he reminded himself. _Why can't I do the same with Seekers?_

He considered the matter. _I'm a first-rate flyer, and probably the best spotter in the league. I don't need to insult anyone. I can be the Love Seeker!_ he thought, laughing out loud. Harry had no idea how it would work, but he knew he had to try. Looking again at his full reflection, he was struck again by the overall effect of the outfit—particularly the gloves. But then he closed his eyes and cultivated sincere feelings of love.

Light magic began to flow, and he could easily have begun glowing, but instead he willed the energy to gently settle in his eyes. _May my eyes express love_, he thought. _When people see me, I want them to feel cared for, and less alone. _He recalled the trick he'd used on Myrtle, when he'd deliberately turned on the charm to ensure she'd help them with the Hogwarts wards. His eyes had twinkled then, like Dumbledore's, but this was different. This time he had no ulterior motive, other than the wish to embody love for the benefit of others.

Harry was sufficiently self-aware to see the irony. _Just how arrogant do you have to be to think you could embody love?_ _Wait until Gilstrap hears about this!_

Chuckling, he walked downstairs and replied to fan mail, carefully setting his gloves aside to keep from smudging them._ Lydia would never believe I didn't ruin them on purpose—I'd have to take Veritaserum again._

At six o'clock he tossed Floo powder into the fireplace and said, 'Travers Salon,' as he'd been instructed. Lydia was nowhere in sight, so he wandered in search of her. The flat was spacious, with high ceilings and tall windows. Sheer curtains diffused the light from the late afternoon sun, and he noted the pale, delicate furniture, which wouldn't have worked in Grimmauld Place.

'Harry, is that you?' she called. 'Come fasten my necklace.'

He followed her voice into a bedroom, where Lydia was standing before a full-length mirror. She was also dressed formally, in a long, silvery gown, and she turned when he entered.

'Oh, Harry, those robes! Nothing could be more elegant!'

'I'm even wearing the gloves,' he said, raising his hands. 'But not outside the flat.'

'We're not leaving the flat,' she said, drawing him close. After they kissed and he fastened her necklace, she took him by his gloved hand and led him from the bedroom. 'Kammy's preparing dinner—I told her to serve it at half six.'

'What should we do until then?' he asked. 'We're very fully clothed.'

'I want to dance,' she replied, entering what he assumed was the drawing room. There was a record player, and she carefully placed down the needle. 'I have a new favourite song.'

Harry didn't recognise it, but it was slow and the singer was female. He didn't know more than the basics of formal dancing, but he held Lydia as he'd been taught and she subtly steered him. 'Who is this?' he asked, enjoying the feel of her in his arms.

'Cyndi Lauper. The song is called "Time After Time." There's a wizard-owned record store here in Manchester that carries Muggle music, and I told the clerk I like Madonna. Isn't it beautiful?'

'It is,' he murmured, holding her close. They weren't dancing properly, which was fortunate, because he'd probably have made a mistake. Instead he allowed his Light magic to flow fully, and he sensed that hers was arising as well.

There was silence after the song ended, and Lydia looked into his eyes, squinting at first. She was bathed in his glow, but her Light allure captivated him, and he gazed at her for a long while before they kissed again. 'This might be the most beautiful moment of my life,' he said sincerely.

'Mine too,' she replied, still looking at him. 'Even though your hair is appalling.'

'I could shave it,' he offered, and she laughed. 'Though we'd have to Vanish it thoroughly, in case your family visits.'

'Esme is coming on Saturday,' she said. 'Charles and his mates will be attending a Quidditch match—not yours—so she can visit without his knowing.'

'Is she afraid of him?' he asked, concerned.

'No, of course not. But she enjoys having secrets.' Still in his arms, she looked around the room. 'This is what I wanted,' she said. 'My own home, my freedom. I can have a formal dance party for two with Muggle music, or anything else I like.'

They were mostly silent, basking in their shared Light magic. Eventually they settled on a chaise longue and passed the time until the dinner bell rang. Harry was alarmed by all the types of cutlery on the table, but Lydia laughed and told him to go from the outside in.

'No wonder you think I live in squalor,' he said, no longer glowing. 'Is this how your parents always eat?'

'Only at formal parties. Normally we wouldn't bother with these utensils,' she said, removing only a few of them.

'Am I supposed to eat with gloves on?' he asked.

'No. You should remove them and place them on your lap, beneath your napkin.'

Kammy brought one course after another, and Harry's appetite rose to the challenge. 'It's not actually that much food,' he said, 'because the servings are so small.'

It was fortunate he wasn't fussy, because some of the foods were 'delicacies,' and he knew not to ask her to translate their names into English. 'Normally I'd serve far more wine,' she said, 'but I know you prefer not to drink during the week.'

'Does your family routinely get plastered during dinner?'

'Discreetly, yes. But my mother has a signal for her house-elf to slip a Sobriety Potion into someone's glass as needed.'

'I suppose the Blacks ate like this.'

'Undoubtedly,' she remarked, as the pudding appeared on the table.

_I'll never really be a Black, even if I could tame my hair, _thought Harry. _Not the old kind, anyway. _The meal was lovely, but he vastly preferred pizza in the kitchen, or a wide array of curries. 'I'm hopelessly middle class, aren't I?' he said. 'In spite of the robes.'

'That's up to you. You can pass, certainly.'

'I don't want to pass. I'm proud to be the worthless son of a Mudblood and a middle-class blood traitor.'

'Then be one. But don't stop wearing robes, or flowers.'

'No, those are me as well. And my Doc Martens, and my Breton shirt. Maybe I should start wearing foulards,' he mused.

After dinner they returned to the drawing room, where they talked and listened to music, and later they went to her bedroom and verified that Harry's pelvis had fully healed. He graciously acknowledged that her bed was nearly as comfortable as his own, although not as shockingly large.

The next morning they both ate breakfast on silver trays. 'Isn't it so much nicer?' she asked.

'It is. In fact, I'm starting to reconsider the pewter,' he admitted.

'Really?' she said excitedly.

'Yes. Wendell's shop has some nice wooden trays I might purchase.'

She glared at him. 'I look forward to replacing you,' she said archly.

'But not tonight,' he replied. 'I'm going to Pratt's, and I might be tempted by the _filles de joie_ if I don't have someone in England waiting for me. And besides, it'll be my last night as a full-fledged toff before I return to my lowly origins.'

He went home to change into a tracksuit and arrived early to practice, not wanting to worry Tuttle that he'd gone overboard with his newly-healed pelvis. To his surprise, Owen was waiting for him.

'I was hoping you'd come early,' Owen said.

'Yeah, I aim for half eight when everyone knows I've spent the night with someone.'

'Isn't that most nights now?'

'No, Lydia just moved into her own flat, and after Friday we won't see each other as often.'

Owen nodded, and they started strolling around the pitch. 'I've been thinking about what happened yesterday, with Gemma.'

'Yeah, so have I,' replied Harry. 'Did you reach any conclusions?'

'You can't taunt her, not yet. She needs to feel safe first—not just as a Cannon, but as a member of wizarding society.'

'That makes sense.'

'I thought I needed to toughen her up, in case she needs to play against Hobbs next week, but that's not what she needs. She already has a tough exterior ... it's the interior we need to work on.'

'Good point. My analysis was completely different, but the conclusion was the same. I don't want to taunt anymore.'

'Taunt Gemma, you mean?'

'No, not anyone. They can taunt me all they want, but I'm not going to respond with insults or arrogance. It's too harmful.'

'So how will you respond?'

'With love. I have no idea how it'll work, but that's how it has to be.'

Owen was silent for a moment. 'Your plan certainly dovetails with mine,' he admitted. 'But can you do it ... innocently?'

'Do you mean without knocking my opponent off their broom and snogging the living daylights out of them?'

'That would have been an interesting twist with Gilstrap. But yeah, that's my question.'

'Yes, I can do it innocently. You've seen me and Hermione—I love her to pieces but it's completely innocent.'

'And now everyone believes you!' said Owen. 'You're right, obviously you're capable of other types of love. But do you think you can keep from glowing?'

'I practised last night, and hopefully it'll still be sunny this afternoon, just in case.' He paused and said, 'What else can I do to help Gemma feel like she fits in the wizarding world?'

'What can't you do? You know everyone, so just introduce her around, and her friends too.'

'That's a good idea. Maybe I should host some smaller parties—more casual, with pizza or curries.'

'You mean like most young people do?' smirked Owen.

'Go easy on me, I'm maladjusted,' replied Harry. 'Actually, that reminds me ... what did you tell Gemma about me before the match?'

'You mean to taunt you with?' asked Owen, and Harry nodded. 'I told her you're sensitive about Cedric Diggory, and about being called an attention-monger. I also told her Voldemort got into your head during the war—figuratively. I didn't tell her anything specific, and certainly nothing classified.'

Harry raised his eyebrows. 'Then she made some remarkably good guesses. She said there must have been something off about me as a baby, for my aunt and uncle to reject me like they did. Something I had in common with Voldemort. And that he rubbed off on me, and that I'm still a monster.'

'Harry, you were never a monster,' began Owen.

'Yes I was. A piece of Voldemort's soul was attached to mine ... I experienced him torturing people first hand, more times than I could count.'

Owen looked at him in horror. 'Oh, Harry ...'

'During the final year of the war I had visions all the time, and searing headaches ... I saw what he was doing, I felt his anger.' He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 'I felt his pleasure.'

'His pleasure?' repeated Owen.

'Torturing people,' said Harry, his eyes still closed. 'I felt his satisfaction. I still have nightmares about it, constantly.' He opened his eyes and added, 'That's how I woke Vera up, the witch from _Sorceress_. I usually kick.'

Owen was quiet a moment. 'Have you spoken to a Mind Healer? They might be able to help.'

'And tell me what?' said Harry hotly. 'Are they taught some method for helping former living Horcruxes?'

'No, but they help people who've been through trauma, which is what you're describing.'

Harry shook his head. 'I don't want to. I just want to fly, and live my life.'

'That's fine,' said Owen. 'I was only suggesting it, but obviously you're not required. And you have other resources as well.'

They were both silent, until Harry suddenly turned to Owen and said, 'Just to be clear, I don't like torturing people. I hope I didn't give you the wrong impression.'

'No, don't worry,' replied Owen. 'You never would have taken Veritaserum on the radio if you had that kind of dark side.'

'Good point. Voldemort would never have taken Veritaserum—he didn't trust anyone.'

It was nearly time to start running, so Harry joined his teammates near the benches. Darren found him and asked, 'So, does the pelvis work all right, or did MacAlister bungle it?'

'Bungle it?'

'Like does it makes a clicking sound now, or something like that?'

'No, it seems to be good as new. All hail magical healing! And you ... how's it going without Romilda?'

Darren threw his head back and said, 'Sweet freedom! Do you expect to be on the pull anytime soon? We could have a race, although it would have to be Muggles, to level the playing field.'

'You'd win,' said Harry. 'What are you, six feet?'

'Six one. But we should do that sometime, have a wager and everything. Someone could bring a stopwatch.'

'Women are people, you know,' remarked Harry.

'I know that. And people have physical needs. We'd be helping.'

During their laps, Harry made a point of saying hi to Gemma and giving her the opportunity to chat if she wanted, but she only returned his greeting and kept running alone. _I hope I didn't ruin our relationship, _he thought guiltily.

They didn't interact again until afternoon Seeker training. Owen sat with them on the benches and outlined his new plan. 'Gemma, you're to keep taunting Harry. He said you gave as good as you got, and he needs that. But we're changing Harry's approach—he wants to take the high road and see if he can get through a match without further expanding his hyper-inflated ego.'

'The high road?' asked Gemma. 'Is this because of yesterday?'

'Yes and no,' replied Harry. 'Yesterday I saw clearly that taunting hasn't been good for me. It's bringing out a side of my character I'd rather not encourage, so I want to try the opposite approach.'

Gemma looked sceptical. 'So I get to taunt you, and you just have to take it?'

'Something like that, yeah. I have no idea how it'll work. Mind you, I might slip into old habits and say something revolting, but it won't be aimed at you.'

'No,' replied Gemma, 'it'll be something about how you're the most famous wizard in the world and that everyone wants to fuck you.'

'Did he really say that?' asked Owen.

'I said "shag," not "fuck." But yeah.'

'Wow, Potter, it's a good thing you're changing tack,' said Owen. 'I only hope we're not too late.'

Instead of sending Gemma and Harry into the air, Owen had them practice walking, slowly and deliberately. 'This is a different way to develop peripheral awareness. Unlike during seated meditation, you have to do a lot of things at once, so there's no risk of over-focusing.'

Initially Harry tried to follow Owen's instructions and pay close attention to the sensations as his feet touched the ground, but he found it difficult so he decided to practice looking through loving eyes. He felt his expression soften, and strong feelings of tenderness arose. His head naturally tilted slightly back and to the side, as it might if he were looking at someone he cherished.

Harry's Light magic threatened to spill into glowing, but he deliberately guided the rising energy into his eyes. As he continued walking, his entire body leaned forward, as if his eyes were leading the way. His awareness broadened, and he felt some of the freedom he normally experienced only on a broom.

After walking in silence for a while, they assembled at their starting point and Owen asked them how it went. Gemma expressed frustration, since her mind had wandered more often than not, and Owen told her that was normal.

'My mind wandered too,' confessed Harry. 'So I gave up on your instructions and cultivated love instead. And look, I didn't glow!' he said proudly, holding up his hands.

Owen smiled and said, 'I'm glad you trusted your instincts—that was probably the right practice for today, with your new Seeker approach. But don't always ignore the instructions, even if they're difficult. There's a bigger picture, and you don't want to neglect a part of it.'

Eventually the practice match began, and Gemma and Harry started circling separately. He expanded fully into awareness and set the usual intentions along with a new one: _May I embody love._ He had no idea how it would even work, and Gemma was practising her spotting so she wasn't tracking him, but Harry trusted things to unfold naturally.

Cultivating love was very calming, and he realised he didn't have his usual urge to feint aggressively. _Step it up, Snitchbottom,_ he told himself. _They're not paying you to just drift around beaming at everyone._ But before he could motivate himself to feint, Gemma bombed towards one of the goals, and even though Harry knew the Snitch wasn't present he raced to meet her.

After feinting, Gemma resumed circling and Harry decided to join her. 'Cheers, that was fun,' he said.

'I'm only here to amuse you,' she said tartly. 'That's how it works, right?'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'The world revolves around you, and we're just your playthings.'

'I'm sorry if I've made you feel like that,' he said sincerely. 'I suppose I am self-centred.'

'You suppose you are? You literally go on the radio to hear your own voice every week.'

'Yeah, I'm planning to take a break next week. I'd intended to this week, but then the Mothers Against Harry Potter thing happened.'

'That must have completely ruined your breakfast in bed. Did you upend the tray?'

'No, but I gave Lydia an earful. It was pretty funny actually, looking back.'

'Were thestrals involved?' asked Gemma.

'Nearly. But I'm no longer convinced that Mothers Against Harry Potter is a real organisation.'

'You mean you think it's just someone taking the piss?'

'Yeah, maybe. I suppose we'll find out eventually,' said Harry evenly.

Gemma looked somewhat stymied. 'How do I insult you when you're being so mellow?'

'Ask Andrew Gilstrap—I'm certain he'd find a way.'

'Good point,' she replied. 'Would you care to expand on why you decided to stop taunting?'

'I don't want to cultivate my arrogance anymore.'

'Because it's fully grown and ready for harvest?'

'Exactly,' he laughed. 'And it fit too well with other parts of my life, like wearing tailored robes and living in a townhouse. I'm worried I'll eventually be indistinguishable from an actual toff and not just a kid from the suburbs.'

'I have bad news for you—you're already indistinguishable from an actual toff. You're the poshest person I've ever met, besides Lydia.'

'See, that's just weird—no offence. I went to Hogwarts with people like Draco Malfoy, who sneered at me because of my mother and for not knowing about wizarding culture. During our first flying lesson, he was prepared to humiliate me for not knowing how to fly, but it turned out I was a natural.'

'Yeah, me too,' replied Gemma. 'Only I wasn't given a Nimbus 2000 the next morning and named house Seeker.'

'Did you have houses at East Kettleton?' he asked

'Oh, so you do know the name of my school!'

'Of course I do. I deliberately got it wrong yesterday.'

'You had me fooled,' she admitted. 'But no, we didn't have houses. We just had different squads for intramural matches, and then the senior squad that played against other schools. I was part of that for my final two years.'

'Interesting. By the way, I should probably remind you to taunt me,' he said, but moments later he shot into a feint towards the ground, through a cluster of players. Flying back upwards, he renewed his intentions and resumed circling. Gemma left him alone for a while, and he feinted once more in an attempt to reconcile the aggressive flying with his peaceful state of mind. _Fierce love_, he dubbed it, which seemed to work.

Gemma found him again and said, 'I doubt you'll pull it off, this new strategy.'

'Yeah, maybe not,' he said. 'But what makes you say that?'

'You'll get soft and lose your killer instinct.'

'I'd like nothing more than to lose my killer instinct. I killed someone when I was eleven, you know. I did it automatically.'

'Was this one of your Defence professors?'

'Yeah, the one who Voldemort possessed.'

She was about to ask another question when she shook her head and said, 'Bugger, I've already stopped taunting you! It's really hard to taunt one-sided.'

'We'll find out next week when I play Allie Hobbs. Assuming Owen and Tuttle let me start.'

'Of course you'll start. You're Harry fucking Potter.'

'They'll play whoever they think will win. It might be you.'

After a pause, Gemma said, 'You really didn't mean anything you said yesterday, did you?'

'I didn't mean anything I directed at you. But the egotistical comments were mostly sincere.'

'And obnoxious,' she added. 'But alarmingly true, in most cases. You probably are the league's best Seeker and the world's most famous wizard.'

'Because of Voldemort, as you pointed out. That was insightful.'

'Yeah, well you were right about my fan mail. Only they didn't ask about waitressing.'

'I'm sorry. I could claim I was channelling Gilstrap, but I couldn't have come up with all that if I weren't like him on some level.'

'We all are,' she said. 'On some level, anyway. Shit! I need to taunt you!'

'Would it help if I told you what I'm doing tonight after practice?'

'Are you proposing to talk dirty to me?' asked Gemma.

'No,' he laughed. 'But in a sense you're not far off.'

'Now I'm intrigued. What are you doing tonight after practice?'

'Before I tell you, I need to extract a promise that you'll keep it secret. They've asked for my discretion.'

'You have discretion?' she scoffed. 'But yes, I'll keep it secret.'

'I've been invited to join a "private gentlemen's club"—for wizards—and I'm going to visit it tonight.'

'Do you mean a wizarding version of those snooty clubs that only lords belong to, and that don't allow women?'

'It's not just lords, thank Merlin, but yeah, that's about the size of it.'

'I can already think of any number of taunts,' said Gemma, 'but tell me more.'

'I'd never heard of it, nor any other gentlemen's club, but this one is apparently the oldest and most exclusive.' He smirked and added, 'It's called Pratt's.'

She burst out laughing and said, 'No wonder they invited you! Go on.'

'The one thing that impressed me is that apparently wizards of all affiliations mingle there.'

'You mean posh Dark wizards and posh Light wizards?'

'Exactly. But I haven't even got to the good part.'

Harry told her about the brothel, and she laughed again. 'You're going to a French brothel tonight? Does Lydia know?'

'She's the one who wants me to go! Obviously I'm not interested.'

'Obvious to you, maybe,' she said, 'but not to anyone else. It certainly goes with your debauchery.'

'That's just it! Wizards don't think there's anything wrong with it. This is how a proper wizard behaves.'

'So the old guard is trying to get you to shag prostitutes instead of their daughters?'

'So it seems.'

Gemma groaned in frustration. 'I can't believe I agreed to keep this secret!'

'You can talk about portkey brothels,' he said. 'Just not Pratt's, or that they invited me.'

'Couldn't I give it a new name? Like Twatt's?'

Harry laughed and shook his head. 'No, sorry. But anyway, that's my evening ... take your best shot.'

'But you haven't answered the most important question: are you planning to join?'

'What do you think?' asked Harry.

'Let me see ... it brings wizards together, and there's sex. Those are your two favourite things, so yes, you are going to join.' She nodded for emphasis.

'All right, then taunt me.'

'Hang on, I need to get into character.' In a much harsher tone of voice, she said, 'I can't get over what a sell-out you've become. You used to have principles, but apparently all it takes for you to hobnob with Death Eaters is easy access to French prostitutes.'

'You're right. Pratt's is unique because they don't need a portkey. Something about ley lines.'

'I'm certain there's a joke in there somewhere,' she said. 'I'm just grateful you were still a virgin during the war, or else Voldemort would still be in charge, and I'd probably be in Australia.'

'No, I was a different person back then,' he said, thinking of the Horcrux. 'This is all post-war Harry.'

'The one who's gradually ruining his own reputation? The one who's already turned into a big joke?'

'Do you think so?' he asked sincerely.

'Yeah I think so,' she retorted. 'You used to be brave and self-sacrificing. Now you're soft and spoilt. Exactly how many sets of robes do you own now?'

'Two dozen, give or take.'

'So that actually means three dozen, and you're just ashamed to admit it. You'll fit right in at Pratt's, but do us all a favour and stop pretending to be egalitarian, because you're not.'

Harry didn't reply, but instead renewed his intention to embody love. Seizing an impulse, he feinted erratically, and Gemma followed him. When he resumed circling she picked up where they'd left off.

'I wonder which one is the real Harry Potter: the hero or the toff. I reckon Dumbledore kept you down because he knew your true nature. If you'd been raised by a loving family, you'd have been insufferable from day one.'

'That makes sense,' he acknowledged. 'Maybe he knew what he was doing.'

'You certainly don't. You're all impulse. Hermione Granger should really get more credit.'

'I agree. We'd have lost the war without her.'

Harry suddenly spotted the Snitch, far away, but he had the same problem as the day before. _How do I lose her?_ He didn't want to insult her, and yet he had to get her off his tail somehow. Furthermore, she wasn't agitated as she was during the previous match, so she was likely to spot the Snitch on her own.

The Snitch took off of its own accord, and he could no longer hesitate. It veered wildly and they both zoomed after it, trying to anticipate its path. They followed it halfway across the pitch until it plummeted, as if its wings had stopped working, and both Harry and Gemma had to dive. But Harry's path was obstructed, and Gemma swooped down and easily grabbed the Snitch.

'Yes!' she cried. 'Victory is mine! Take that, Toffer!'

Harry felt the sting of defeat, which was never pleasant, but he was also happy for her. 'Well done,' he said. 'And by the way, I'm not joining that club.'

'You're not? Why didn't you say so?'

'I was curious how you'd react. Honestly, I'm a little hurt you thought I'd join, but that's all right.'

They flew to the ground and Owen asked how it went. 'I caught the Snitch,' crowed Gemma. 'That's how it went.'

Owen laughed and said, 'Harry, do you think your new approach had anything to do with it?'

'Yeah, partly.' He explained how he'd seen the Snitch earlier but wasn't willing to insult Gemma.

'Do you reckon this would be a problem during a match?'

'It depends whether my rival could outfly me.'

'Gemma, what do you think—has Harry lost his edge?'

'He was hard to taunt,' she said. 'Everything I said just fell flat, because he didn't fire back at me. We mostly had a friendly conversation.'

Nodding, Owen said, 'Harry, that was probably the right approach for today, but can you add a little more fire tomorrow?'

'I can try,' replied Harry. 'But I'm not willing to say anything that's deliberately hurtful.'

'Fair enough,' said Owen. 'And maybe we can come up with another way for you to shed your opponent when you spot the Snitch. Although it mightn't be necessary, except during practice matches, since I doubt anyone else can outfly you.' He chuckled and added, 'It's ironic that Gemma might be one of the only Seekers who can beat you.'

'That sounds like a reason to keep me happy and not let some other team steal me away,' declared Gemma.

'I'm glad to see you have your confidence back,' said Owen, and Harry agreed. _But how will that work? _he wondered. _Surely she'll want to be a starter once she's ready._

After Tuttle's notes and their stretches, Harry returned to Grimmauld Place and prepared for his nighttime visit to Pratt's. _It's not my seventeenth birthday, _he thought, _but better late than never_. Knowing his clothing would be scrutinised, he wore robes Lydia had helped him purchase. At first glance they were conservative—black, with a high collar—but Lydia assured Harry that the details were positively outré. 'I've only seen embroidery like that in portraits,' she told him, 'and those flocked buttons in burgundy and black ... a photograph wouldn't do them justice. It has to be appreciated in person.'

His hair was hopeless, of course, but he slid a deep burgundy boutonnière—alstroemeria—into his lapel._ I barely changed clothes when we were living in the tent_, he recalled. _I only did it for Hermione's benefit. _He was tempted to wear his Doc Martens, but he knew Lydia would be furious, so he wore very proper wizarding shoes instead.

Harry paused in front of the fireplace before taking a pinch of Floo powder. _I'm about to freely mingle with Dark wizards_, he mused. He held out little hope that he could change the direction of wizarding Britain in one night, but he set an intention that the seeds of peace be planted. _I'm Harry Potter-Black_, _and a Light wizard_, he thought.

'And a great bloody toff,' he muttered aloud, before tossing Floo powder into the grate.


	68. Chapter 68

'Good evening, Mr Potter. Welcome to Pratt's.'

Harry stepped from the fireplace. 'Thank you. I'm glad to be here.'

'Allow me to introduce myself,' said the wizard, who was fortyish with thinning blond hair. 'I'm Jonathan Dunston, club secretary, and I'll be your guide during what I hope will be the first of many visits to Pratt's. Please, come this way.'

Dunston led Harry to the far end of the reception room, where a young wizard stood at attention behind a desk. Harry noted the dark wood paneling, deep red walls, and gold trim. _It looks like a swish combination of Gryffindor Tower and Grimmauld Place, _he thought. Before he could comment, Dunston said, 'We've decorated the reception room in your honour, according to Pratt's tradition. When a wizard is invited to join, we greet them with their house colours.'

'This is much less beat-up than Gryffindor Tower ever looked, or my house for that matter,' observed Harry. 'And it's certainly welcoming.'

'That's always our goal,' replied Dunston. 'Before we enter the club, I'd like to reassure you that you needn't worry about your safety. Pratt's offers every possible protection, reinforced weekly by experts from Gringotts. It's impossible to Apparate into Pratt's, but you can freely Apparate out should danger arise, which it won't. Every dish, utensil, and drinking vessel is charmed against harmful potions, and the mantelpiece you just stepped through detects cursed artefacts. I'm certain you're always vigilant, but we invite you to relax as much as possible.'

'That sounds ideal, thank you.'

Dunston pointed out a guest register on the desk and offered Harry a quill. 'We ask everyone who enters to sign in, which creates a temporary bond with our staff of house-elves. If you need anything at all during your visit, you need only snap your fingers and say, "Elf," and one will arrive silently.'

Harry recognised many of the names on the page. Some were people he'd met at the Ministry, or had surnames he knew from Hogwarts. There were Dark family names, such as Rosier and Yaxley, but also Light families like Longbottom and Prewett. _And Charles Selwyn_, he noted. _I suppose I'll find out whether people really set aside their differences._

Dunston guided him down a wide corridor and pointed out rooms as they passed. 'We have an extensive library, stocked with all the latest publications,' he said, prompting Harry to wonder whether they had an issue of _Sorceress_ lying around. 'And our dining room serves meals at all hours, prepared by house-elves trained both in Britain and on the Continent. We also have rooms of various sizes for meetings requiring privacy. And our lounge, which is the heart of social interaction at Pratt's.'

Near the end of the corridor was a spacious yet intimate room with numerous armchairs and several sofas, along with tables and matching wooden chairs. A large and well-stocked bar was in one corner, and roughly two dozen wizards were present, mostly in groups of two or three. Harry didn't see any familiar faces, but some wizards were turned away or nestled within armchairs.

'And here is a unique feature of Pratt's,' said Dunston, indicating a doorway. 'Behind this door is a short corridor leading to our sister establishment in France. It's known simply as "the Boudoir," and you'll find an enchanting assortment of young witches who are prepared to meet all of your needs. I should note that while drinks and refreshments at the Boudoir are included in your Pratt's dues, their special services are not. But you need only authorise the transaction and your vault at Gringotts will be debited, without the need to bother with gold.'

_That's convenient, _thought Harry wryly. _It's probably much easier to believe she fancies you when you don't need to count out coins first._

'I must say, this is all very impressive,' remarked Harry. 'Could you tell me more about who in my family was a member here?'

'Of course. I could provide you with an exhaustive list, as Blacks and Potters have belonged to Pratt's since its inception in 1699. But perhaps you're most interested in recent generations?' Harry nodded, and Dunston said, 'Orion Black, father to your late godfather was a member, as were the two most recent Cygnus Blacks. Arcturus and Alphard Black were both members, and several earlier bearers of the name Sirius.'

'What about Phineas Nigellus Black?' asked Harry.

'Yes, he was a member as well. As for the Potters, your great-grandfather Charlus was a member, his father Henry, and various cousins and great-great-uncles.'

Harry took a moment to evaluate what he'd just heard. _My grandfather never joined, but Sirius's favourite uncle did. And for some reason it's significant that Phineas Nigellus was a member, but I'm not sure why._

'Thank you,' said Harry. 'I know very little about my relations, so it's always interesting to hear about them.'

'I wish I could tell you more, but Pratt's very deliberately doesn't maintain archives other than membership rolls and entrance registers. Discretion is at the heart of our organisation.'

_In other words, _thought Harry, _there's no record of how often members nip off to France._ 'I'm glad to hear it,' he said. Turning back towards the lounge, Harry added, 'I'm curious to see whether anyone I know is here. May I?'

'Of course,' replied Dunston. _If he's surprised I didn't dive straight for the brothel, he's hiding it well_.

Not everyone had noticed Harry the first time he'd looked into the lounge, but this time all eyes were on him. Wizards young and old all nodded cordially to him as he passed, and many greeted him. 'Potter, welcome,' said a familiar-looking wizard, who extended his hand. 'I'm Pontius Flint. I believe you and my son Marcus attended Hogwarts together.'

_Blimey, this is one of the lords who voted against me!_ thought Harry. 'It's nice to meet you, Mr Flint,' he replied, shaking his hand.

'Just Flint, or Pontius if you prefer, but most people at Pratt's use surnames. I gather this is your first visit?'

'Yes,' replied Harry, who was stunned by Flint's total lack of hostility. 'I've been invited to join, and Dunston is showing me around.'

'Splendid!' said Flint jovially. 'You'll be a tremendous addition to the club, and I'm sure you'll get a lot out of it as well. And you should feel honoured—I can't even remember the last time someone your age was offered membership. Dunston, how long has it been?'

'Not since 1912, when Roland MacMillan was invited to join. His father perished on the Titanic—he was sailing because he abhorred portkeys, and it was too far from dry land to Apparate.'

'I can't say I'm a fan of portkeys either,' said Harry, which prompted laughter from Flint and several other wizards.

'Then you'll love Pratt's,' chuckled a tall and slightly stooped wizard. 'I'm Ernest Prewett, by the way—Molly Weasley is my first cousin.'

Harry was soon surrounded by wizards introducing themselves, including Anthony Goldstein's father, another lord, and a distant cousin of Neville's.

'Pratt's is the heart of wizarding Britain,' said Goldstein. 'You simply have to join.'

'I have to say, I'm impressed by how congenial it is,' said Harry sincerely.

'It most certainly is,' said a wizard behind him. 'It's good to see you again.'

Harry turned around and saw Charles Selwyn, extending an ungloved hand. 'Likewise,' replied Harry, shaking the hand of Lydia's brother-in-law, whom he'd previously met during brunch at Dunnings.

'I'd love to talk to you one-on-one,' said Charles warmly. 'You might say we have a lot in common,' he added, and everyone chuckled knowingly.

'I'd like that,' said Harry, and Charles led him to a pair of unoccupied armchairs.

'I can't tell you how glad I am to see you here,' began Charles. 'Pratt's is a tremendous institution, and I'm certain you'll fit right in.'

'Are you? I have to admit, my mind is still reeling from meeting everyone just now.'

Charles laughed and said, 'Yes, it's always entertaining to watch a first-time visitor, particularly one such as yourself, who's only seen Dark and Light wizards squabble.'

_Squabble? _thought Harry incredulously. _The war was a squabble? Voldemort killing my parents and technically killing me was a squabble?_

'But where are my manners!' exclaimed Charles, and he snapped his fingers. 'Elf!'

A house-elf appeared instantly, with only the faintest _pop._ 'Yes, sir. How may Biffle assist sir?'

'I'll have another glass of the 1981 Cabernet,' said Charles, indicating his empty glass. 'Potter, what will you have? And don't say Butterbeer.'

'Er, do you have any fruit pressés?' asked Harry, but Charles shook his head.

'Bring him a glass of wine as well,' he told the elf. 'Trust me Potter, you've never had anything like it. Elf-made, of course.'

Harry simply nodded, and the elf disappeared. Moments later, he returned with two glasses of red wine on a tray.

'Thank you, Biffle,' said Harry, taking a glass, and the elf disappeared.

'What do you think?' asked Charles, after Harry took his first sip.

Harry's eyes opened in surprise. 'Wow, this is good. You're right, I've never tasted anything like it. Thanks for insisting I try it.'

'My pleasure. Now let's get to business ... I heard about your meeting with Desmond. Did you really fend off his attempt at Legilimency?'

'Did he tell you about that?' asked Harry, surprised.

'Merlin no! Isobel told Esme about it.'

'Not while crying, I hope.'

'No, but only because she'd taken a Calming Draught.' Harry looked dismayed, but Charles shook his head dismissively. 'You mustn't take it personally—Isobel is always taking Calming Draughts for one reason or another. You and Lydia have simply given her a new excuse.'

'I see,' replied Harry. 'In answer to your question: yes, I blocked his attempt at Legilimency.'

'Remarkable. He takes pride in his Legilimency skills. I dare say that was more humiliating for him than what you did to Lydia.'

'I didn't do anything "to" Lydia,' bristled Harry. 'It was entirely her decision.'

'Perhaps, but she didn't exactly hold you at wandpoint,' smirked Charles. 'She and Esme are certainly a feast for the eyes,' he said admiringly, 'although I'm envious you got the blonde. But Lydia hadn't yet made her debut when I was looking to marry.'

Harry was appalled, and he had no idea how to respond. _I suppose I'll just play along_, he thought guiltily. 'They're both lovely,' he agreed. 'And I've enjoyed Lydia's company tremendously.'

'Really? She must be on her best behaviour, because she's terribly spoilt. They all are ... Desmond indulges the girls, and Isobel absolutely dotes on Jacob.'

'What's he like?' asked Harry.

'He still has two more years at Hogwarts—Slytherin of course. Although for some reason the girls didn't go there. I can't recall why, but I think they were educated privately, same as their mother. But Jacob is a perfect Travers—he'll be rich as Flamel, or near to it, once Desmond and old Magnus are gone. Between his patrilineal inheritance and the vault Magnus swiped from his brother, he'll be one of the richest wizards in Britain, particularly now that the Malfoy fortune has been halved.' He added, 'I assume Lydia told you about her unexpected inheritance.'

'Yes. I asked on our first date whether she'd be all right financially, and she told me the whole story.'

Charles shook his head in amazement. 'That was a bloody miracle. Ursinus finally had Magnus where he needed him, and he went to Gringotts to make the transfer, and then ... we don't know. The Dark Lord called him away, and by the next morning Magnus was back to himself. The rest of us were still stunned by how things had ended—nobody slept that night—but Magnus was at Gringotts within minutes. And you know the rest.'

Harry couldn't stay quiet any longer. 'I know more than you realise,' he confessed. 'I know why Uncle Ursinus didn't make the transfer that morning.'

'Tell me!' insisted Charles, leaning forwards.

In a conspiratorial voice, Harry said, 'We ran into him at Gringotts, when Hermione was disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange and I was invisible. He wouldn't leave us alone, so I Imperiused him and made him hide in the tunnels. He must have been there until the Dark Mark called him away.'

Charles couldn't hide his astonishment. 'Sweet bloody Merlin! You Imperiused Ursinus? Does the Ministry know?'

'Yes, I disclosed everything before a private tribunal, who exonerated me. They agreed to be Obliviated afterwards, and the full testimony is classified.'

'So you're the reason Lydia was free to run off!' exclaimed Charles. 'It's only right, then, that you got first crack at her.'

Harry stiffened. 'Selwyn, I shan't marry her, but I won't have her spoken about that way.'

'Relax, Potter—I was only testing you. Everyone knows you're the gentleman seducer.' Gesturing towards Harry's outfit, he said, 'Between that and the robes, I'm terribly envious.'

'What for?' asked Harry. 'Both times I've met you, you've looked impeccable.'

'Cheers, likewise. But you've taken something traditional and made it subversive. And with the flowers, you've reclaimed masculine plumage.'

'Sorry?' replied Harry. 'What do you mean?'

'With most birds, and other animals, it's the male who has the brighter plumage, not the female. But in humans it's largely reversed, at least in practice. Although men retain some plumage ... I'm certain witches have expressed envy over your eyelashes.'

'They have done,' admitted Harry, recalling Ginny's frequent grumblings. 'And yes, I understand what you're saying. Have you been to France? Muggle men dress more flamboyantly there.'

'I've been to France, but I didn't bother with the Muggle districts.'

'Are you out of your mind?' exclaimed Harry. 'How can you go to Paris and not visit Notre Dame, or the Sainte Chapelle! Or wander through the old neighbourhoods and peek into courtyards. And the museums ... I only visited one—the Musée d'Orsay—but it's fantastic.'

'But the paintings don't move,' said Charles with disdain.

'They don't need to move,' argued Harry. 'The brushstrokes alone convey movement.' He looked Charles over and said, 'You're an aesthete, same as I am. And a dandy as well, although you mightn't use the term. I'm not suggesting you become best friends with a Muggle, but you're depriving yourself if you don't see what they have to offer. Lydia has been in raptures all week, listening to Muggle music and reading Jane Austen, a Muggle author.'

'I couldn't believe what I read about your party,' said Charles. 'Lydia dancing to Muggle music in front of the entire Quidditch league! Esme was shocked, and I needn't tell you how Isobel reacted.'

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, remembering how Lydia had looked. 'She was magnificent,' he said reverently. 'It's absurd you all think she's ruined. Would you say a rose is ruined when the bud finally opens? And she's incredibly happy and alive—you should see her in her new flat.'

'Yes, she sent invitations to the family. Desmond wants to go at once, but Isobel is still furious. And of course Esme and I shan't go.'

'Why not?' asked Harry, knowing that Esme had plans to visit on Saturday.

'It's one thing for her doting father to visit and make sure she's all right, but if Esme and I go it means she's forgiven.'

'And so? Doesn't Esme love Lydia and want her to be happy? I know Lydia loves Esme—she talks about her all the time.'

'Be that as it may, there are rules,' said Charles. 'I know they've never applied to you—and I say that with the utmost respect—but the rest of us live by them.'

Harry's inclination was to say, '_Bugger that!'_ but he tried instead to understand Charles's perspective. 'Tell me more about these rules,' said Harry. 'Clearly I don't understand them.'

'They provide continuity. Young witches behave one way, and they always have done. Same with wizards. Without rules things change too quickly, and wizarding culture is washed away. Remember we're an extremely small minority compared to Muggles.'

_I wonder what Hermione would make of his logic, _mused Harry. 'Some of what you've said is true—we are a small minority—but the rest doesn't follow. We won't be any less magical if young witches are allowed the same freedoms as young wizards.' With a smirk, he added, 'I assume you visited Pratt's on your seventeenth birthday.'

Charles smiled at the memory. 'No, my birthday was on a weeknight during the term. But that weekend my father and uncle brought me here, and to the Boudoir. And yes, it was a perfectly brilliant way to start my majority.'

'So why don't witches get that freedom? Not to see a prostitute, of course, but simply to have a good snog, or whatever else they fancy. Lydia had scarcely been kissed before I met her.' Harry could see Charles struggling to come up with a reply. 'And don't just say it's because it's always been that way,' he added.

'But it has been,' protested Charles.

'Has it? Personally I didn't learn a thing in History of Magic, and I suspect you didn't either, but according to Hermione, early British magical tribes were far less uptight than modern wizards are. Consider Morgana—I doubt she sat around drinking tea while her suitors were sneaking off to brothels.'

'None of this matters,' said Charles dismissively. 'For hundreds of years, this is how we've behaved. I'm sorry you never had a role model, or someone to provide continuity between you and your ancestors.'

'I had Sirius,' replied Harry. 'And you can't claim he wasn't exposed to wizarding traditions.'

'That's an absurd example. For one thing, the Blacks were highly unstable by the time he came along—I can hardly blame him for breaking ties. And furthermore, look at how his life turned out. If he'd played by the rules he'd never have wound up in Azkaban.'

Harry was amazed by how calmly they were discussing all this. 'Did Bellatrix Lestrange play by the rules? What about Lucius Malfoy?'

'I would argue that pledging oneself and prostrating to an extremist like the Dark Lord went outside of the rules.' Charles pulled back his left sleeve to reveal his unblemished forearm. 'I certainly didn't take the Mark.'

'But you were complicit,' replied Harry.

'Of course I was. That's why there are still plenty of Selwyns, but only one Potter. And the only reason you're still with us is because you're somehow immune to the Killing Curse.'

'There are worse things than dying,' said Harry, remembering Voldemort's shrivelled husk of a soul.

Charles was silent for a time. 'I apologise, I'm being a terrible host. Here it's your first visit to Pratt's, and I've kept you in the lounge talking. Although I admit it's been fascinating, and perhaps a good example of the kind of discourse Pratt's enables.'

'I'm in no hurry,' said Harry. 'I don't think I've ever had a conversation like this one, and I'm happy to continue. Although I suspect we'll never see eye-to-eye on certain topics.'

'You're probably right. But at Pratt's we emphasise the things we have in common. Hogwarts, for instance. I was three years ahead of you. Slytherin, naturally.'

Harry smiled. 'You might be amused to learn that the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin.'

'Really?' exclaimed Charles. 'Because you were a Parselmouth?'

'No, because of my desire to prove myself. It said Slytherin would help me on the way to greatness. But I told it I didn't want Slytherin, so it put me in Gryffindor.'

'And the rest is history,' declared Charles. 'To think, you and Draco Malfoy might have been best mates. Although I doubt he'd have enjoyed the competition ... Did you know that on his first night at Hogwarts, he informed the Prefects that his father was chairman of the Board of Governors, and that he'd been given special exemption from curfew and other rules, including the one preventing first-years from having a broomstick?'

'How did the Prefects react?'

'Sebastian Fawley said something to the effect of "Yes, Professor Snape already told us. In fact, he taught me an incantation that will grant you invisibility in the corridors after curfew. Just set your wand over there, and I'll perform it on you."'

'Oh dear,' said Harry in anticipation.

'Fawley Levitated Malfoy to the common room ceiling, Body-Bound him, and left him there for the next hour. That was the last time Draco attempted to boss us around.'

'So he only bossed around his year mates,' said Harry. 'And antagonised the rest of us.'

'It looked mutual from where I was standing,' observed Charles.

'Yeah, perhaps it was. And of course Snape didn't help, always favouring the Slytherins. I suppose you benefitted from that as well.'

Charles raised an eyebrow and said, 'Are you really complaining that Snape didn't do enough for you?'

Harry sighed. 'No, you're right. But was it really necessary to create such a poisonous atmosphere at Hogwarts?'

'Snape didn't invent house rivalry,' said Charles with a shrug. 'And clearly he wasn't in his right mind, pining for years after a dead Mud—' He stopped short. 'I apologise, that was out of bounds.'

'It was,' agreed Harry. 'But you've been more than civil about Lydia tonight, so I'll let it pass.'

They were both silent for a short interval, and then Charles said, 'I do hope you'll visit the Boudoir tonight. You can't possibly evaluate Pratt's without seeing its crowning glory.'

'Will you be going?' asked Harry.

'Sadly, no. Esme extracted a blood oath from me on our wedding night, to never partake of the Boudoir or any other paid establishment. I agreed to it readily—our marriage bond was still fresh, and let's just say I would have agreed to anything in that particular moment. But I do go occasionally to enjoy the ambiance, and I'm sure I'll have plenty of other options when I'm ready to stray.'

'Does that mean you haven't strayed yet?'

'No. And frankly, things are looking up in the Esme department. Wizards aren't the only ones learning new skills from your _Sorceress_ article.'

'Maybe they should add that to my Chocolate Frog Card,' said Harry wryly, and Charles laughed out loud.

'Lydia's right—you are more clever than people think.' Charles's expression turned serious, and he said, 'I do hope you'll join Pratt's. Perhaps Slytherin wasn't necessary for your path to greatness, but I'm certain Pratt's will help you continue to develop for decades to come.'

'Cheers,' replied Harry, rising from his chair.

Charles stood as well, and he took a moment to admire Harry's robes again. 'Flocked buttons,' he murmured to himself. 'Marvellous.'

Harry extended his hand, and Charles shook it. 'It's been a pleasure getting to know you,' said Harry sincerely.

'Likewise. And do enjoy the rest of your evening.'

'I will,' replied Harry, thinking of Lydia. He turned towards the centre of the lounge and surveyed the crowd, noticing that more people had arrived. A familiar face caught his eye, and Harry chuckled. _Of course Blaise Zabini is here_, he thought, walking towards him.

'Harry,' cried Blaise, turning from his companions. 'I saw your name in the register, and the Gryffindor colours. It's absolutely splendid to see you—how are you?' But before Harry could respond, Blaise snapped his fingers and said, 'Elf!'

A different house-elf appeared and bowed. 'Thank you, sir. How may Bulby assist sir?'

'My friend here needs something to drink,' said Blaise. 'Harry, what'll it be. Single-malt?'

'No, I don't think so.' Turning to the elf, he said, 'Bulby, may I please have another glass of the 1981 Cabernet?' _The year my parents died_, he noted.

'Yes, sir,' replied Bulby, disappearing.

The elf returned with Harry's glass and disappeared again. 'Much better,' declared Blaise. 'So tell me, how are you?'

'I'm well,' replied Harry. 'My injury is fully healed, which means I'm flying again.'

'Amongst other things. Is the lovely Miss Travers still living with you?'

'No, she moved into her new flat yesterday.'

'And so you're celebrating with a visit to Pratt's—perfect!'

'Actually we're still seeing each other. In fact, I'll see her later tonight.'

Blaise nodded approvingly. 'I'm certain you can handle that, given your recent exploits. Which are actually true! I can't tell you how riveted we were, listening to the radio on Tuesday night.'

'Who is "we?"' asked Harry uncertainly.

'Why Ginny, of course, and her teammate Wendy. But don't get that look,' admonished Blaise. 'We're only friends. And besides, you've had six other partners since Ginny, so you can't possibly still be attached.'

Harry didn't point out the flaw in Blaise's logic. 'What did Ginny think of the broadcast?'

'She's desperate to know what they censored. And she was delighted to hear you'd kissed a bloke—she'd previously bemoaned how straight you are. And now she and Wendy want to start a rock band called _"Everything but the pelvis."_ I offered to manage them.'

'I'm glad you're putting your Slytherin ambition to good use,' remarked Harry. 'And how are you doing?'

'I've no complaints at all. I came here tonight for a brief but crucial meeting with a potential business partner, and it went exactly as I hoped.'

'Congratulations! Does this mean you're starting a business?'

'It's early days yet, but that's the general idea. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention we're still looking for investors, but I'm certain you're flooded with so-called opportunities, so we'll just leave it at that.'

'You're not planning to import French pastries, are you?' asked Harry.

'No, nothing of the sort. We want to cultivate, process, and distribute high-grade potions ingredients. You wouldn't believe how irregular the supply chain is right now. My previous stepfather was preparing to start the enterprise himself, with me as the junior partner, and we spent countless hours perfecting the business plan. But he was tragically killed in April when a sudden windstorm blew him off a cliff where he was collecting samples.'

'Blaise, I'm so sorry,' said Harry sincerely. 'Please accept my condolences. It seems you have far more dead fathers than I do.'

In a sober voice, Blaise said, 'I do, yes. And thanks for your sympathy—I appreciate it. Most people think it's funny, and they're not wrong, but it's also painful.'

'They think it's funny that your mother's been widowed so many times?'

'Yes, and under questionable circumstances.'

Sensing that Blaise wanted to confide, Harry opened his heart and generated feelings of love and compassion.

'My biological father died when I was four,' said Blaise quietly.

'Do you remember him?'

'Not really. Just memories of memories, which aren't the same. But my mother speaks fondly of him, and for years I believed it was truly an accident.'

'Do you still believe that?' asked Harry gently.

'Does it matter? It won't bring him back. And I don't actually miss him, except in theory. But I do miss a few of his successors, including this last one.'

'I know how you feel,' said Harry. 'I miss Sirius far more than I miss my father.'

Blaise bit his lower lip, and for a moment Harry thought he might cry. But then his expression returned to normal, and he said, 'The good news is that I'm my mother's only heir, since she hated what pregnancy did to her figure. And fortunately for her, she was able to hide the evidence at a Swiss spa, but she refuses to go through that particular ritual again. So I'll probably wind up with any number of fortunes. And in the meantime I have what my father left me, and an allowance.'

'Nine dead fathers, and no end of gold,' observed Harry.

'Something like that ... But I'm sure our dead fathers would encourage us to enjoy life to the fullest!' he added brightly. 'Will you be visiting the Boudoir tonight?'

'Yes, Lydia insists upon it, so I can tell her about it afterwards.'

'She's a treasure! Are you certain you won't marry her?' joked Blaise. 'As for the Boudoir, would you care for a companion? A guide, if you will.'

'I would, actually. I have no idea what to expect.'

'You'll take to it like a merman to water,' Blaise assured him. 'The ladies will make you feel right at home the moment you enter, and from then on it's pure instinct.'

'It's the ladies I'm concerned about,' said Harry. 'Are we certain they haven't been Imperiused?'

Blaise looked offended. 'Of course they haven't been. The Boudoir is a reputable house of ill-repute, and the ladies are regularly examined by third-party experts for any trace of coercion. And you'll see for yourself that they're entirely willing.'

'That's just it,' said Harry. 'I can't understand why a witch would willingly choose that profession. It's one thing to want to have sex frequently, but quite another to be stuck doing it with a bunch of geezers. Surely witches have other options!'

'I take it you haven't seen the price list,' remarked Blaise. 'A nubile young witch can earn a fortune in just a few years at a first-rate brothel. And remember this is France, so she'll have no trouble marrying afterwards, unlike her Anglo-Saxon counterpart.'

'Just how much does it cost?'

'The prices vary, depending on the witch's Blood Status.' Blaise lowered his voice and added, 'But of course there's no way to really tell, and I have it on first-hand authority that some of the "pure-bloods" are anything but. So you might as well save your Galleons—not that you care about Blood Status, of course.' He told Harry the price range, and Harry's jaw dropped.

'Blimey! Now I understand how the Blacks managed to squander their fortune! Do you actually pay that much for just a few hours with a witch?'

Looking around to confirm no one was listening, Blaise said, 'I don't, and I doubt you'll have to either. Their employer, Madame Lalouche, allows them to entertain for free at their discretion, as long as they're earning enough otherwise. To keep up morale, you know.'

Harry shook his head slowly. 'I can't believe how much I've learnt about wizarding society in the last month or so. I'd never even heard of portkey brothels until a fortnight ago.'

'This is exactly why you need to broaden your horizons! I'm delighted to see you here at Pratt's, and I do hope you'll join.'

'Hang on, how are you here? Do you have a new stepfather already?'

'Yes, since June. Mother asked for my help deciding between suitors, and I suggested she choose a Pratt's member, at least until I'm twenty-one. I'm far too accustomed to the place.'

'Did you come here on your seventeenth birthday?'

'Naturally. And so did Draco, and Vincent, and Gregory, and any number of our classmates.'

'Crabbe and Goyle went to the Boudoir?' exclaimed Harry, horrified.

'Of course they did,' scoffed Blaise. 'Who else was going to have them?'

'I'm not sure I'll be able to generate enthusiasm there if I'm wondering who's had sex with Crabbe and Goyle. Although I suppose I'm glad Crabbe didn't die a virgin.'

'Believe me, you'll have no trouble generating enthusiasm, and our classmates will be the last thing on your mind. But speaking of our classmates, I'm told you're visiting Draco on Sunday.'

'I am. Do you have any advice?'

Blaise frowned. 'It'll be an uphill battle. He's had more than a year to ruminate on all the ways you ruined his life, and it's only got worse since you joined the Cannons and turned into the fabulous beast standing before me. He was supposed to inherit from the Blacks, and you've managed to simultaneously shit on their legacy and make off with it.'

'I haven't shit on their legacy!' protested Harry.

'Haven't you? You talk freely about how they squandered their fortune, and you've made Walburga a laughing stock. And then you dance around the topic of changing your name and remaking the Blacks in your own image.'

'Sirius wanted me to,' said Harry feebly. 'He charged me with turning the Blacks into a Light family.'

'That's very sweet, but you're only one person. Which means that for the next few decades, it'll be the Harry Potter show.'

'There's Narcissa's sister, Andromeda,' replied Harry. 'And her grandson, Teddy Lupin.'

'Do you really think that will help?' asked Blaise.

'No,' sighed Harry, feeling ashamed. But after a pause he brightened. 'There are cousins. When I restored the tapestry, several new branches appeared. One is descended from a male Squib, and their name is still Black, and another was founded by someone who rejected the Dark Arts and changed his name to White. But the tapestry still calls them Black. And there's also a large branch in North America.'

'That could help,' admitted Blaise. 'Not the Americans, of course.'

'They're Canadian, actually.'

'Oh, that's not so bad.' He paused and added, 'If you're willing to share the spotlight and acknowledge that House Black isn't all about you, you'll remove at least one bone of contention. But there's only one thing you can do that might really help,' said Blaise, looking Harry in the eye.

'His wand,' replied Harry, and Blaise nodded. 'But I don't know whether it'll work for him anymore. I'm clearly master of it, otherwise I couldn't have been master of the Elder Wand.'

'Then maybe you can convince it somehow. Obviously it likes you ... although it might feel neglected if it's been in a drawer this whole time.'

'I'll do my best,' said Harry. 'By the way, is Draco behind Mothers Against Harry Potter?'

Blaise laughed out loud. 'No, but I'm certain he wishes he were. He must be cursing himself for not coming up with it on his own.'

He suddenly tugged Harry's hand and said, 'But enough talk—on to the Boudoir! I know it's well past your seventeenth birthday, and I have a sneaking suspicion this won't be your first time, but we fatherless wizards have to look after one another.'

As they walked through the lounge, Harry said, 'One more question: just how visually stimulating is the Boudoir? Should I charm my trousers first?'

'No, don't bother,' replied Blaise. 'They're accustomed to enthusiastic wizards, and they'll take it as a compliment. And yes, it's very visually stimulating. Overwhelming, even ... in a good way.'

'You're worrying me,' said Harry. 'Lydia wanted me to visit but not participate.'

Blaise laughed loudly. 'You can't be serious! She can't possibly expect you to look at the Sultan's harem and not touch.'

'I'm going to her flat right afterwards, so in theory I should be fine.'

'Harry, you may have survived two Killing Curses, but you're not superhuman.' They reached the doorway, and Blaise stepped aside. 'Please, do the honours.'

Harry opened the door, revealing a corridor roughly ten yards long, with another door at the end. 'Is it really France behind that door?' he asked incredulously.

'It is, but the corridor is a bit unusual.'

They started walking, and Harry quickly understood what Blaise meant. He felt like he was being pulled by his navel towards the far doorway, even as his legs moved. It reminded him of portkey travel but was far less unpleasant. The pulling got stronger as they walked, to the point of discomfort, and then it abruptly stopped.

'Welcome to France,' announced Blaise, gesturing towards the door.

When Harry opened it, the first thing he noticed was the fragrance. _It smells like tea, freesia, and Ginny_, he thought rapturously. The door had opened into a vestibule which was softly lit by gaslight, and a curtained archway beckoned them onwards.

Harry pulled the curtains apart and walked into a lounge that was almost completely unlike the one they'd just left. It was smaller, the walls were covered with rose damask, and the furnishings and ambiance were far more feminine. But the biggest difference was the women. _So many women_, marvelled Harry, even though there were a dozen at most. But each one overwhelmed him with an allure that transcended mere beauty.

'What's that smell?' he asked Blaise, still entranced by it.

Blaise was less intoxicated by the atmosphere than Harry was, but he was clearly affected as well. 'The Boudoir is charmed to smell like your favourite fragrances, similar to Amortentia,' he replied. 'I never tire of it.'

'No, I couldn't possibly,' murmured Harry, drifting helplessly into the room.

'_Messieurs, bienvenue_,' said a woman who was agelessly beautiful. '_Mon cher Blaise_, welcome back. And you can only be Harry Potter.' Harry nodded dumbly, enjoying the sound of her French accent.

'Harry, this is Madame Lalouche, the proprietor,' said Blaise. 'Madame, you'll have to excuse him. It's been hours since he last saw his girlfriend, and he's suffering from withdrawal.'

Harry had trouble parsing the word 'girlfriend.' _Does he mean Lydia? _he wondered. _I'm certain she said I could see other witches._ 'She knows I'm here,' explained Harry. 'She insisted I come.'

'And she is English?' replied Madame Lalouche. 'How rare! But please, make yourself at home. May I offer you refreshments?'

'More wine?' asked Blaise, and Harry nodded, still drinking in the sights. _Thank Merlin I had my eyesight fixed,_ he thought. _I'd hate to miss a single detail._

Madame Lalouche led them to a pair of settees, perpendicular to each other, and an elf appeared with their wine. Blaise and Harry were the only two men—presumably the other visitors were elsewhere—and the women gathered around them.

Several greeted Blaise enthusiastically and sat next to him, and one stood behind the settee and began massaging his neck. But the others surrounded Harry—in front of him, beside him, and in back. All of them looked at him admiringly, and pairs of them whispered as Harry sipped his wine. The witch behind him started rubbing his scalp, and the two next to him stroked his free arm and the rest of his body.

'You're all so ... beautiful,' he said inarticulately. '_Ma chère_,' he added, and the women giggled.

'_Vous parlez français?' _asked the witch in front of him, and he shook his head.

'Only a few words. Do all of you speak English?'

They all answered in the affirmative, and Harry was overwhelmed by so much female attention at once. _How can I possibly choose?_ he wondered. A dim memory of Lydia lingered, but it faded as blissful sensations overtook him. _Don't glow_, he thought vaguely.

Harry's mind cleared, just a little, and he said, 'I'm Harry. It's lovely to meet you all—what are your names?'

He looked at them one by one as they answered, noticing the different ways they were dressed. Most of them could have appeared in public after fastening a few buttons, but others wore lingerie, covered only partially by a silk dressing gown. They ranged in body type from slim to plump, and from girlish to voluptuous. They also varied in skin colour and ethnicity, but the majority were white, with all the usual hair colours represented.

_Oh bugger,_ he thought. _I'm most attracted to the redhead. _Her name was Claire, and she was at a slight distance from him. Lydia was a distant memory, and he found himself wondering whether Claire would be inclined to waive her fee. _But Sirius told me to squander some,_ he recalled, inviting her over.

'You're all impossibly lovely,' he said, 'but I'm liable to explode with all of you around me.' The women laughed, noticing his uncharmed trousers, and he added, 'Claire, I'd love to get to know you.'

The witches slowly dispersed, the ones next to him trailing their hands across him as they left, and Claire sat down. 'Harry,' she murmured in heavily accented English. 'I am very happy to meet you. You are a great hero.'

'And you're very beautiful,' he said, admiring her again. She had dark auburn hair to her shoulders, and her eyes were nearly amber. She was wearing an elegant, form-fitting dress, with a halter top that left her arms and shoulders bare. Harry longed to touch her, but he wasn't sure whether it was permitted.

Claire removed all doubt. '_Gratuit_,' she whispered. 'Free of charge.' He smiled and began stroking her arm, and she said, 'The Englishmen, they bring your article and say, "_Teach me_." They want to make love like Harry Potter.'

'Now you'll have first-hand experience,' he murmured. From the corner of his eye he saw Blaise leaving with two witches through another archway, and his eyes followed them for a moment.

Claire saw where he was looking, and she asked, 'Would you like to go upstairs?'

'_Oui,_' he said breathily. '_Beaucoup._'

They rose and she led him towards the archway, and Harry felt the other women watching them. Looking at Claire from behind, he said, '_Beau cul._'

Claire laughed and said, 'You do speak French!'

'Not really,' he replied, and he told her how Sophie had corrected his pronunciation when they first met because he'd been inadvertently saying, '_Nice arse._'

When they arrived upstairs, she opened a door and he followed her into a bedroom. The bed was large, although not as large as his, and he recognised the peacock feather wallpaper. _We can talk later,_ he decided, and he immediately started unbuttoning his robes. But Claire stopped him and took charge, and Harry surrendered completely.

Dazzled by her expertise, Harry lost track of time. _The editors of _Sorceress_ could publish a sequel with everything I've learnt_, he thought afterwards with satisfaction. Claire seemed equally pleased, and Harry couldn't resist asking whether he'd lived up to her expectations.

'Yes,' she sighed blissfully. 'Very much. But you do more than make love. You look at me like I'm the only woman in the world.'

'You are,' he said sincerely, gazing into her amber eyes.

'Be careful,' she warned him. 'Women will fall in love with you when you look at them like that.'

They had been listening to music the entire time, but the record ended and there were no more on the stack. Harry didn't mind, as he enjoyed the silence and the feeling of lying next to her. He heard church bells ringing out the hour, and he reflexively counted with them. After the twelfth chime he sat up in a panic.

'Bugger!' he cried. 'It's midnight! I was supposed to visit Lydia hours ago!'

'Is she in England?' asked Claire. 'It is one hour earlier.'

Harry relaxed slightly but hurried out of bed. 'I'm sorry to run,' he said, pulling on his underpants and trousers. 'This was heaven, but I need to go see her right away.'

'Shouldn't you ...' she trailed off and gestured towards his body.

'Fuck, you're right. Normally I'd shower but magic's faster.' He reached for his wand, and Claire assisted him with Freshening Charms.

'And a Drying Charm,' she said, pointing her wand at his hair.

Harry pulled on his robes, cursing the innumerable buttons, and they had to cast a Summoning Charm to find his shoes. 'I'm so sorry,' he repeated. 'This was ... beyond brilliant. But I need to go.'

'I understand,' said Claire, and they kissed once more before he rushed out the door and down the stairs. He barrelled into the lounge, where the women were entertaining two middle-aged wizards, one of whom Harry recognised from the Ministry.

Madame Lalouche greeted him and asked, 'Was everything to your satisfaction, Monsieur Potter?'

'Yes, perfectly, one hundred percent. But I need to leave now—I'm so sorry.'

'I hope we will see you again,' she replied. 'The other girls, they want you too.'

'Cheers, is this the right door?' he asked hastily.

'Yes, good night.'

He opened the door and ran down the corridor. But he'd forgotten about the pulling sensation, and he was jerked forwards much less smoothly than before. He nearly slammed into the door leading to Pratt's, and he quickly flung it open.

Harry was tempted to sprint to the reception room, but he didn't want to attract attention, so he walked briskly instead. The young man at the desk said, 'Good evening, Mr Potter. I hope you've enjoyed your visit to Pratt's, and that you'll become a member.' He handed Harry an envelope and added, 'This contains everything you'll need to make a decision.'

'Cheers,' replied Harry, stuffing the envelope into his pouch. He hastened to the fireplace and tossed a pinch of Floo powder onto the grate. 'Travers Salon,' he said clearly, hoping Lydia hadn't removed him from the wards.

The flat was dark when he arrived, and he cast _Lumos_ to find Lydia's bedroom. He knocked cautiously on the door, and she said, 'Who is it?'

'It's me. Harry.'

A pause. 'Come in.'

The lights were on, and she was sitting up in bed reading her book. She looked appraisingly at him, prompting Harry to glance down and notice he'd buttoned his robes incorrectly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'I'm so sorry,' he began.

'Sorry for what?' she said coolly. 'I told you to go to Pratt's. Are you saying you did something else?'

He walked towards her wearily, his feet like lead. 'You wanted me to go to the brothel, so I could tell you about it.'

'I wanted to hear about the decor!' she snapped. 'And what the women were wearing, and which other wizards you saw. I didn't want you to go upstairs with one of them and–' Her words were interrupted by a choking sob.

"Lydia,' he said, reaching towards her.

'Don't touch me!' she cried. 'How dare you come near me, straight from another witch.'

'I didn't mean to,' he explained. 'I only meant to look, like you asked. Blaise warned me I wouldn't be able to—he said I'd have to be superhuman—but I went anyway.'

'Blaise Zabini?' asked Lydia, looking surprised through her tears. 'From the match?'

'Yes, I saw him there. And Charles too—at Pratt's, not the brothel.'

She narrowed her eyes at him. 'How many?'

'How many what?'

'How many witches. Was it several at once, like with Vanessa?'

Harry didn't know what she wanted to hear. 'Just one,' he replied.

Lydia closed her eyes, and her tears flowed faster. 'You chose another witch over me? If it had been something I couldn't offer you ... that might have been different. But it was just one witch.'

'I didn't choose her over you,' he said. 'You have no idea what it was like in there ... it literally smelled like a Love Potion! I was defenceless as soon as I walked in.'

'Did they hold you at wandpoint? she said sarcastically. 'Or did one of them straddle your legs and hold you captive until you paid them?'

'I didn't pay anything. She offered it free of charge.'

'That's fortunate—I've heard it's brutally expensive. But now you can purchase more robes!'

'Oh, Lydia ... I'm so sorry. I can't stand seeing you this way.'

'Then leave!' she snapped. 'Go sleep in your dreary townhouse.' She looked at an invisible wristwatch and said, 'It's not yet midnight—perhaps you can pop over to Penumbra and find another witch to round off the night. You can wake her up with your nightmares!'

Harry's shoulders slumped and he lowered his head. 'I'll go. I'm so sorry—this is all my fault. I should have known better than to go to a brothel, especially after Blaise warned me. Although Charles said he goes there sometimes for the ambiance, even though he took an oath never to go upstairs.'

Lydia's eyes lit up in spite of her anger. 'He took an oath?'

'Yeah, Esme made him take a blood oath on their wedding night to never sleep with a prostitute.'

'What else did you and Charles talk about?'

'All sorts of things. Robes, and Paris, and male plumage, and whether wizarding traditions make sense—we didn't agree on that topic.'

'Male plumage?'

'It's a long story. And we talked about Hogwarts, and Malfoy. We came close to quarrelling a few times, but we never did. He stopped himself just in time before calling my mother a Mudblood. Oh, and I told him I Imperiused your uncle.'

'You told him?!' she exclaimed. 'Will you get in trouble?'

He shook his head. 'No, I was exonerated by a private tribunal. I suppose he'll tell your family now?'

'I couldn't say. Wizards are very secretive about what they hear at Pratt's.'

'Except for me,' observed Harry.

'That's different—I sent you there.' Sighing heavily, she said, 'Oh Harry, I'm so hurt. I can't believe you did that.'

'I'm sorry,' he repeated. 'I wish I could undo it, or make it up to you somehow.'

'You can't,' she said firmly. 'And it's late—you should go home.'

He looked hopefully at her. 'Will you still go to the theatre with me tomorrow night?'

'No. Find someone else.' To Harry's relief, she didn't add, _Find a prostitute._

'When can I see you again?' he implored. 'I don't want things to end this way.'

'I don't either, but what choice have you left me?' Closing her eyes, she said, 'Just go.'

Harry nodded and made his way through the darkness to the fireplace. 'Grimmauld Place,' he said dully, and he arrived in the formal reception hall. _It really is dreary,_ he thought, and even Padfoot's canine snores failed to cheer him up. He took a shower before bed, in an attempt to remove every trace of his night at the Boudoir, and a dismal truth echoed in his mind. _I'm selfish_, he thought. _I'm self-centred, and I think the rules don't apply to me._

He recalled what Blaise had told him about Draco, and he felt ashamed. _Blaise is right. I've shit all over House Black and turned it into the Harry Potter show. _The only positive note in his reflections was that he hadn't taunted Gemma that afternoon, but even that was sour. _What kind of arrogant prat sets the intention to embody love, and then completely forgets about his girlfriend and shags a prostitute?_

It had been nearly a fortnight since Harry had gone to bed without Lydia, and he felt very alone. _Good,_ he thought harshly, as he extinguished the light. _You deserve it. _


	69. Chapter 69

Gemma joined Harry during their laps on Friday morning. 'So how was it?' she asked eagerly.

Still lost in doleful thoughts, he said, 'How was what?'

'Your evening at Twatt's! Did you visit the brothel?'

'Yeah.'

'And?' prompted Gemma.

'Lydia dumped me.'

'But that's not fair! Didn't she order you to go there?'

'She didn't order me to go upstairs. And we'd basically agreed that I wouldn't.'

'But you did it anyway!' admonished Gemma. 'How are you doing? Are you all right?'

'I feel terrible,' he admitted. 'I feel like the world's biggest arsehole.'

'How did she even find out?'

'I lost track of time and turned up at her flat more than an hour late. With my robes buttoned wrong.'

Gemma couldn't help laughing. 'Did you at least shower first?'

'No, I just used charms. But I would have told her regardless—I could never lie to her.'

'No, you just cheated on her.'

'I didn't cheat—well, not exactly. We agreed we could see other people after she moved out. It was her suggestion even. But we had an understanding I wouldn't do it last night, and to make matters worse, I kept her waiting for more than an hour. She knew exactly where I was, and what I was probably doing—I'd have gone mad if she'd done the same to me.'

'You really blew it, Toffer. What's your next move?'

'My next move?' he asked. 'I haven't one. We were supposed to go to the theatre tonight but she told me to find someone else. Speaking of which, do you want to go to the theatre with me tonight?'

'Muggle or wizarding?'

'Muggle. _The Importance of Being Earnest._'

'All right. I'd have turned you down if it were wizarding. Between the paparazzi and how crap the play would have been, I'd be better off at home watching the telly.'

'I'm not sure I've actually seen any wizarding plays,' mused Harry.

'Keep it that way. In fifth year I went on a class trip to see a play about Ulmer Stebbins, who was Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot in the 1600s—for about a week, until he died of Ulmer's Scourge, which was named after him. Originally it was called Stebbins's Scourge, but all the surviving Stebbinses complained so they used his given name instead. The end.'

'You took a class trip?' asked Harry, puzzled. 'How come I never went on any class trips?'

'How would I know? I didn't go to Hogwarts.'

'Then where did you go?'

'Those fuckers!' shouted Gemma. 'They warded Twatt's!' She stopped running and grabbed Harry's arm. 'Listen carefully: There are wizarding schools in Britain other than Hogwarts. I attended one called East Kettleton. Are you still with me?'

'That bloody bastard!' cried Harry. 'I knew it meant something when they said Phineas Nigellus was a member. He warded the sodding club!'

'And let me guess,' continued Gemma. 'Everyone who belongs to Twatt's attended Hogwarts.'

'I think so. Ugh, Hermione will be furious when she hears about this! And yes, now I remember East Kettleton and all the rest.'

They started running again, and Gemma asked, 'So, are you going to become a member?'

'Of Pratt's? No, the last thing I need is twenty-four hour access to French prostitutes. Furthermore, it turns out the membership dues are astronomical, and I could never justify it.'

'I like how you didn't say you can't afford it,' said Gemma slyly.

'Yes, I can afford it,' admitted Harry. 'But I could never spend that much gold on an elitist club when it could be used better elsewhere.'

'Like at your tailor's?'

'No, for charity. I've started making monthly donations to various good causes—Mrs Thwip handles it for me.'

'Well done!' replied Gemma. 'Three cheers for noblesse oblige!'

'What's noblesse oblige?' asked Harry.

Gemma rolled her eyes. 'You're truly the product of wizarding Britain's finest school. Noblesse oblige is the idea that rich and powerful people should use their advantages to help the less fortunate. In other words, you still get to be rich, but you can pat yourself on the back about how generous you are.'

'Is that what I was doing just now?'

'No, but I had to take the piss. That's why the team hired me, after all. That and my flying.'

They continued running together, and after a while Harry said, 'By the way, please don't tell anyone about the brothel.'

'Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. But you're lucky it happened after you took Veritaserum on the radio—you can no longer say you haven't paid for sex.'

'I still haven't,' said Harry. 'She didn't charge me.'

'Fantastic! Was it the Voldemort thing or the _Sorceress_ article?'

'Both, I think.'

'And was she talented?' asked Gemma.

'Very. And that's all I'll say.'

'You're the soul of discretion. So what's with the theatre tonight? Shall I meet you there?'

'You're welcome to come to dinner first, if you trust me not to poison you before a match. My tutor is coming over, and we'll go to the theatre together. By the way, he's a werewolf.'

'Of course he is. Does that mean I get steak and veg?'

'It does indeed. And I'll be wearing a jacket and tie, but I don't think there's a dress requirement, so wear whatever you like.'

'Perfect. I'll bring my sceptre and tiara. And combat boots.'

They finished their laps, and Harry had to admit he was feeling better. He was still ashamed of how he'd treated Lydia, among other things, but he was enjoying his new friendship with Gemma.

After their morning flying drills, when the starters were walking to lunch, Darren approached Harry and asked, 'So how about tomorrow night? Shall we celebrate our freedom together?'

'Not this week,' said Harry. 'I think I'll take the night off.'

'What? No! How can you do this to me?' cried Darren. 'I trusted you!'

'I trusted me too, but look where it's got me ... Lydia broke up with me last night.'

'Are you serious? What happened?'

'I don't want to talk about it, but suffice it to say, it was my fault.'

Darren frowned. 'She didn't find out you're a half-blood, did she?'

'Did Snitchbottom get dumped?' asked Janet.

'Yes,' said Harry dully. 'Again.'

She put her arm around him and gave him a squeeze. 'I'm sorry. How are you doing?'

'I've been better. It was all my fault, and I feel awful.'

'Was your pelvis involved?' she asked. 'If you can't be trusted with it, we'll have to take it away from you.'

'Good idea. Although I might have trouble flying without it.'

'Surely we can make you a little harness,' said Janet. 'But back to your broken heart ... is there anything I can do to help?'

'You can tell me what an idiot I am on a regular basis, in the hopes I'll finally catch on.'

'Gladly! Shall I get Ron in on it as well?'

'Why not? But then again what's the point ... I'm forbidden from having an actual relationship for two years. So why do I even bother?'

'Hang on, I think you've augmented your vow just a bit. Wasn't it only that you can't propose marriage?'

'You're right, it was. But it's turned into something else, particularly since I have no self-control.'

'There there, Snitchbottom ... I think you're being too hard on yourself. Weren't you and Lydia going to break up anyway?'

'We were, but not like this. Not with me hurting her.'

'But the whole reason she chose you was because you're promiscuous. So why should she be surprised when you fulfil expectations?'

'That's one way of looking at it,' mused Harry. 'I reckon living together forced us into monogamy artificially, when she mightn't have expected it otherwise.' He sighed and added, 'But that still doesn't excuse how I treated her.'

'Perhaps not. But I'm certain you can learn something from the experience, perhaps about setting expectations.'

They arrived at the pub and sat at their usual table. 'What kind of expectations should I set?'

'Could you prepare a written statement?' she asked. 'It could start with "_I, Harry James Potter_."'

Harry forlornly said, '_I, Harry James Potter, am a self-centred bastard who somehow found a way to be both neglected and spoilt. I promise you'll have one hundred percent of my attention while I'm in the same room as you, but the minute you step out to the loo I'll fall in love with someone else. Because I'm a needy, fucked-up bastard_." Oops, did I say bastard twice?'

Everyone at the table was looking at him. 'Did I miss something?' asked Ryan.

'Snitchbottom got dumped,' said Janet. 'And he's convinced he's to blame, because of his wandering pelvis.' She turned to Harry and added, 'Yes, you said bastard twice. But that's fine—it emphasises your point.'

'What's this about falling in love?' asked Renée. 'You've said you fall in love easily, but how easily are we talking?'

'Days. Hours even. It's just when I'm with a woman, she's everything in the world to me. Honestly, I've fallen in love with nearly everyone I've slept with.'

Renée said, 'Before we go any further, how do you define falling in love?'

Harry closed his eyes. 'I just think she's perfect, even in the ways she's not perfect. And I want to be with her, and I feel safe and content, and I want her to feel the same way. And there's an incredible tenderness ... it's hard to describe but I'm sure you've all felt it.'

'To some extent that's infatuation,' said Ryan. 'But it sounds like there's more to it as well.'

'Could it be the Light magic?' asked Suresh, mouthing the last two words.

'Maybe,' said Harry. 'The tenderness, certainly.'

'But it also sounds needy,' said Gary. 'No offence.'

'None taken,' shrugged Harry.

They paused their conversation when Candice came to take their order. 'Henry's looking a bit low,' she observed. 'Do you reckon you can cheer him up a bit?'

'We're trying,' said Janet. 'It's just he's been unlucky in love.'

'With those green eyes?' exclaimed Candice. 'You just need to bat your eyelashes and the right girl will turn up.'

'That's the problem,' said Darren. 'Too much batting.'

'Oh, you devil!' chided Candice. 'You'd best get that out of your system, otherwise you'll never keep a good woman.'

'How do I get it out of my system?' asked Harry, not really expecting an answer.

'You need to understand that you'll never find what you're looking for in another person—you need to find it in yourself. Otherwise you'll keep chasing birds thinking the next one is going to make you happy.'

'But they all make me happy,' he sighed.

'How old are you?' she asked.

Harry didn't see any reason to lie. 'Nineteen.'

Candice started laughing. 'That's your problem right there. Cheer up, you'll grow out of it. Now let me get your order in, though I reckon the cook got started as soon as you crossed the threshold.'

After Candice left, Renée said, 'She's not wrong. You're young, and probably a bit stunted here and there. But you'll straighten out eventually.'

'I hope so,' replied Harry. 'It's just that Owen and I joke about my eventual three divorces, and I'm starting to see how that might happen.'

'Don't make it a self-fulfilling prophecy,' warned Ryan.

'Good point ... the last thing I need is another sodding prophecy.'

Gary sighed. 'Harry, I hate to point this out, but this sounds like unresolved issues around losing your mum. Not that your dad didn't matter, but as a father I've witnessed how much more attached babies are to their mums. Until he stopped nursing, Aaron was far less interested in me than in Melissa, and I can't imagine how scarred he'd be if he'd lost both of us that young.'

'And was then raised unloved, with a spoilt rival,' added Renée. 'Honestly Harry, you should give yourself credit for how functional you turned out.'

'It wasn't me,' shrugged Harry, 'it was the protection in my blood, from my mother's sacrifice.'

'Maybe so, but your mother's sacrifice didn't give you cuddles or read you bedtime stories, or soothe you after a bad dream,' said Renée.

Harry was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. 'Do we really need to talk about this? I'm tired of being the conversation topic all the time—how am I supposed to become less self-centred if I'm always the bloody centre of attention?'

'That's a good question,' said Ryan. 'But you've put us in a bind, because we can't discuss it without making you the focus.'

'Sure we can,' said Suresh. 'We'll just choose someone else who's famous and talk about them.'

'As famous as Harry?' asked Darren. 'Who do you have in mind?'

There was a collective silence. 'Celestina Warbeck?' suggested Renée.

'She's like a million years old,' scoffed Darren. 'Not interested.'

'You don't need to shag her, just talk about her,' said Suresh.

'No, Darren's right,' said Janet. 'A big part of the fascination around Harry is sex appeal.'

'Even when he was a little boy?' asked Ryan. 'I hope not.'

'Back then it was the Boy-Who-Lived narrative,' said Gary. 'Celestina Warbeck never survived a Killing Curse. But what about a Muggle celebrity, like Princess Diana?'

'I honestly don't know much about her,' said Suresh.

Janet was shocked. 'How is it possible that you, a gay man, not know everything about Princess Diana?'

'I've never really followed Muggle news. I was living in India when she died, and I never leave wizarding enclaves when I'm there, so I barely heard about it.'

'Yeah, and I was in hiding by then,' said Harry, before clamping his mouth shut.

'Right, bad example,' said Janet. 'What about Mick Jagger?'

'Him I know,' said Suresh emphatically. 'I saw him on a television screen in a shop window at an impressionable age, and let's just say he made an impression.'

'On your trousers,' remarked Janet.

'I know who he is,' said Darren, 'but I don't find him fascinating the way people do with Harry.'

'Yeah, that's the problem,' agreed Ryan. 'Harry has the right blend of relatability and sheer impossibility.'

'You mean the Killing Curses?' asked Renée.

'And being a league Seeker. I mean really, what are the odds that the kid who defeated Voldemort would go on to lead the Chudley Cannons to a seven-game winning streak?'

'And be the Black heir,' added Darren.

'And a dynamo between the sheets,' said Janet. Harry couldn't help smirking, but he was careful to keep his mouth shut.

'How about Myron Wagtail, from the Weird Sisters?' suggested Darren.

'Not the Weird Sisters,' groaned Ryan. 'But what about Paul McCartney, or John Lennon?'

'Wasn't John Lennon killed?' asked Suresh.

'He was,' said Janet. 'But what if he'd come back, like Harry, and were still around?'

'Not as an Inferius, I hope,' said Gary.

'No, he'd be normal, and still young and good-looking. And no Yoko—he'd still be single,' continued Janet. She looked around the table and everyone nodded. 'All right, so let's imagine Vampire John Lennon, and all the ladies want him, and everything he does winds up in the newspapers. But then he decides he's self-centred and doesn't want to be—how does he fix it?'

'He meets Yoko,' said Ryan.

'All right then, problem solved!' announced Janet. 'Harry, you need to go to America and woo Yoko Ono.'

'But not propose until you're twenty-one,' said Darren.

'Do you think she'd be all right with that?' mused Gary. 'I've heard she's rather prudish.'

Renée interrupted them. 'This is all very entertaining, but I doubt it's helping You Know Who,' she said, indicating Harry.

'Did you just refer to Harry Potter as "You-Know-Who?"' exclaimed Suresh. 'That is priceless.'

Candice brought their food, and they continued theorising about Vampire John Lennon, but Harry didn't learn much from the conversation. He was relieved, however, not to be the centre of attention for once. _That was something I liked about Lydia_, he thought glumly. _She was always the centre of attention. Maybe I just need to find someone more spoilt than I am._

_How did I get this way?_ he wondered. _Obviously it wasn't the Dursleys' fault, unless this is an overcorrection. _He thought back to his first year at Hogwarts, when he'd apparently decided the rules didn't apply to him. _It was because I was fighting Voldemort_. _I could justify anything that way._

And Dumbledore had abetted him. _He turned a blind eye to everything we were doing, when I ought to have been kicked out. And he gave me the Invisibility Cloak, which was essentially an invitation to break the rules. _Admittedly the Cloak had been Harry's rightful property, but he'd probably deserved to have it confiscated until he was of age.

He remembered one of the memories he'd seen in the Pensieve, given to him by Snape as he died. It depicted the first time Snape met James Potter, on the Hogwarts Express, and Harry had been struck by how coddled his father looked. _That's probably what I look like now,_ he thought, recalling how haughty he'd appeared in his formal robes. _Maybe I'd have turned out better if Snape had raised me. It would have been a good punishment for getting my parents killed, and he could have got revenge on my father by raising me to be completely unlike him._

'Harry?' said Janet, interrupting his train of thought. 'Pay up.'

Shaken from his reverie, he noticed the usual pile of five-pound notes and coins. He pulled the exact amount from his pocket—he always ordered the same lunch—and added it to the collection. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I got lost in my own thoughts.'

'That's unfortunate,' replied Janet. 'We decided that Vampire John Lennon should join a Franciscan monastery and devote himself to selfless acts. Only his skin might burn around all the crosses, what with being a vampire and all.'

'So I should join a Franciscan monastery?' he asked, as they rose from the table.

'I never said that,' snapped Janet. 'Really, Harry, why do you have to make everything about yourself?'

'Stop hassling him,' said Ryan. 'He's having a bad day.'

'I mostly feel ashamed,' he admitted. 'The Weasleys are right—I have gone completely off the rails lately.'

'No you haven't,' replied Ryan. 'You could have been a thousand times worse. And no one's worried you'll wind up in a gutter with a needle in your arm. Just give yourself time.'

They returned to the Cannons facility, and Harry joined Owen and Gemma for Seeker training. 'Are you all right?' Owen asked him. 'I heard Lydia broke up with you.'

'I didn't tell him why,' said Gemma. 'Nor anyone at lunch, even though they all tried to get it out of me.'

Harry was ashamed to tell Owen what he'd done, but he wanted his advice. 'I was invited to join an exclusive gentlemen's club, and even though Lydia said I'd hate it she insisted I go there, so I could tell her all about it.'

'Oh dear,' said Owen. 'I think I know where this is going.'

Harry nodded. 'I hadn't any interest in the brothel—I mean what's the point, when I have options at home? But Lydia was mad keen to hear about it, so she insisted I go there and report back afterwards. We had a clear understanding I wouldn't partake.' He sighed heavily. 'But I did. And I turned up at her flat more than an hour late. So of course she dumped me, and I feel awful about it. Not because we're breaking up—we were already planning on that—but because I hurt her so badly.'

Owen was quiet for several seconds. 'Harry, you mustn't beat yourself up about this. I've heard what those brothels are like, and even though they don't use coercion charms, the ambiance has a similar effect. There was no way you could have resisted once you were inside.'

'I realise that, but I should have known. My classmate Blaise was at the club, and when I told him I only intended to look around the brothel but not go upstairs, he laughed and said I'd have to be superhuman to resist. But I went anyway—either because I believed I was superhuman, or because I didn't care whether I cheated on Lydia. Either way I'm a self-centred git.'

'Welcome to life,' replied Owen. 'We're all self-centred gits, to some extent.'

'Right, but that's not all. Blaise also pointed out that I've shit all over the Blacks' legacy, and that I'm remaking House Black in my own image. He called it "The Harry Potter show."'

'The Blacks did all the shitting themselves,' protested Gemma. 'That bastard Phineas whatsisname who created all those wards probably caused hundreds or even thousands of deaths, not to mention making wizarding Britain hugely unequal.'

'It was already unequal,' said Owen. 'But Gemma's right—people already had a poor opinion of the Blacks.'

'Perhaps, but I didn't need to literally broadcast that they'd squandered their wealth, or turn Walburga into a laughing stock.'

'You told the truth about the Blacks' assets because they're your assets now, and they'd been blown out of proportion,' said Owen. 'As for Walburga ... I'll admit, it was in questionable taste to put her on the radio. I know she was horrid and that her portrait insulted you for years, but she was still a human, and she probably had severe mental and emotional issues.'

Harry closed his eyes in dismay. 'I just feel sick, because I've done so many things without thinking.'

'And everyone knows about them,' said Owen. 'That's your particular burden—the rest of us are just wankers in private.'

'Would it help if I acted like an entitled git in public?' suggested Gemma. 'I bet your mates would do it as well.'

Harry smiled for a moment. 'That's very kind of you to offer.'

'But it wouldn't work,' replied Owen. 'They'd just say you were a bad influence on her.'

'Good point,' agreed Gemma. 'I reckon Mothers Against Harry Potter were right.'

Harry nodded glumly, and Owen said, 'For your information, Harry, this is what growing up feels like.'

'Then count me out,' said Gemma. 'Harry looks miserable.'

'No, I'm actually feeling a little better. I've always felt abnormal, and it's nice to hear everyone else feels this way sometimes.'

'They don't, actually, and that's the problem,' said Owen. 'I've seen adults act exactly like my daughters having a tantrum, only nobody recognises how childish they're being because they're fully grown and use bigger words. Those are the people who never learnt from their mistakes—it's quite startling when you notice it.'

Furrowing his brow, Harry said, 'My Uncle Vernon is like that. He's a giant toddler, only he looks like an adult. But even Dudley is more grown up than he is.' After a brief silence, he added, 'And Dudley only improved after he'd been exposed to Dementors. I don't know what he saw, but his worst memories must have been atrocious—probably about what a bully he'd been.'

'Lucky you!' exclaimed Gemma. 'You get to feel like shit without needing Dementors to do the heavy lifting! All you needed was a French prostitute.'

'Cheers,' replied Harry. 'Can we fly now?'

Owen told Harry and Gemma to race through obstacles, in an attempt to boost Harry's speed. 'If you can shave a few milliseconds off your turns, it might make the difference in a chase for the Snitch. I'll ask Bruce to watch as well, in case he notices something I'm missing.'

Harry and Gemma started by flying the course simultaneously, but Bruce suggested having them run through it separately while he timed it. 'There's nothing like a Muggle stopwatch,' he said, showing them the digital timer on a cord around his neck.

First Gemma flew the course, and then Harry. Her time was more than two seconds faster than his, which frustrated him. 'Poor Toffer isn't the fastest flyer!' she taunted. 'Probably because you never learnt how to squeeze the last bit of speed from a crap broom.'

'That's a good point,' said Bruce. 'You've only used racing brooms, right?'

'Yeah,' replied Harry. 'I could probably count on one hand the number of times I've used anything else.'

Bruce trotted to the shed and returned with a Cleansweep Eleven. 'You call that a crap broom?' scoffed Gemma. 'I'd have given my eyeteeth for a Cleansweep Eleven back in school.'

'We don't want to torture Harry,' said Owen. 'Go on, try doing the course again.'

Bruce handed Harry the broom, and Harry tested its weight in his hand. 'Definitely a bit heavier than my Silver Arrow, but lighter than the Comet 240 I flew on Tuesday.' He kicked off and flew to the course.

Harry felt like he was running in wet clothing, or flying against the wind. But he didn't attempt to change his flying style, since he wanted a straight comparison with his regular broom.

'That was nearly three seconds slower than your previous run. But it was still hard for me to observe your technique, because you were going too fast. Do you mind if we put you on something even slower?'

'Do you have a Comet 220?' asked Gemma. 'That's what I had to fly on.'

Bruce went back to the shed, and when he returned Harry's jaw dropped. 'You can't be serious! Why does the team even still have that?'

'We use it to sweep out the shed,' said Bruce as he handed Harry the broom. 'It's a Pegasus Ten, from 1908. I'm told it was revolutionary back in its day.'

'It weighs a ton!' exclaimed Harry. 'Does it even work?'

'Yeah, I had a go on it last year, just for kicks.'

Harry reluctantly threw his leg over the broom and lifted off. _It's faster than the broom I gave Teddy, _he thought_,_ _but that's the best I can say about it_. He flew to the course, and at Bruce's command he started. Harry felt himself willing the broom to fly faster, and he sucked in his abdomen in a nonsensical attempt to weigh less. After what seemed like forever, he finished the course and flew down.

'Eleven and a half seconds slower than the Cleansweep,' declared Bruce. 'But that's good, because I noticed one or two things you might tweak.'

Owen took Gemma elsewhere to practice with the Launcher, and Bruce described to Harry what he'd observed. 'It was as slow as I expected when you started, although it picked up a bit midway through. Did you change anything you were doing?'

'I tightened my abdomen, which I knew was absurd. But are you saying it made a difference?'

'It might have done,' replied Bruce. 'All twentieth-century broomsticks, including museum pieces like this one, rely on the same fundamental charms. One of them is a Harmonisation Charm, which allows the broomstick to draw upon the flyer's magic. That's why Muggles can't fly—they haven't any core magic. Squibs can fly, but only if a witch or wizard is flying alongside them, and that's because the brooms harmonise with each other and share the wizard's magic.'

'But there has to be a limit, right?' asked Harry. 'More powerful wizards can't fly any faster than an average wizard. Or can they?'

'No, they can't. The broomstick only requires a certain amount of magic, and adding more won't make a difference. However, you can align your magic with the broom's own charms, and then the broom can use it more efficiently.'

'And fly faster?'

'Just a bit,' said Bruce. 'But yeah.'

After a pause, Harry said, 'I also willed the broomstick to go faster. Do you think that had an effect?'

'I doubt it. You probably do that automatically during a race for the Snitch.'

'Good point. So how exactly do I refine my magic for better flying?'

Bruce showed Harry a technique for engaging his lower abdomen. 'You don't need to suck in your entire gut—not that you have one. All you need to do is very subtly engage these muscles,' said Bruce, indicating them on his own midsection. 'Eventually you'll barely engage the muscles at all, because you're doing it internally.'

Harry put his fingers on his own abdomen to try to mimic what Bruce was doing. 'Yeah, I think I can feel it. Shall I try the course again?'

'If you can stand it, take two runs—the first one without engaging those muscles, and the second one with. I'll be curious to see what kind of difference it makes.'

Harry flew to the course and went through it twice, as Bruce had instructed. But he couldn't detect a difference in his speed, so his expectations were low when he landed.

'Two seconds faster,' declared Bruce. 'And that was on a first attempt—we definitely have something we can work with here.'

'Well, I'll be damned! Thank you, I'll definitely practise it. Do you have any other advice?'

'I do, but you're not going to like it.'

'What is it?' asked Harry cautiously.

'Switch to a Firebolt Ultra.'

'Bloody hell!' cried Harry. 'Not a chance. I hated that thing—it was way too jumpy.'

'It has slightly better acceleration than the Silver Arrow,' argued Bruce.

'And no fluidity.'

'Do Gemma's turns look jumpy?'

'No,' admitted Harry. 'And Viktor Krum likes it as well. But it's not a good match for me.'

'It could be,' said Bruce. 'There's an article in this month's issue of _Technical Quidditch_ comparing the two brooms. Of their four testers, three preferred the Silver Arrow, but the one using the Firebolt flew the fastest.'

'How does that help me?' asked Harry. 'Clearly it's only suited to a particular type of flyer.'

'I know him,' replied Bruce. 'He's a bit odd—rather obsessive about flying technique. But he does a couple of things you might try, and they could make the difference, as far as the Firebolt is concerned.'

He showed Harry the small nuances, and Harry attempted them while flying on the Pegasus Ten so Bruce could watch. 'That felt weird,' said Harry. 'Was I doing them right?'

'Not consistently,' replied Bruce, handing Harry his Omnioculars. 'You got it right on the second and third turns, but after that you overdid it—particularly the thing with your rib cage.'

Harry watched the recording. 'This is helpful, thanks. But am I at risk of messing up my flying during tomorrow's match?'

'You might be,' Bruce admitted. 'You should set this aside for the rest of the afternoon and fly as usual—we can work on this next week.'

Bruce gave Harry his Silver Arrow back, and he spent the rest of the training session practicing the abdominal tweak. He was able to shave half a second from his original time, and Bruce assured him he'd be faster than Kieran Sheppard, his next opponent.

They started the practice match, and Gemma kept to herself for a while. Harry set his intention to embody 'fierce love,' which he hoped would have more fire than his performance the day before. He was also eager to feint, to see what effect the abdominal tweak might have.

Harry shot towards the opposing rings and made it look like he was going to recreate the foul he and Tuttle had invented, which he and his teammates called 'Plocking.' But before flying through the ring he'd been aiming for, he abruptly changed direction and flew between two others. The Keeper was disorientated, and Harry's Chasers were able to profit and score a goal. But Harry maintained his speed and wheeled around before resuming a circling pattern.

Gemma flew to join him. 'I was with you most of the way, but you lost me at the end. What was that?'

'Fierce love,' replied Harry, beaming.

'Give me a break, you pretentious arse. Less than a day after cheating on your girlfriend with a prostitute, you're back to your Light wizard bollocks. Nice job pretending you're not just a self-involved prick.'

'Cheers,' replied Harry. 'I'll admit it's pleasanter than owning up to what a bastard I am.'

'Yeah, about that ... at what point do you think the public is going to catch on that you're full of shit? Soon, I reckon.'

'Do you think? I at least have Rita Skeeter under control now—she won't slander me anymore.'

'You bought her off?' cried Gemma. 'That's the last straw as far as I'm concerned—you're officially an overprivileged fraud.'

'I didn't buy her off. But I promised her first crack at any story, except for what I reveal on the radio.'

'On the radio,' repeated Gemma condescendingly. 'Now that you've cleared up rumours with your Veritaserum stunt, what'll your new excuse be for gobshiting on the air every week?'

'I won't appear next week, and possibly the week after. I'd rather not have it be a regular occurrence.'

Gemma momentarily broke character. 'Really? It's always hilarious, and you generally come off well. People will be disappointed if you don't keep at it.'

'But I'm risking overexposure,' argued Harry.

'Bad news, Toffer—you're already overexposed. The only thing left is going to be nude photographs. Please tell me you haven't taken any.'

'I haven't. And I'm thinking I should ward my bedroom, just in case. And the drawing room.'

'You do it in front of the tapestry, don't you! Do you make her call you Lord Black and pretend she's a naughty housemaid?'

'No, but that's a good idea,' replied Harry. 'How am I doing, by the way? Owen wanted me to bring more fire this afternoon.'

'You're less of a buzzkill than you were yesterday, but you're not throwing me off.'

'I don't want to throw you off,' he said, and Gemma dove sharply towards the pitch, within range of a Bludger. Harry followed her, just for sport, and when he tried to join her afterwards she evaded him.

_I guess she wants to practise her spotting_, he thought, and he refreshed his mental state. From his expanded awareness he revisited his terrible behaviour the night before. _Owen's right—the atmosphere there was almost like being Love Potioned. But I was also delighted to have so many beautiful women pawing at me. Not to mention I was on my third glass of wine, which I shouldn't have done on a weeknight._

His musings continued. _When did I become so certain I could do no wrong? I've always been impetuous, but it was downright delusional to think I could enter a magically-enhanced brothel and leave intact. Then again, why did Lydia think I could handle it? She had to have known how compelling those places are._

_But she thought I was perfect,_ _and I bought into it. And what a high it was, to have a beautiful pure-blood princess fawning over me, _thought Harry, remembering the feeling._ I was simultaneously sticking it to the Death Eaters, Draco Malfoy, and probably the Dursleys as well. And Doctor Niffler is right: I've been announcing right and left that I'm no longer the Boy Who Lived._

_I want to be normal, _he thought longingly. _I need to find out what normal wizards do at the weekend, and not just skirt-chasers like Darren. _He sighed, recalling that nearly all his friends were in couples, and that as much as he appreciated Luna, she was anything but normal. _I should owl Theo Nott,_ he decided. _He's not exactly normal either, but he's trying to be. _

Harry celebrated his decision by feinting again, straight across the pitch towards Gemma, to see who would turn first. _Fierce love, _he thought, watching her get larger as they neared each other. Her intense gaze reminded him of a swooping owl, and he shot downwards at the last moment, as she flew above him in a straight path.

'You flinched, Toffer! And I thought you were brave.'

'I'm not insane,' he replied. 'Although maybe I am for flying like that in the first place.'

'Well, I took you up on it,' said Gemma. 'Let's face it—we're both adrenaline junkies.'

'I hope Healer MacAlister wasn't watching. Or Darius, for that matter. Losing both Seekers the day before a match might've been challenging.'

'They wanted crazy flyers,' she shrugged. 'When they hired me, anyway. They were just stuck with you.'

'They really were,' admitted Harry. 'Why didn't it occur to me that maybe the coach would want to see me fly?'

'Because you're accustomed to having everything handed to you on a silver platter, duh.'

'The silver was stolen during the war. I haven't any.'

Gemma burst out laughing. 'That's tragic! What kind of toff doesn't have silver? It's a good thing the Twatt's people never heard about that, or else they mightn't have invited you.'

'And I'd still have a girlfriend,' said Harry, with only a hint of bitterness.

'You'd have fucked it up sooner or later. Better to have a clean break,' advised Gemma. 'You don't think she'll tell anyone, do you?'

'I hope not. But I doubt she'll tell anyone other than her sister, partly for comfort and partly to reconcile with her family. I still feel awful, though, putting her through that.'

'Damn right you do. You're lucky she didn't curse you last night.'

On an instinct, Harry looked over his left shoulder and spotted the Snitch a ways off. _It's behind us, _he thought, _which means I can build up a lead just by slowing down. _He reduced his speed and said, 'That's a good point. But the Light magic might have protected me.'

By the time he'd finished speaking, he was several broom lengths behind her, and when she turned around and saw he'd flown off, he had a commanding lead. Gemma shot after him, but there was no way she could catch up, and he jubilantly grabbed the Snitch. 'Ha, I got it!' he cried. 'And I didn't have to act like an arsehole!'

'Until just now,' grumbled Gemma. 'You know that'll never work again.'

'Of course not. But I can add it to my arsenal for real matches.'

They flew down to Owen, who congratulated them. 'Gemma, you earned your keep just now by forcing Harry to come up with a new strategy. And Harry, great job. But what prompted you to look over your shoulder?'

'Instinct,' he said simply.

'Bloody hell! How am I supposed to compete with that?' cried Gemma.

'Practice,' said Owen. 'Don't take this the wrong way, but most Seekers spend at least a season in the reserves learning the ropes. Harry was an exception because, well, he's Harry. But there's no shame in it, and it's a great opportunity.'

'An opportunity to sit on the skybenches,' she grumbled.

'And to practise five days a week against the league's best Seeker. I hope the Cannons can hang onto you, but a year from now the other team managers are going to be clamouring to sign you.'

Gemma's scowl softened. 'That's a good point. My mum's always telling me to be more patient, and my brother says the reason I'm magical is because I can't even wait for my hair to dry.'

They gathered at the benches and Tuttle gave her notes. 'Nice move, Potter. If you can come up with a few more tricks like that, we'll be in good shape.'

Harry appreciated the praise and he was relieved to have flown well, in spite of his tumultuous night. _At least my entire life isn't falling apart_, he thought sadly.

After telling Gemma when to come over, Harry showered and returned to Grimmauld Place. With a heavy heart, he opened the cream-coloured envelope waiting for him.

_Dear Harry,_

_I never learnt the proper etiquette for writing exactly this type of letter, so you mustn't take this as an example._

_I am still heartsick over your betrayal last night. You claimed you loved me, and yet you jumped straight into bed with a prostitute, only hours before you were supposed to see me. Are you that unable to control your impulses, or was she simply more enticing than I am? Either way, I have no desire to see you again, and I've removed you from my Floo wards._

_In hindsight, I now realise I placed too high of expectations on you. I chose you to ruin me precisely because you're a lecherous cad, so I shouldn't be surprised when you act like one. And I should make allowances for your upbringing. After all, what was I to expect from someone whose primary wizarding role model was Sirius Black?_

_I believe it's in both of our best interests to keep this private. I'll therefore ask you not to boast about it on the radio, or wherever else you might parade yourself._

_Cordially,_

_Lydia Travers_

Harry flopped wearily onto the sofa after reading it. _How do I even reply? _he wondered. _She's obviously furious, and who could blame her? _He was almost tempted to ask Hermione for advice, but that was too mortifying to contemplate.

After multiple drafts, he wrote to her on the note paper she had given him:

_Dear Lydia,_

_I wish I could adequately express how sorry I am for my actions last night. I only have a feeble excuse: that I was intoxicated by the brothel ambiance, and that my vanity was flattered by having so many women vying for my attention. I should never have gone there, particularly after Blaise warned me I wouldn't be able to resist. But I was curious and overconfident, and I deeply regret that my stupidity hurt you so badly._

_I wouldn't dream of talking about this on the radio or anywhere else. I'm completely mortified by my behaviour, and miserable about causing you pain. Our fortnight together was amongst the happiest times of my life, and I feel terrible about spoiling those memories for both of us._

_If you can ever forgive me, I'd enjoy maintaining a friendship. I learnt volumes from you about wizarding society, and I'd enjoy watching you continue to bloom in your new surroundings. But I'll also respect your wish to cut all ties, if that's what you prefer._

_Again, please accept my sincere apologies for behaving so poorly._

_Yours truly,_

_Harry_

As soon as he sealed the envelope he dispatched it with Viola, one of the jackdaws. _Mischief managed_, he thought dully, before going back downstairs to write another letter. The next one was more cheerful:

_Dear Theo,_

_I'm glad you were able to attend the Cannons match a fortnight ago, but it was disappointing not to have time to exchange more than a few words. I'm therefore writing to see if we might get together sometime soon._

_With typical Gryffindor impulsiveness, my first suggestion is Saturday night. But if that doesn't work, I'm also available on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday after six o'clock. I have no specific activity in mind—I'd simply enjoy getting to know you better._

_Best regards,_

_Harry_

After posting it with Orsino, the other jackdaw, Harry changed into his jacket and tie to attend the theatre that night. _At least I don't need to worry about screwing up with Gemma or Simon,_ he thought with relief, and he responded to fan mail until they arrived.

Gemma arrived first. 'Looking good, Toffer!' she declared as she evaluated his outfit. 'Did you get that on Savile Row?'

'Er, yeah,' admitted Harry. 'But never again—it was brutally overpriced, and the only reason I could afford it was because my friend talked the sales clerk into selling me last year's sample at a steep discount.'

'I can relate,' she said. 'The only reason I could afford this dress was because my friend distracted the clerk while I switched the price tag with something cheaper.'

'Really?'

She rolled her eyes. 'No, I'm not a thief—unlike a certain bank robber I could name.'

'We had a good reason, I swear!'

Simon was next to arrive, and he greeted Harry warmly. 'I was hoping you'd wear a jacket,' he said. 'I should have suggested it, but I only had the idea after was too late to owl you.'

'Is there a dress code after all?' asked Harry.

'No, but there's a tradition surrounding Oscar Wilde that I think you'll appreciate,' replied Simon, handing Harry a small white box.

Harry opened it to reveal a pale green carnation. 'Am I supposed to wear this?' he asked hopefully.

'You are indeed. In 1892, when his play _Lady Windermere's Fan_ had its debut, Wilde wore a green carnation and told a dozen of his young followers to do the same. Green carnations quickly became the emblem of Wilde and his group, and it had scandalous connotations.'

Sliding the carnation into his lapel, Harry said, 'I'm all for scandal, as a rule, but what message will I be sending out?'

'According to Wilde, the green carnation means nothing whatever, but no one believed him. Some claim it was a declaration of homosexuality, since a green carnation was "unnatural," but in Wilde's time nobody would have outed themselves like that, due to the laws against indecency. I'm certain you'll see other people wearing green carnations tonight, and I didn't want you to feel left out.'

'Thank you,' replied Harry. 'I never wear flowers in Muggle settings, and I would have been disappointed to discover I could have done.'

He introduced Gemma to Simon. 'She's my fellow Seeker on the Cannons, and she agreed to join me tonight, but only after confirming it wasn't a wizarding play.'

Simon nodded knowingly. 'Yes, I once had the misfortune of attending a play about the founding of the Department of Mysteries. I'd hoped it would be interesting, but apparently the DOM was established entirely through correspondence, using parchment that was charmed to be read only by the intended recipient. Which meant that the play consisted of people sitting at writing tables sending parchments back and forth. The highlight was when the owl caught a rat running along the back of the stage.'

Gemma and Simon had a lively conversation over dinner, since she was well-versed in contemporary Muggle culture, and Simon told them all about Oscar Wilde. Harry had little to contribute, which didn't bother him, because it meant he wasn't the centre of attention. _I need to find more activities like this,_ he resolved.

They Apparated from the back garden to an alley near the theatre, and Harry collected their tickets from the box office. 'You were right,' he told Simon. 'Other men are wearing green carnations. This is fantastic!'

'You might make some new friends in the loo,' said Gemma. 'But I'll send Simon in after you before the play starts, so you don't miss anything.'

They explored the theatre lobby, which had posters from past productions, and Simon shared what he knew about them. Meanwhile, Harry noticed that other flower-wearing men were checking him out. He quietly told Gemma, 'I think you were right about making friends in the loo. Do you mind if I act like you're my girlfriend, to prevent any misunderstandings?'

'Fine, but they'll think I'm one of those clueless birds who's dating a closet case.'

Harry took Gemma's hand and adjusted his body language so they'd look like a couple. They strolled some more after Simon finished his impromptu lesson, and Harry asked, 'What number date are we on?'

'Are you wondering whether you're getting lucky tonight?' she asked incredulously. 'It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since your trip to France.'

'No, I just wanted to know what impression I'm supposed to give off. Whether I'm trying to impress you or if we're completely accustomed to one another.'

'We have a chaperone,' she said, indicating Simon. 'So clearly I come from a strictly religious family who doesn't trust me to behave myself.'

'Or me,' replied Harry. 'Which would really be more accurate.'

'Let's say it's a first date,' she declared. 'I want to see you turn on the charm.'

'All right, hang on a moment,' he said, rotating his head and neck, as if to stretch before a performance. He widened his eyes and said, 'Thanks ever so much for coming out with me tonight. I'd have died of loneliness without you.'

'You don't really say that, do you?'

'No. It's more like "Side-along or Floo?"'

'That sounds more plausible,' she said. 'Is that what you'll use tomorrow night, after the match?'

'No, I've owled a classmate to see if he wants to get together.'

'To go pulling?'

'No, just to hang out.'

'That's positively newsworthy!' she exclaimed. 'I can just imagine the _Prophet _article: _News flash! Harry Potter spent an evening with mates when he could have had a one-night stand. Noted Mind Healer Cassia Dexter says this reflects his deep inner trauma and that he should be immediately confined to St Mungo's with three French prostitutes for his own safety. In related news, Potter wore light grey robes with silver trim and a pink hydrangea, which sparked mayhem amongst Diagon Alley bookmakers, who had offered 100 to 1 odds against it.'_

They found their seats, and the play began soon after. The plot was absurd, but the dialogue was witty and Harry could see that Gemma was enjoying herself. During intermission they stretched their legs, and Gemma disappeared to the loo.

'Harry, I meant to thank you for the referral,' said Simon.

'I'm sorry?' replied Harry.

'Miss Travers. She contacted me about tutoring her several times a week.'

Harry grimaced and said, 'I don't know when she wrote to you, but she may have changed her mind. We broke up last night, and you might be collateral damage.'

'No, I received her letter this morning, and she sent it by house-elf, so there wasn't a delay. We've already scheduled her first session.'

'I'm relieved to hear that,' said Harry. 'Things ended very poorly between us, and I was afraid she might reject everything having to do with me.'

'It would certainly be a shame if she discarded all of Muggle cinema and literature out of spite, but that seems unlikely, given how much she enjoyed _Pride and Prejudice._ Have you started reading anything?'

'Yes, _Great Expectations_. I can see why you recommended it, with Pip being an orphan—and his sister seems like a cross between my aunt and uncle. I can't say I admire Pip's behaviour, like how he's ashamed of his brother-in-law, but I still like him somehow.'

'He's an interesting character, and Estella as well. They both behave rather poorly—even appallingly so—but they're sympathetic nonetheless.'

Harry was silent for a moment, thinking about how poorly he had behaved. 'I hope that's also true in real life,' he said. 'I've made some colossal mistakes recently, and I'd hate for them to define me.'

'You're nineteen,' replied Simon. 'You're still developing, just as Pip and Estella do as the novel progresses. _Great Expectations _is a prime example of what's called a _Bildungsroman_, which is the German term for a coming-of-age novel. In a _Bildungsroman_, the protagonist is generally under the age of twenty and experiences both moral and psychological growth.'

'My morals could probably stand to improve,' admitted Harry. 'And my psychological state as well.'

'I didn't mean to suggest ...' began Simon, but Harry shook his head.

'I wasn't offended. And I sincerely want to improve, if it means I stop hurting people.'

'There's a lot to be said for good intentions, in spite of the old saying.' When Harry looked at him questioningly, Simon quoted, '"_The road to hell is paved with good intentions._"'

Harry chuckled and said, 'At this rate I'm skipping the road and just Apparating there.'

Gemma's return put an end to their conversation. 'Did anyone chat you up while I was in the loo?'

'No, I suspect all the blokes wearing flowers have paired off by now,' said Harry.

'Does that mean our little charade is no longer necessary?'

'Probably not, but you mustn't take it personally.'

They returned to their seats, and Gemma surveyed the audience. 'Nobody here recognises you,' she said. 'Does that feel weird?'

'It feels great. I don't need to bother with privacy charms or my _"Stay the fuck away from me"_ wards. I can pretend I'm normal for a few hours.'

'Are you ever tempted to go incognito and take Polyjuice for the night?'

'Do you mean pass myself off as nobody in particular and hang out at the Leaky Cauldron?'

'Yeah. You could even start slagging off Harry Potter just to see what people say.'

'I already know what people say, thanks to you, Owen, and all the other Seekers.'

'Maybe not,' replied Gemma. 'People might come to your defence—it could be very heartwarming.'

'Yeah, I'll pass.'

'Some Gryffindor you are,' scoffed Gemma, and the house lights went down again.

The second half of the play was as entertaining as the first, and afterwards Harry thanked Gemma for coming. 'It's nice to spend time together outside of practice.'

'Because I didn't insult you as much as usual?'

'In part, but also because you're good company. You remind me a little of my friend Tonks, who died in the Battle of Hogwarts.'

'Tonks?'

'It was her surname. I'll point her out on the tapestry next time you're at the house—you'll understand.'

They parted company in an alley, and Harry Apparated straight to his bedroom. _Well done, Snitchbottom_, he told himself while preparing for bed. _You spent the evening with a witch and didn't try to shag her. _Not that he saw Gemma that way—she was his teammate, and he thought of her strictly as a friend. _And I can always use more friends who know how to take the piss_.


	70. Chapter 70

Harry was cooking breakfast when Ron emerged from the fireplace. 'I see you've returned to your humble origins,' he said, wiping the ashes from his clothes.

'Mostly, although Kreacher shaved me this morning, and he's currently polishing all my shoes. That was the only way he'd let me cook my own breakfast. Can I make you something?'

'Cheers, yeah. Same as you're having.'

Harry's breakfast was nearly ready, so he served it to Ron and then set to making a new one.

'Sorry,' said Ron after swallowing, 'I didn't mean to take food out of your mouth. Especially before a match—the other fans would kill me if they found out.'

'No worries, I enjoy cooking. How have you been? I feel like it's been ages since I last saw you, but it's only been a week. Did I even see you at the party?'

Ron looked a little sheepish. 'No. I actually made a point of avoiding the library, in case you forced me to greet people. And I think I was downstairs when you were on the roof, and after that you were gone.'

'Fair enough. I don't blame you for not wanting to be stuck greeting people—next time I throw a party I should Polyjuice myself, so I can actually have a good time. Who do you reckon I should go as?'

'Good question. Hagrid's probably too conspicuous. What about Malfoy?'

'That doesn't seem like the best way to mend fences,' said Harry. 'But how are you? How's Auror training going—what are you working on now?'

'Are you actually interested, or are you just trying to steer the conversation away from yourself?' asked Ron suspiciously.

Harry sighed, 'I take it Janet told you about Vampire John Lennon?'

'Yeah, and that Lydia dumped you. She didn't know the details, except that you cheated on her.'

'That's all I told most of my teammates. Only Owen and Gemma know the whole story. And Blaise Zabini, oddly enough.'

Ron's jaw dropped. 'You cheated on Lydia with Blaise Zabini?'

'God, no! Although Lydia might have forgiven me if I'd done that.'

'Then who was it?'

Harry took a deep breath and said, 'You have to keep this secret—you can't tell Janet. And for Merlin's sake, don't tell Hermione.'

'I barely even talk to Hermione—we just say hi in passing. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone.'

Closing his eyes, Harry said, 'Have you heard of a private club called Pratt's?'

'Holy shit! Did they invite you to join?'

'So you know about it?'

'Yeah, but obviously I've never been. It's way too expensive for most Weasleys, although I think some of the Prewetts belong. Did you go there?'

'Yeah. They invited me to join, and I'd never heard of it, so I asked Lydia what she knew. She said I'd hate it but insisted I go anyway, so I could report back to her.'

'But isn't it for men only? How did you cheat on her?' asked Ron, puzzled, until his eyes shot open in comprehension. 'You went to a portkey brothel!'

'It didn't require a portkey—something about ley lines. But it was in France, and definitely a brothel.'

'How did Lydia find out? You weren't daft enough to tell her, were you?'

'I'd have told her regardless, but I didn't need to. I turned up at her flat more than an hour late, with my robes buttoned wrong.'

Ron sniggered. 'When you blow it, you really go all in. What happened exactly?' he asked. 'Mind you, I don't need the bedroom details—I learnt quite enough about you from _Sorceress_. But feel free to describe the overall experience.'

Harry told Ron what had happened, and how he'd foolishly thought he could visit the Boudoir without going upstairs. 'I have no idea how Charles Selwyn can go there and leave empty-handed, so to speak.'

'Didn't you say he took a blood oath? That would prevent him from going upstairs, even if he wanted to.'

Harry, who was still preparing breakfast, turned towards Ron in irritation. 'How was I supposed to know that? It's like they went out of their way not to teach us anything useful at Hogwarts!'

'Sorry, mate. I'd have told you, but it never came up.'

Shaking his head, Harry resumed cooking, and he remained silent even after joining Ron at the table.

'Did you at least have a good time?' asked Ron. 'In France?'

'I did,' admitted Harry. 'But I feel horrible about how I treated Lydia. She didn't deserve that.'

'Maybe not, but she's partly to blame for insisting you go there. It's not all your fault.'

'She says her only mistake was forgetting what a lecherous cad I am.'

Ron sniggered again. 'That sounds like something Walburga would say. You'd better hope they don't get together and start talking about you.'

'Now there's a horrifying thought,' said Harry. 'And you probably understand why I don't want Hermione to know.'

'Merlin, she'd send you another Howler! Every day, for the rest of your life. And she'd invent new charms to keep you from destroying them without listening.' Ron paled and added, 'If she ever does find out, be sure to hide the Grimoire. There's bound to be a punishment in there for ...' He trailed off and gestured vaguely towards Harry's lap.

'She'll never find out,' said Harry emphatically.

'Of course not. But that reminds me, I need a favour.'

Harry frowned. 'Are you implying that you'll only keep this a secret if I do something for you?'

'I wouldn't phrase it like that. More like, this is what mates do for each other.'

'All right, what is it?'

'I need you to come to Sunday dinner at the Burrow. Don't worry, Ginny won't be there. Nor Bill and Fleur. In fact, that's the problem—I need someone else for Mum to pick on.'

'And you thought of me,' said Harry dryly. 'Does this have something to do with Janet's first visit?'

'Yeah. If we had a full house it might be all right, but it's just going to be me, George, and Percy. And Mum and Dad, of course. Normally I can count on Ginny to pick a fight, or for Mum to start criticising Fleur, but Bill and Fleur are in France, and Ginny's on holiday.'

'Ginny's on holiday? What about the Harpies?'

'They played the Arrows on Thursday night. Don't you even follow the rest of the league?'

'Not really,' admitted Harry. 'It's not as if the Cannons have a chance this season.'

'No, they were officially eliminated when the Harpies won on Thursday. But no one's complaining—you've already given the Cannons their longest winning streak in a century.'

'Gemma and Owen won two of those matches.'

'Yeah, but everyone knows you made it happen. Janet says they started playing better as soon as you turned up.' Harry shrugged, and Ron said, 'So can I count on you for Sunday?'

'Yes, but I might be in bits by the time I arrive—I'm visiting Malfoy Manor that afternoon.'

'Perfect! After a day with the Malfoys you'll need a calm, restorative evening with the Weasleys.'

'Maybe so,' replied Harry. 'But please, come to my defence every now and then.'

'Definitely, and you can count on George as well, seeing as your last broadcast set an all-time ratings record. But I should warn you Mum is cross, because the previous record belonged to Celestina Warbeck.'

'I assume you were listening on Tuesday?'

'Yes, and I was scared shitless the entire time.'

'Didn't you trust Lee and George?' asked Harry.

'Lee maybe, but not George! He'll do anything for a laugh.'

'Well, I trusted him, and it worked out all right.'

'True, and I should thank you for finally clearing up that rumour about the two of us.'

'You're just lucky I didn't say anything about you and Seamus.'

'That didn't count! We were playing Truth or Dare!' cried Ron. 'For Merlin's sake, I was dating Lavender at the time.'

'Even so, you should never have let her give you a dare.'

'That was your fault! As you may recall, she threatened to ask whether I fancied Hermione, and you and Ginny both blurted, "Dare."'

'Oh right. Did Hermione ever find out about that?'

'Not from me!'

Harry was still eating when an owl tapped at the kitchen window, so Ron fetched the letter for him. 'Theodore Nott?' he asked, looking at the return address.

'Yeah, I owled him yesterday proposing we get together,' replied Harry, taking the letter and opening it. It said:

_Thank you for writing, and yes, I'd enjoy seeing you as well. Tonight my flatmates and I are playing poker, and you're more than welcome to join us. We're all apprentices, so the stakes aren't high (in other words, bring plenty of Knuts), and dinner will be takeaway. But if that doesn't sound too pedestrian for a Saturday night, please turn up anytime after seven. Otherwise I can be available any of the other nights you suggested._

'It looks like I'll be playing poker tonight with Theo and his mates,' he told Ron. 'Do you have any idea how to play?'

'Yeah, Hermione's dad taught me, but it wasn't much fun, since he was trying to assert dominance or something. At least that's what Hermione said afterwards—she was pretty hacked off. But I can show you how to play.'

Kreacher managed to find a deck of cards among Regulus's things. 'I never would have expected Regulus to have Muggle playing cards with a naked woman on the back,' remarked Harry. 'They were probably a gift from Sirius, which explains why they appear to have never been used.'

'I'll bet Regulus spent his seventeenth birthday at Pratt's—or at the Boudoir, rather,' said Ron. 'And if he was anything like Sirius, he probably got free access after that.'

'Do you think? I don't know anything about Sirius's private life, other than what I saw Padfoot doing before we got the dog trainer in.'

'He must have had girlfriends,' said Ron. 'He was a good-looking bloke—before Azkaban, anyway.'

'I honestly don't know. When I saw him at Hogwarts in Snape's memory, there were clearly witches interested in him, but he didn't seem to care. Frankly, he seemed more interested in my dad.'

'Do you reckon Rita Skeeter got it wrong, and Sirius fancied your dad rather than your mum?'

'I doubt it. I think he mistook me for my dad pretty often, and even if I never noticed a pervy vibe, Hermione would have done.'

'Or my mum,' replied Ron. 'Or Ginny—she'd have bat-bogeyed the hell out of him.'

Harry sighed. 'It feels like a million years ago that Ginny fancied me. I wish I'd realised my own feelings earlier, back at Hogwarts, although maybe she'd just have dumped me sooner.'

'Don't get all maudlin on me, Potter. We both know you'll fall in love with someone new by the end of the week.'

'Yeah, you're probably right,' admitted Harry. 'So how does poker work?'

Ron taught Harry what he knew, but it wasn't easy to play with only two people, so they enlisted Kreacher. 'Are you familiar with poker,' Ron asked the elf, 'or do I need to explain the rules again?'

'Kreacher knows how to play poker and other Muggle card games,' replied the elf. 'Master Sirius Apollo used to visit Muggle casinos.'

'You helped him cheat?' exclaimed Harry.

'Yes, Master! Would Master like Kreacher's assistance this evening?'

'God, no!' cried Harry, before noticing Kreacher's crestfallen expression. 'Er, it sounds like that was a unique bond you shared with Sirius Apollo. But you and I have our own special relationship, and I'd rather develop that.'

Kreacher widened his eyes and blinked several times, in what Harry feared was an imitation of his own pleading expression. But he knew what he had to do. _Kreacher,_ he said silently.

_Yes, Master!_ replied the elf brightly, within Harry's mind.

_You mustn't help me cheat at cards. Do you understand?_

_Yes, Master! Kreacher mustn't help Master cheat at cards._

_All right, _thought Harry. _You may go. But stay here, so we can play poker._

Harry felt the elf disappear from his mind with a _pop._ 'Did you just communicate telepathically with Kreacher?' asked Ron.

'Yeah.'

'You know, he's right. You could make a killing at Muggle casinos—you could probably rebuild the Black fortune if you wanted. Kreacher could be invisible and report to you what cards the other players are holding.'

'Are you kidding? How is that different from using magic to rob a Muggle bank?'

'Because it's gambling! When someone goes to a casino they're taking a risk, which isn't the same as just locking up their money in a vault.'

'But that doesn't mean it's all right for me to flagrantly cheat. I could ruin someone's life that way!'

'I'm not suggesting you cheat against some poor bugger who's gambling away his pension. I was thinking more like a posh casino, where oil billionaires go. Janet was telling me about them—they wager half a million pounds on a single hand.'

'Yeah, and it wouldn't be at all suspicious when some kid turns up out of nowhere and beats them, even though I barely know how to play.'

'You'd learn first,' argued Ron. 'I'm not suggesting you go there tonight.'

Harry couldn't believe what Ron was saying. 'Do you realise you're proposing I break any number of wizarding laws and potentially risk secrecy, just to get money I don't actually need?'

'You could give it away,' suggested Ron. 'Or leave it to your descendants. The Blacks aren't nearly as rich as they used to be—you could turn them into a fabulously wealthy Light family.'

'Yeah, and my descendants would probably turn out like Malfoy, only without a Dark Mark. They'd be a bunch of spoilt wankers who join Pratt's and bribe Ministry officials.'

'Wouldn't the Light magic protect them?'

'I doubt it. It certainly didn't prevent me from treating Lydia badly. And besides, Light magic isn't hereditary, at least not as far as I know.'

'Look, I'm just saying ... you have a unique opportunity, having a telepathic bond with Kreacher.'

'It can't be that unique, if Sirius Apollo took him to casinos.'

'There's one way to find out,' replied Ron. 'Kreacher, how exactly did you help Sirius Apollo at casinos?'

Kreacher sat up proudly. 'Kreacher helped Master Sirius Apollo by rearranging the cards while they were still in the deck. And by stopping the roulette wheel and making the dice land as Master instructed.'

'See, it's not a unique opportunity,' said Harry. 'Thank you, Kreacher.'

'But it didn't work,' added Kreacher. 'All the casinos Master Sirius went to had wards preventing magical interference. Master Sirius later learnt that Gringotts has a Muggle subsidiary, which maintains an interest in numerous casinos.'

'Then how did Ludo Bagman make back his money at Muggle casinos?' asked Harry. He turned to Ron and said, 'That's the rumour I heard.'

'The goblins can't possibly control every casino in the world. There have to be some dodgy casinos or underground clubs out there.'

'I suppose you're right. But why are we even talking about this? I need to practise so I don't look like a complete idiot tonight.'

'Fine,' grumbled Ron, and he dealt the first round.

Harry looked at his cards. 'Bloody hell! Kreacher!'

'Yes, Master,' replied Kreacher innocently.

Harry revealed his hand to Ron. 'These are good cards, aren't they.'

Ron burst out laughing. 'It's a royal flush.'

'Kreacher,' said Harry sternly, 'I distinctly told you not to help me cheat at cards.'

'Kreacher didn't help Master cheat. Kreacher cheated entirely without Master's participation.'

Bewildered, Harry squeezed his eyes shut. 'What?'

'Master instructed Kreacher not to help him cheat. Master was not cheating, which meant Kreacher was not helping. Instead Kreacher cheated independently.'

'Don't do that!' ordered Harry. 'Ron, can you deal another round?'

'Yeah, sure,' he said, gathering the cards and shuffling the deck. Harry looked at his hand and was satisfied they were random.

'Oh, for Merlin's sake!' cried Ron. He showed Harry his cards.

Harry looked at Kreacher accusingly. 'Two Jokers, the three of clubs, the card with the rules for poker, and a Chocolate Frog Card? Really?'

'Hey, this is Agrippa!' exclaimed Ron. 'I've been trying to find him for years!'

'I don't think it counts,' argued Harry. 'There's a naked woman on the back.'

'I'm still keeping it,' said Ron, slipping the card into his pocket.

'Kreacher, you are not to interfere with the cards. I want to play poker strictly according to chance, as if I were a Muggle.'

Kreacher's ears drooped. 'Yes, Master.'

Ron dealt a third round, which appeared to be normal. Harry drew three cards and wound up with a pair of threes and a pair of sixes. _This is a decent hand_, he thought, so he added several Knuts to the pot.

It was Kreacher's turn, and the elf was holding his cards very close to his nose. Harry had given him a pile of Knuts for betting, and the elf slid several coins forwards. 'Kreacher will see Master's bet and raise it by one severed head.'

'What!?' exclaimed Harry.

'One of the severed elf heads in Kreacher's attic,' replied Kreacher.

'No!' protested Harry. 'Those are yours. I really, really don't want them.'

Kreacher lowered his head in dismay. 'Kreacher has nothing to offer Master.'

Trying to hide his exasperation, Harry said, 'That's not true. You're a tremendous help to me, all the time. You cook most of my meals, and you keep the house tidy, and you polished my shoes this morning.'

'Don't forget the shaving,' said Ron. 'That's above and beyond.'

'Master only allows Kreacher to shave his face,' moaned the elf.

Ron laughed and looked at Harry. 'You know where this is headed, mate. What's it going to be? Your legs? Your chest? I could keep going.'

'No!' cried Harry. 'Face only.' He looked squarely at Kreacher. 'You're being very disobedient. Do I need to punish you?'

'Here we go,' said Ron, leaning back in his chair.

'Kreacher is very naughty,' said the elf. 'Kreacher will never improve without being punished.'

'Ron, can you help me out?' asked Harry. 'Do you need laundry done or something?'

'That is no punishment,' grumbled Kreacher.

'My mum is always after me to do chores around the Burrow, even though I don't live there anymore.'

'Now there's an idea ... Kreacher, I hereby punish you to spend the day helping Ron's mum for as long as she needs, until bedtime. Is that clear?'

'But who will cook for Master?'

'I'm going out tonight. I don't require anything until morning.'

Kreacher's expression was hard to decipher. He was clearly mortified by Harry's proposal, but his eyes gleamed with something resembling triumph. 'If Master insists,' he said evenly.

'Ron, can you pop over to the Burrow and make sure it's all right with your parents?'

Ron was already walking towards the fireplace. 'I'll ask, but I'm sure Mum'll be thrilled. Should I tell her you're coming to dinner tomorrow?'

'Yeah, go ahead.'

Within minutes, Ron returned and gave Harry a thumbs-up. 'She nearly fainted when I told her about Kreacher, but yes, send him over. And when I said you were coming to dinner, she asked if you were bringing Lydia. I almost told her you were, just to see her reaction, but I decided that would be cruel.'

Harry ordered Kreacher to leave for the Burrow at once. 'The good news is that we've found a new way to keep Kreacher happy. The bad news is that we lost our third for poker.'

Ron shrugged and said, 'You get the idea, and I'm sure Theo and his mates will enjoy beating you.'

They spent the rest of the morning as usual, talking Quidditch while Harry replied to fan mail. Ron asked about Gemma, and Harry told him about Bruce's suggestion he switch to a faster broom.

'But you hated the Firebolt Ultra!'

'Bruce wants me to give it another try. He's already taught me a technique for squeezing some extra speed from my Silver Arrow, and next week I'll practise the tweaks he says will work with the Firebolt.'

'It's a good thing you didn't endorse the Silver Arrow, or else you might be in breach of contract or something.'

'I'll probably still recommend it regardless. If it takes weird little adjustments just to fly the Firebolt without wanting to throw it, then it's clearly not for everyone.'

Harry also told Ron about his intention to stop taunting. 'Does this mean your obnoxious Seeker phase is coming to an end?' asked Ron.

'I hope so. I made Gemma cry on Wednesday, and several other things this week made me realise I'm at risk of becoming a seriously smug bastard. I just need to find some other way to win matches.'

'You win matches with your flying,' said Ron. 'And your spotting is uncanny—I still can't get over what happened against Wimbourne.'

'Maybe, but I'm up against Allie Hobbs next week, and I'm sure she'll tear into me. She's been less than friendly the two times I've met her, and something tells me she's going to taunt me about the Dursleys.'

Ron took a deep breath. 'There's already a lot of hype around the match. You and Hobbs both beat Routledge, but she couldn't beat Gilstrap, and you did, in a sense.'

'You mean I beat him up?'

'No, but you shook him so thoroughly that he didn't catch the Snitch when he had five minutes to himself and it was in plain sight.'

'Don't thank me—thank the Dursleys,' said Harry ruefully. 'He was convinced I'd been spoilt, but I really showed him.'

'It's probably just as well you're dropping the arrogance,' observed Ron. 'I don't think you've acted that way in public yet, but you've been treading a fine line, between the robes and dating Lydia.'

'I'm not giving up the robes.'

'I should hope not, after spending all that money! And besides, it would be more embarrassing if you wore them for a couple of months but then never again.'

'What, like some kind of mortifying phase?'

'Exactly. Remember when Percy tried getting everyone to call him by his middle name?'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Poor Ignatius. It didn't help that Fred and George charmed the back of his robes to blink, "_Call me Percy, no matter what_." But no, I reckon my robes are here to stay, although I might wear Muggle clothes more often, just to keep from being too predictable.'

'Fine, but be sure to wear robes to the Burrow tomorrow, and flowers too. Mum initially approved of them, but then she was scandalised when you wore those innocence flowers after deflowering Lydia.'

Harry smiled at the memory. 'That was her idea,' he said fondly. 'But I already ordered a satin-flower boutonnière—meaning sincerity—and a bouquet for when I meet with the Malfoys tomorrow. I should probably write to my florist and order a bouquet for your mum as well.' He pulled out his personal stationery and started writing, first to his florist and then to Theo Nott, confirming their evening plans.

Ron followed Harry upstairs to the owlery. 'Are those ravens?' he exclaimed.

'No, jackdaws. I needed another owl, but Eeylops was cleaned out, and the owner offered these instead—they're a bonded pair. So far they're great.'

'You're just allergic to being normal, aren't you?' observed Ron.

'I've tried,' replied Harry. 'It doesn't work.'

It was nearly eleven, so Ron wished Harry luck and they went their separate ways. When Harry turned up at the Cannons training grounds, Ryan approached him and asked, 'Did you really give all your tickets this week to the residents of a group home?'

'Yeah. They're all kids—mostly Squibs. I thought they'd enjoy attending a match.'

'I wish you'd said something,' replied Ryan. 'I'd gladly have given you some of my tickets, and I'm sure the other players also would have done.'

'It's fine. But come to think of it, there's something you could do ... apparently Squibs can fly as long as there's a witch or wizard flying next to them. So if we bring enough extra brooms, and most of the Cannons are willing to hang around after the match, we could fly around the stadium with them for a while.'

'That's a great idea! We should tell Lara right away, and maybe bring a photographer.'

Harry groaned. 'I really wasn't trying to generate publicity, at least not for myself.'

'Of course not. But I'm sure the kids would like a souvenir, and if we have our own photographer we needn't rely on journalists.'

'That's a good point,' said Harry, and they went inside to find Lara.

'I already engaged Amanda to take photographs,' she told them. 'But that's a great idea about the brooms. I'm sure we have plenty in the shed.'

'Not the Pegasus Ten,' warned Harry. 'You don't want to traumatise anyone.'

The players spent the next hour warming up for the match, and after lunch they travelled by Floo to Chudley Stadium. 'I wish you were flying out at the beginning of the match,' Harry told Gemma. 'I'm certain the fans would want to thank you for catching the Snitch last week.'

'Are you sure you won't get ejected?' she asked playfully.

'Against Kieran Sheppard? I doubt it. And besides, I'm all about love now.'

They changed into their uniforms, and Harry went through the usual routine of revealing his ring. 'You're certain you won't display it in public?' asked Janet. 'I bet you could start a trend of wearing gaudy rings ironically.'

'There's an idea,' said Darren. 'We could all wear copies at the same time, when there are reporters present.'

'Not a chance,' said Suresh. 'You'll have to cut off my hand first.'

'Then what about a horrible cravat pin?' suggested Janet. 'Or an incredibly thick watch fob?'

'Incredibly thick?' repeated Suresh. 'That has potential.'

'I am not displaying the ring in public,' declared Harry.

'Oh, come on,' goaded Janet. 'Everyone knows you're wearing it—you might as well give them a show.'

Renée said, 'Have you already forgotten our little conversation yesterday about Vampire John Lennon? Harry doesn't want to stand out.'

'Give it up, Snitchbottom. It's never going to happen.'

'Are you trying to depress me before a match?' he asked.

'No, sir,' replied Janet. 'I wouldn't dream of rattling you when we're about to win eight in a row. Feel free to hide that ring up your arse if that's what you want.'

'Er, thanks?' said Harry uncertainly.

Tuttle delivered her pep talk, and the reserves proceeded to the skybenches. Owen hung back and pulled Harry aside. 'Trust your instincts out there,' he said. 'Your instinct not to taunt Gemma was spot on, but don't force yourself into a certain behaviour today if it doesn't feel natural.'

'Are you saying I should taunt Sheppard?'

'Not necessarily. But you're allowed to defend yourself if he comes out swinging. And have fun! You're tremendously powerful when you forget about what you ought to be doing and just follow your instincts.'

'I'm fairly certain that's why Lydia dumped me, but I get your point.'

One by one the Cannons were announced, until finally it was Harry's turn. 'It's my pleasure to welcome the Cannons starting Seeker ... fully recovered from his broken pelvis ... wearing number three ... Harry Potter!'

Harry flew out to deafening cheers. The stands were a mass of orange, punctuated by Ballycastle red and black, and also by Harry's emblem against its midnight blue background. He surveyed the banners, first noticing the hostile ones. There was no evidence of Mothers Against Harry Potter, but several banners urged him to clean up his act. '_Your parents would be ashamed of you, Potter,_' claimed one sign, and another said, '_Harry Potter needs a Mind Healer._'

Harry rolled his eyes. _How do you know what my parents would think?_ _And maybe you need to see a Mind Healer about your compulsion to lecture strangers._

He was also criticised for his vow to postpone marriage. '_If you're not going to marry the witch, don't dally with her_,' said one sign, which prompted Harry to wonder if wizards had always used such old-fashioned vocabulary or if Walburga had started a trend. And another sign was more blunt: '_Keep your wand to yourself, Potter._' Harry shook his head in disbelief. _It's not as if I'm dropping my trousers in public and chasing people with it,_ he thought irritably.

There were also signs deriding Harry Toffer, and one banner even referred to Harry Toffer-Blatch. _Gemma should hold one of those signs, _he thought with amusement, and he was tempted to suggest it to her. Absurdly enough, there was a banner accusing him of turning into a Dark wizard, presumably because of his Black connection. _Don't make me come over there and glow at you_, thought Harry with mock sternness.

The vast majority of banners, however, were friendly. There were numerous references to his broken pelvis, including one held by a pair of comely witches that said, '_Harry, we'd love to help you test your pelvis.' _

_Now that's tempting, _he thought. He knew he oughtn't, but Harry flew close to them and said, 'Owl me in care of the Cannons,' before flying off. _Sweet Merlin, I just responded to a public proposition!_ For a moment he was mortified, but then he shrugged and thought, _Light magic strikes again. I should probably talk to Rita soon._

There was also a long banner held by a group of kids, which said, '_Thank you, Harry! From everyone at Grace House_,' and it was decorated with a flower border. They were the kids he'd invited, and Harry flew nearby and shouted, 'See you after the match!' _It's a good thing they're not within earshot of those two witches_, he thought as he flew away.

The four balls were launched, and Harry began circling above the pitch. A few minutes later, Kieran Sheppard found him and said, 'Don't worry, Potter, I'm not planning to glue myself to you. But I wanted to say hello and find out whether you're in a fugue state.'

'No, although I told those two witches over there to owl me in care of the team.'

'And you've never done that before?' asked Sheppard. 'I heard the Cannons engaged a secretary just to handle all your propositions.'

'I do have a secretary, but she handles all my post, and not just propositions.'

'That makes more sense. But I'm sure you receive heaps of them—all the Seekers do.'

'Really? Have you ever ...'

'A gentleman doesn't tell,' replied Sheppard.

'Right, but I was asking you,' retorted Harry, and Sheppard laughed.

'Yeah, twice, after a break-up.'

'Really? Were they ardent Ballycastle fans, or do they just write to all the beddable public figures?'

'One was mad for Ballycastle, and several of my teammates had already had a go. The other was more of a C-squared, only with a particular fondness for Seekers. She was tall and liked having someone she could dominate.'

Recalling Claire, Harry had to acknowledge that sounded appealing. 'What did you think?' he asked. 'Would you recommend her?'

'Honestly, both times were a little dehumanising,' replied Sheppard. 'I felt more like a commodity than anything else. But maybe you're used to that, with the whole "Boy Who Lived" thing.'

'Yeah, but not as much as before. The Boy Who Lived is old news by this point.'

'I suppose it is. That must be one benefit of your non-stop notoriety of late. It's impossible to say what you're even famous for anymore, other than "everything."'

'Perhaps,' replied Harry. "But enough about me. Tell me more about you.'

Sheppard looked taken aback. 'Are you all right, Potter? All the other Seekers said you talk about yourself the entire time.'

'They started it,' argued Harry. 'But yeah, I did, and I'm trying to break the habit.'

'That's commendable,' said Sheppard. 'Let's see ... I'm a pure-blood, but not the evil kind. I attended Blockhurst.'

Harry was listening intently, and he was even looking at Sheppard, but he flicked his eyes to the right and zoomed across the rival Seeker's path to race towards an imaginary Snitch. Harry flew erratically towards the stands, knowing that Sheppard would have trouble picking out the Snitch against the bright orange backdrop. He finally wheeled around the goalposts before resuming a circling pattern and resetting his intention.

Sheppard rejoined him. 'I should have realised you weren't actually interested in someone other than yourself.'

'No, I really am,' protested Harry. 'I just thought it would be hilarious to feint just then.'

'You're right, it was,' admitted Sheppard. 'Shall I resume my life story?'

'Yes, please.'

Sheppard told Harry he'd played Quidditch with Darren back at Blockhurst, but that he'd only barely overlapped Owen and that they'd never met. 'You did him quite a favour, talking him up at every opportunity.'

'He did me quite a favour, teaching me how to spot the Snitch.'

'That's what I can't figure out about you,' said Sheppard. 'You share the credit with everyone around you, and yet you still come off as a shameless attention-whore.'

'Do you reckon the radio show is part of the problem?' asked Harry.

'That's a good question. You sound remarkably likeable with Lee and George, but afterwards I wonder whether it's really necessary for you to appear on the air every week.'

'Yes, I'm wondering that myself. But I still hardly know anything about you.'

'Then ask me a question. Command performances aren't really my style.'

'All right. What was your favourite subject in school?'

'Transfiguration. And you?'

'Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

'That makes sense. Although you must have tired of it, if you left off being an Auror.'

'I suppose I did. I've realised I don't want to practise violence any longer.'

'Make love, not war?' suggested Sheppard.

'Something like that. What was your war experience, by the way? I'm not asking so I can taunt you, but just to get a clearer picture of who you are.'

'I was reserve Seeker before the Ministry fell, but our starting Seeker—Jerry Conaway—was Muggle-born and I was promoted. Dolores Umbridge snapped his wand, and the only reason he wasn't punished more severely is because Albert Runcorn was a Ballycastle supporter. Jerry was supposed to go live as a Muggle, but my dad gave him a family wand that worked tolerably well, and he moved to Canada.'

'Is he still there?'

'Yeah. He got a job with the Ottawa Owls and married a Canadian witch. So in that respect, the war turned out well for him.'

'That's not a sentence I hear very often,' remarked Harry.

'Well, it turned out pretty well for you, didn't it?'

'Perhaps in the sense that I'm still alive and Voldemort isn't, but otherwise it was a complete disaster.'

'You don't call this a good outcome? You're probably the most popular wizard alive.'

Harry was starting to get annoyed, but he expanded into broad awareness and renewed his intentions. 'I may be popular, but trust me, I'd rather have my friends back. Take George Weasley ... did you know he had an identical twin brother?'

'No.'

'His name was Fred and they started the shop together. Lee was their mate, and he wasn't interested in running a business—his dream was to go into broadcasting. But George was a wreck after Fred died in the Battle of Hogwarts, and he nearly lost the shop because he holed himself up in his room for months. Lee dragged him back to life, and you know the rest. But even so, there's not one of us who doesn't look at George and automatically think of Fred, every bloody time.'

Harry flew off, not bothering to feint. In spite of his expanded awareness, he was agitated from thinking about Fred and the others he'd lost.

He decided to imagine Remus and Tonks in the stands, having left Teddy with his grandparents for the afternoon. Maybe Tonks would be pregnant again, and Harry found it amusing to picture an expectant Tonks, with weird food cravings and changing her form to look like a middle-aged man with an enormous beer-belly.

_I'll play for them_, he thought. He decided they were disguised as the stern-looking couple holding a sign that said, '_Harry Potter is a threat to wizarding traditions,_' and he made a point of feinting in their direction. _That was for you, Moony!_

He knew it wasn't really them, but it was tremendously cheering to pretend they were alive. _Tonks sent Moony to buy three boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and now she's tasting each one and spitting the flavours she doesn't like into her hand and making Moony eat them. 'But this is strawberry,' says Moony after trying one, and Tonks says, 'I know, it's vile. My favourite flavour right now is sauerkraut.' Moony shakes his head in bewilderment but continues to placidly eat the rejected beans from her hand._

Sheppard shot suddenly towards the ground, and Harry aimed in the same direction, even though the Snitch wasn't there. _Tonks would be disappointed if I didn't follow, and after the match she'd call me idle and say the French prostitute had worn me out. 'You have to join Pratt's,' she'd insist, 'because then you could bring me as a guest. I'd disguise myself as a man and we'd fool the wards somehow, and then I could go the Boudoir with you and start mimicking the _filles de joie._ I promise I wouldn't tell Remus, and you'd never tell my mum.'_

Sheppard flew next to him after feinting. 'Did I really fool you?' he asked.

'Honestly, no. But I always enjoy a good feint.'

'This really is a game to you, isn't it?'

'Of course it's a game,' replied Harry. 'Isn't that how you see it?'

'Well, yes, but it's also my livelihood, and my chance at glory. The Sheppards aren't the rich sort of pure-bloods, so this is my chance to save up for the future. But you don't need the gold or the glory.'

'Which just leaves the game,' said Harry. 'And flying of course.'

'So you work six days a week just for the game?'

'Yeah, primarily. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gold. It's covering the cost of throwing parties, and also my unanticipated clothing addiction. But the main reason I'm doing this is because I love flying and being part of a team.'

'What if you stop winning?' asked Sheppard. 'I expect it's easy to feel enthusiastic on a seven-game streak.'

'I can't say for certain how I'll feel about it, but all my teammates say they had fun even when the Cannons were losing.'

'I have to say, the Cannons have some terrific fans. The only ones who compare are the Harpyheads, but you'll get a taste for them next week.'

'Any words of advice?' asked Harry.

'Yeah, stay home. They'll eat you alive.'

'Noted,' said Harry tersely before flying off. _Which of my dead mates will attend the Harpies match? _he wondered. _Snape_, he decided. _Severus Snape. Admittedly he wasn't my mate so much as my undercover surrogate father who hated me, but he's dead and deserves to attend a match as well. He'd probably hold a sign criticising me, only he wouldn't disguise himself as Tonks and Moony are doing. _Harry imagined a magically scrolling banner, which said, _'Harry Potter is mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule-breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking, and impertinent.'_

He flew around the pitch for a long while, maintaining broad awareness and inviting the Snitch to appear. Ballycastle had good Chasers and an exceptional Keeper, so the score was close, which meant a Cannons victory depended entirely on Harry. _Come on, Snitch_, he thought. _It might be ages before Tonks and Lupin are able to attend another match. And those kids I invited would like to see me win as well. Maybe I could give Celia the Snitch as a souvenir._

It was twenty more minutes before Harry saw the long-awaited flash of gold. Even though Sheppard wasn't in his field of vision, Harry knew instinctively where he was and that it was safe to rush towards the Snitch. He engaged his lower abdomen to coax a bit more speed from his broom, and he grabbed the Snitch in triumph. 'Potter has the Snitch!' cried the announcer. 'Cannons win, 260-130!'

Harry's heart soared, and he paused to acknowledge Tonks and Moony. _This was for you,_ he thought fondly as he flew past the hostile-looking couple he'd identified, and he held the Snitch high. Next he paused before the kids he'd invited, who cheered and waved excitedly.

His teammates joined him as he flew. 'Fantastic!' exclaimed Suresh, slapping Harry on the back. 'You gave those kids a good show.'

'Cheers, and thanks for keeping the Bludgers away!'

The rest of his teammates congratulated him, and after they took their team victory lap, Harry flew to the skybenches and shouted, 'Gemma, get up here and meet the fans!' She looked uncertainly at Owen, but he urged her to her feet and onto her broom.

'It's the Cannons reserve Seeker, Gemma Rees!' called the announcer. 'Let's give her a warm welcome to Chudley Stadium and three cheers for catching the Snitch last week in her first outing!'

Gemma scowled at Harry for forcing her into the spotlight, but he could see that she was delighted. 'You earned it!' he said before flying to the ground to join his other teammates. He and the other Cannons cheered loudly as Gemma took a lap around the stadium.

Sheppard found him and said, 'Congratulations, Potter. I'm sorry I couldn't help you build character by handing you a humiliating defeat, but maybe Hobbs can take care of it next week.'

'I reckon she might,' laughed Harry. 'You were a great opponent, and it was mostly luck that I was closer to the Snitch when it appeared.'

'Maybe, but you also spotted it first. The Cannons are lucky they managed to keep Barrowmaker to themselves.'

Harry agreed, and they shook hands and parted. The other Ballycastle players congratulated him as well, and most of them thanked him for the party. 'You're a hell of a Seeker, Toffer,' said one of the Chasers, and Harry was too elated from the match to be annoyed.

When reporters were allowed on the pitch, most of them went straight for Harry. 'Is Miss Travers here this afternoon?' asked the journalist from _Witch Weekly._

'No,' replied Harry, without elaborating.

'Does this mean you've split up?' she persisted.

'It was never a long-term relationship. Lydia has moved into her new flat, which is lovely, and she's beginning her new life.'

'Are you on good terms? Will you keep seeing her?'

Harry had decided in advance how to answer questions about his relationship with Lydia. 'I can't predict the future, but I hope we'll remain friends, and I wish her all the best.'

'Are you dating someone new?'

'No,' replied Harry. 'But I'd like to point out that we're on a Quidditch pitch and I'd rather answer questions about the match.'

'Is it true you told two witches in the stands to owl you?'

_Bugger!_ thought Harry. _Bloody Light magic. _'I fail to see what that has to do with today's match,' he replied breezily before turning towards a reporter he recognised from a Quidditch publication.

He managed to dodge personal questions for the rest of the session, and the invited guests arrived. Ron and Hermione congratulated him separately, and then Harry was free to greet the group of kids and their guardians. To his surprise, Fiona was with them, and a small boy held her hand.

'Harry, congratulations!' she said.

'Fiona! It's nice to see you! I assume Owen invited you?'

'He did. Or to be more accurate, I demanded two tickets on behalf of WORF so I could introduce everyone. Harry, this is Chester and Elaine Windhover, who are the resident guardians at Grace House,' said Fiona, presenting a middle-aged couple. 'Elaine, Chester, this is Harry, as you've probably figured out.'

Harry extended his hand and they exchanged warm greetings. 'I'm glad you were able to come on short notice. Did you enjoy the match?'

'Yes, tremendously,' replied Elaine. 'But for real enthusiasm you should talk to the kids.' Harry could see that the kids were bursting with excitement, and the younger ones were having trouble standing still.

He knelt to face the smallest ones, who were perhaps six years old. 'My name's Harry. Thank you for coming to the match! What's your name?'

Harry's question opened the floodgates, and all the children introduced themselves, thanking him and describing at length how much they enjoyed the match. The other Cannons had gathered, and the kids seemed dazzled to be amidst the players they'd just spent several hours watching.

'It's a pleasure to meet you face to face,' he told Celia, the girl who had written to him. 'None of this would have happened if you hadn't sent me those letters.'

Celia was blushing, and her friend Portia started giggling. 'I'm just glad I wrote to you at all,' admitted Celia. 'Last week I started my new school, which is near Grace House, and I like it. Portia goes to a different school, since she's not in sixth-form yet, but she'll go there next year.'

'You'll have to tell me which books they assign. I've been reading _Great Expectations_, on the advice of my tutor, and I'm keen to know what other books I should read if I want to pass for someone with a decent education.'

The girls told him their favourite books, and Portia wrote down the titles for him on a page from her sketchbook. 'Are you an artist?' he asked.

Portia shook her head, but Celia said, 'Yes, and she's brilliant. Go on, show him.'

This time Portia blushed, but she showed Harry the drawings she'd made that afternoon. They mostly depicted people on broomsticks, and he was impressed by how well she'd captured their movement even though the drawings were stationary. 'Those are fantastic!' he exclaimed. 'I was in Paris last month and went to an art museum for practically the first time in my life, and I was amazed by how the artists depicted movement with only a few brushstrokes. Honestly, those paintings were better than any wizarding artwork I've seen, although I'm partial to the portrait of my godfather's Animagus.'

'Is that the one that replaced Walburga Black?' giggled Portia.

'Yeah,' he said guiltily. 'Have you seen her?'

Portia and Celia both nodded. 'We went to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes the week before last, and the shop assistant allowed us to enter the booth together,' said Celia.

'Oh dear, just how awful was she?'

'She called us ill-begotten Squibs and said we should have been drowned at birth, and that we weren't fit to associate even with Mudbloods,' said Portia. 'But then Celia said that Harry Potter told her that Squibs have a crucial role to play in improving wizard-Muggle relations, and that human greatness has little to do with whether you can use a wand.'

'Did that convince her?' asked Harry.

'No—she said you were even worse than a Squib, and that by coupling with Muggles you ensured that House Black would be riddled with Squibs for generations to come. Celia tried to explain genetics, but Walburga kept screaming for Kreacher to throw us into a dragon pit, so we just asked the shop assistant to take our photograph in front of her and then left.'

Portia pulled a photograph from the back of her sketchbook and showed it to Harry. It was a wizarding photo, and it showed the two girls laughing uproariously while Walburga shouted at them, her face contorted with rage.

'Didn't she hurt your feelings?' asked Harry.

'No, not at all,' Celia assured him. 'Quite the opposite, actually. My family said things that were just as bad, only I believed them because they were my own family. But hearing it from Walburga Black, who everyone knows is completely off her rocker, made me realise just how stupid and wrong it all was. When Portia and I came home, we told the other Squibs they have to meet her.'

Harry said, 'I never thought I'd use "Walburga" and "heartwarming" in the same sentence, but that's ... heartwarming. I've been criticised for allowing her portrait to be displayed in public, instead of just destroying it, but you're right—she really demonstrates how laughably ignorant those opinions are. Thank you for telling me about that.'

The girls giggled again and nodded. Celia said, 'I should warn you that the other kids want signed photos as well—they're all envious of mine.'

Lara had set up a table, and Harry saw that his teammates were already signing posters and photographs. 'I reckon they'll have all the autographs they want. But I have something extra for you, Celia,' he said, taking the Snitch from his pocket and handing it to her. Its wings were flapping weakly, and he was confident it wouldn't fly off.

Celia's eyes were like saucers as she held it. 'I've never even touched a Snitch before ... is this the one you caught this afternoon?'

'Yeah. I'll sign it if you like, although I make no promises about my penmanship.' Celia nodded reverently, and they walked together to the table.

Harry and his teammates spent a while signing autographs, and Lara provided souvenir jerseys for everyone. 'There's another surprise,' she announced. 'Harry, do you want to tell them? It was your idea.'

He reddened slightly and told him they could fly around the stadium, either on the same broom as one of the Cannons, or alongside them. The kids were ecstatic—the younger ones wanted to sit with a player, but the Squibs were eager to fly on their own broomstick.

'I've always wanted to fly,' said Celia. 'Toy brooms never worked for me. I remember flying with my parents a few times, when I was little, but they stopped taking me up once they suspected I was a Squib.'

Lara and Hermione handed out broomsticks, and Ryan gave the kids a rudimentary flying lesson. 'If you fly past that platform,' said Lara, pointing into the stands, 'Amanda will take a photograph and we'll send it to you.'

Harry flew with Celia, who needed no prompting to smile when they flew past the camera. 'This is brilliant!' she cried.

'I agree,' said Harry. 'Since I joined the wizarding world, during the hardest times of my life I always felt better while flying. That was one of the things that made my fifth year at Hogwarts so hard, because Dolores Umbridge had banned me from Quidditch and confiscated my broomstick.'

They flew a while longer before Harry noticed nearly all his teammates had landed, so he led Celia towards the ground. 'Typical Seeker behaviour,' said Janet, 'making the rest of us wait around.'

'I agree,' said Darren, with mock disapproval. 'Classic Snitchbottom.'

Some of the kids giggled at the word 'snitchbottom,' prompting Janet to tell the story against Harry's protests. 'But you mustn't tell anyone else,' she cautioned them. 'Especially not reporters, or else he'll never hear the end of it. Do you promise?'

The kids all nodded solemnly, and everyone said their goodbyes. Celia threw her arms around Harry and said, 'I can't thank you enough ... not just for today, but for getting me in touch with WORF. When I wrote to you the first time I felt ashamed afterwards, and I decided you wouldn't write back. Not because I thought you were uncaring, but because you must receive heaps of letters and wouldn't even see mine.'

'I admit I don't read every letter I receive, but I have a secretary, and she makes sure I see the ones that are important. I'm sorry to say that yours wasn't the only letter I received from someone with a difficult home life, but it made a particularly strong impression on me. It wasn't easy when my story came out, but I'm glad if it meant people like you got help sooner than you might have done otherwise.'

As Celia and the other kids were leaving, Fiona approached Harry again. 'I know you've already been thanked a hundred times this afternoon, but here's another one. Thank you for suggesting this, and for actually making it happen. I've only been working for WORF for a year, and I've already lost count of how many times someone promises they'll help but never follows through. But you acted on your idea right away, and I didn't need to worry it was all talk.'

'No, I'm very impetuous,' he said. 'It usually gets me into trouble, so I'm glad when it's occasionally beneficial.'

'There's a lot to be said for action,' she replied. They were both silent for a moment before she added, 'And thanks for offering WORF your broken broomstick. Lara sent me the pieces, and after it's mounted we'll ask you to sign it, if that's all right.'

'It's the least I can do. I'm just glad you have a use for it.'

'We do. In fact, you should owl all your rubbish to WORF on a weekly basis, and we can mine it for potential auction items,' she joked.

Harry chuckled and said, 'I think it's mainly discarded boutonnières and drafts of letters.'

'Well, keep us in mind,' she said warmly.

'Where has your little boy gone?' he asked, looking around.

She pointed to what looked like a small bundle on the pitch. 'He decided he wanted a nap. I don't know how I managed it, but I have the one child in the world who actually likes sleeping, and he'll do it anywhere. But I'll bring him home presently, and it looks like your teammates are going inside.'

'So they are. I guess I'll see you next month, before the WORF auction. You promised me a trip to Gringotts to watch them magically cleanse my eyeglasses.'

'Yes, and it's fascinating,' she said dryly. 'They stick the item on the tray, touch the tray with a little seal, and then it's over. Blink and you'll miss it.'

'That sounds brilliant,' he replied in a low voice. _Oh bugger! _he thought. _I'm trying to charm her! _'Anyway, nice to see you, and I'll be off,' he blurted, and moments later he was walking towards the lockers.

Harry was relieved that Owen was already indoors and hadn't witnessed his exchange with Fiona. _He already warned me to stay away from her, and that was before my trip to the Boudoir_. But at the same time, Harry sensed that Fiona was also interested, and perhaps she should be trusted to make her own decisions.

_There's no rush_, he supposed. _And in the meantime, everyone knows I'm a lecherous cad, so she can't possibly have any illusions about me. _

When he arrived in the locker room, Tuttle was already berating Janet and the Chasers for allowing Ballycastle to outscore the Cannons. 'You're lucky Potter saved your arses and handed us a win.'

'Seekers always save our arses,' grumbled Darren. 'That's the way Quidditch scoring works.'

'That's a load of bollocks and you know it,' replied Tuttle. 'The team is an organism, and when Potter or Rees catches the Snitch, all of you do it. If part of the organism decides to have a lie-in, how to you expect the Seeker to do their job?'

Harry was intrigued by what Tuttle was suggesting. _She's referring to the group energy Ryan mentioned on my first day. It's what I feel during the flying drills. _'She's right,' he interjected. 'Not that you were having a lie-in—that's just Tuttle being Tuttle. But I'm not catching the Snitch on my own. The whole team is doing it, and I can't do it without you.'

He closed his eyes, and within seconds he felt Light magic rip through him. 'Blimey, he's glowing,' said Titus. 'I thought you had it under control—it's been more than a week.'

'Apparently not,' replied Harry, who had opened his eyes and was beaming at the group. 'I really need to talk to Rita Skeeter about this.'

'Have you gone daft?' asked Janet.

'No,' said Ryan. 'He made an arrangement with her. That's why he's only had good press coverage recently.'

'You sneaky bastard!' said Gary. 'You're a Light Slytherin!'

'Shut it, Hogwarts,' retorted Janet. 'Harry, do you need some private time with your wand? I know it's been nearly forty-eight hours since your last polishing.'

'I just love you, all of you,' he proclaimed. 'Tuttle, I'm sorry I interrupted—carry on.'

Tuttle actually appeared flustered. 'Er, I was going to tell Potter his feints were half-hearted and that the Chasers could have used some help, but what's the point?' Shaking her head, she muttered, 'Christ, I thought Bagman had prepared me for everything.'

The meeting dispersed, and Owen approached Harry and asked, 'How did it go with Sheppard?'

'He barely taunted me, and I didn't taunt him at all. It was perfectly friendly, for the most part.'

'Interesting. I was watching you through Omnioculars, and you were clearly having a good time, particularly while flying alone.'

Harry smiled, and he felt his glow increase. 'I pretended my godson's parents were in the stands. I decided they'd disguised themselves as a couple who were holding a sign criticising me, and I kept imagining how they were reacting to the match and passing the time.'

Owen raised his eyebrows and said, 'That's a new one, and apparently it worked. But Tuttle was right—you need to step up the feints.'

'Understood,' replied Harry. He looked at his glowing hands and said, 'I'd hoped to go to the Spyglass this afternoon. Hopefully taking a shower will settle things down.'

'Yeah, but use a Silencing Charm,' said Suresh, who was walking past. 'Nobody needs to hear that.'

'That's not how it works,' said Harry. 'But thanks for the advice.'

After showering, Harry emerged from the locker room in jeans and the floral button-down shirt he'd bought in Paris. Gemma looked at him appraisingly and said, 'That's a bold choice, Toffer. Are you certain you want to wear that to a bar full of raucous fans?'

'I just caught the Snitch,' replied Harry. 'I could probably turn up in a wedding dress and they'd approve. Besides, I've worn this in Muggle settings and nobody's batted an eye.'

Twitching her wand, she said, 'Perhaps it's time for you to add cosmetic charms to your wardrobe. Will you let me put some roses in your cheeks, to match your shirt?'

'No,' said Harry firmly.

'Come on, Toffer. Nobody's going to question your masculinity, or even your sexuality.'

Harry shook his head and grabbed her hand. 'Let's go—we've already kept the fans waiting long enough.' He insisted she go first through the fireplace, and then he waited for half a minute so she'd be the centre of attention a little longer.

When he arrived he almost bumped into her, since she had her head in the fireplace. 'There you are!' she exclaimed. 'I was afraid you'd got lost somewhere along the way.'

He couldn't reply because the fans all started shouting when he emerged. 'Potter! Potter!' they chanted, and he waved as he stepped away from the hearth. Someone shoved an overflowing pint glass at him, and he reflexively held it away from his body, to keep it from spilling on his shirt.

'Flowers!' exclaimed an older wizard. 'Are you sure you're not a poofter?'

'Get with the times, grandad,' scoffed Gemma, and everyone within earshot laughed.

'Yeah, Potter's proven six times over that he's man enough to wear flowers,' chimed a fan, prompting hoots and more laughter.

Some of the reserve players waved Gemma to their table, and Harry joined Darren, Janet, and Ron. They were unable to converse, due to a long series of toasts from the fans, but eventually Janet asked, 'Did you really tell a pair of witches to owl you?'

'Bloody Light magic,' grumbled Harry quietly. 'I need to make it public as soon as possible, so people don't just think I'm a maniac.'

'You make that sound like a bad thing,' observed Darren. 'I, for one, have accepted propositions from fans, and no one thinks the worse of me.'

Janet laughed and said, 'First, yes we do. Second, you aren't anywhere near as visible as Harry is.' Fans started approaching the table, and she handed Ron a notepad and biro. 'Weasley, do us a favour and keep a tally of whether Harry gets approached by more witches or wizards. And make a note of their clothing, body language, etc.'

'So now I'm your secretary?' he scowled.

'My private secretary. My very naughty private secretary,' she said saucily, before leaning over to kiss him.

'Because every league Keeper has an Auror for a private secretary,' remarked Darren.

Janet pulled away from Ron and said, 'Don't forget the Order of Merlin.'

Harry had already begun signing autographs, primarily for witches carrying _Sorceress_ magazine. Some of them found a reason to touch him, and many of them played with their hair or ran a finger or even their tongue across their lips.

'Now's your chance to see how many witches will fit in your bed,' suggested Darren during a brief lull. 'I'm game to join you if you like—we can each take one side, so we won't even have to interact.'

Harry closed his eyes momentarily. 'Not before I talk to Rita Skeeter,' he replied. 'There's no way I'd get through that without glowing.'

'You are definitely preventing the next war, Snitchbottom,' remarked Janet. 'No one is going to be interested in the Dark Arts once they hear what you've been up to.'

The autograph seekers kept coming, and Harry gradually amassed a small pile of Floo addresses, none of which he'd requested. 'Is this the first time you've been here since the _Sorceress _article?' asked Ron.

'Yes, in fact. Are you drawing some conclusion or other?'

'I am. And it involves the prophecy.'

Janet and Darren both snapped to attention. 'Are you about to spill something classified?'

'I don't know. Harry, is the prophecy classified?'

'Not technically,' replied Harry, 'but we always kept it private to protect a certain someone. He knows about it, though—his girlfriend made the connection, But I don't want the press to find out, in case they bother him.'

'Fair enough, but that's only the first section. I was referring to the power bit.'

_The power the Dark Lord knows not_, recalled Harry. 'Yes, I see your point. And I may have to head home soon, in case of another vaccine incident.'

'Do you need a nurse?' asked Darren, looking at a group of young witches. 'There's no shortage here.'

'No, that's a bit indiscreet even for me.' He smiled warmly and added, 'But thanks ... I love you.'

'Code red!' cried Janet. 'Ron, get him out of here.'

Ron grabbed Harry and dragged him towards the fireplace, just as Harry's hands began to glow. Ron threw way too much Floo powder into the flames and practically shoved Harry into the fireplace. 'Grimmauld Place,' said Harry rapturously, and after being whirled through the Floo network he emerged from the fireplace in a blissful heap.

Seconds later, Ron appeared and immediately shielded his eyes. 'Blimey, is it always like this?'

'No, this is incredibly strong. Oh, Ron ... I'm so grateful I met you. Imagine if I'd become friends with Malfoy instead—I'd probably be at Voldemort's feet right now.'

'Instead you're at mine,' smirked Ron, standing over him. 'But I reckon Voldemort would have made you his second-in-command, and you'd chit-chat in Parseltongue about who you were going to torture that evening.'

Harry's glow dimmed, and he sat up. 'How can you talk about torture? This is a thousand times nicer than what Voldemort used to experience. The Dark Arts are the worst.'

'You really felt it, didn't you? Everything he felt.'

Harry nodded soberly, but his glow remained. 'Yeah. It was a weird feeling, being connected that way to another person.'

'Not a person,' corrected Ron. 'Bloody Voldemort.'

'Yeah, but he was a person too. Tom Riddle. I saw what was left of him ... it was ghastly.' Harry looked at his hands, which had dimmed significantly. 'I wanted to help, but at the same time I couldn't even go near him.' Ron seemed puzzled, and Harry said, 'In King's Cross, with Dumbledore.'

'I sometimes forget just how weird your life is,' said Ron.

'Technically speaking, I wasn't alive then. But yeah, it's pretty weird.'

Ron stood up and said, 'I should probably get back to the Spyglass. Will you be all right?'

'Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for getting me out of there.'

After Ron left, Harry went to the kitchen for something to tide him over until dinner with Theo and his mates. _I'm so fortunate_, he thought, and Light magic surged through him again. _If Ron hadn't befriended me, I might have been Sorted into Slytherin and become a completely different person._

He regretted his years of enmity with the Slytherins—Malfoy in particular—but he was hopeful about beginning a new chapter. _Perhaps I needed to develop love first_, he thought, and he decided the way it had happened was completely perfect.


	71. Chapter 71

Harry decided that the floral shirt was a bit much for poker night with Theo's flatmates, so he changed into his Breton jersey and grabbed a jacket in case he was needed to fetch the takeaway. He tossed Floo powder into the grate and said, 'The Workhouse,' which he hoped wasn't a literal description of where Theo lived.

He emerged into a cramped lounge that looked more Muggle than wizarding. The low ceilings had the same textured plaster as Mrs Figg's house, and a small cactus sat atop the television near the window.

'Harry, you're right on time!' said Theo. 'Which means you get a say in what we order for dinner.'

'That was my goal,' admitted Harry, approaching the table where Theo and three other wizards were seated. 'Hi, I'm Harry,' he said, extending his hand.

'You don't say,' replied a young man with unruly brown hair. 'My name's Roy, and let me be the first to welcome you to our very humble abode.'

Harry exchanged greetings with Roy, Martin, and Rupert, all of whom were near his age and worked as apprentices. Theo said, 'Roy and I work at the same Potions shop, Rupert trains magical creatures for an outfit in Yorkshire, and Martin is learning to be a jeweller, which is long on Charms work. Harry, on the other hand, is a right layabout who just faffs around on a broomstick all day.'

'How embarrassing,' said Rupert. 'Although I hear you earned a small fraction of your pay cheque this afternoon by catching the Snitch. Well done!'

'Well done, my arse!' cried Martin. 'I'm a Ballycastle fan, and you knocked us out of the running for the cup!'

'The Bats weren't going to win the cup,' scoffed Roy. 'Not unless the Harpies, Puddlemere, and Montrose all lost from now on. But enough talking—our meal ticket just arrived.'

'You weren't supposed to say that out loud,' chided Martin. 'We were hoping he'd take pity and volunteer to pick up the tab.'

Theo looked apologetically at Harry. 'I'm sorry my flatmates haven't any manners. I've tried to set an example, but I think the opposite has happened and they're dragging me down with them.'

'Poor Lord Nott,' said Roy with mock pity. 'Disinherited and living in this shithole, instead of having a prime suite in Azkaban. He keeps Summoning his house-elf, but no one turns up.'

'I only did that once,' protested Theo. 'And I was seriously rat-arsed.'

'"Nipper! Fetch me a bucket!"' imitated Martin, and everyone laughed, including Harry. 'But have a look at these menus,' he added, indicating the pile on the table. 'I'll eat anything, particularly if it's been deep fried.'

'I'm not fussy either,' replied Harry.

'No, I suppose you wouldn't be,' said Rupert. 'Do you want to just gather mushrooms, maybe catch a fish or two?'

'Only if someone else cooks it,' said Harry. 'Hermione was the one who made things edible.'

'Hang on, you swore under Veritaserum you knew how to cook. So how come Granger got stuck in the kitchen?' asked Roy.

Harry wasn't sure how to answer. He couldn't very well say, _I tried cooking, but I had a vision at the wrong time and burnt myself, so Hermione forbade me._ 'I suppose you won't believe me if I say the answer is classified.'

'Not unless you have more Veritaserum handy,' replied Roy. 'Although Theo brewed gallons of the stuff last month, so maybe he could whip up a batch. In fact, it's possible you drank his handiwork on Tuesday night.'

Rupert sniggered and said, 'I'm pretty sure Potter has never drunk another bloke's handiwork, unless that was the bit they censored.'

'It wasn't,' laughed Harry. 'It involved a Frenchman who hit on me and a certain incriminating detail, which I shan't reveal.'

'Fine, but now you're definitely paying for dinner, including pudding,' said Rupert.

'Will this do for pudding?' asked Harry, pulling a bottle of Firewhisky from his pouch.

'Most decidedly!' cried Martin, who immediately opened it and took a swig. 'So, what's for dinner?'

They decided on Chinese food, including numerous fried items, and to Harry's surprise they ordered by telephone. 'I'm Muggle-born,' explained Rupert, 'so I need a phone to stay in touch with the parentals. It spooks them when I Apparate into the house without ringing first.'

'Rupert inherited this flat from his elder brother,' said Roy. 'And by "inherit" I mean he took over the lease when his brother got a real job and found somewhere decent to live. His brother's not magical, hence the Muggle ambiance,' he added, indicating the television.

'Don't act so high and mighty,' said Rupert. 'You're completely hooked on the ambiance—specifically EastEnders.'

'I like the storylines,' admitted Roy. 'And I've learnt more from six months of EastEnders than I did in five years of Muggle Studies.'

The group exchanged banter until it was time for Harry and Theo to fetch the takeaway. 'Again, sorry about my flatmates,' said Theo as they walked down the stairs. 'None of them attended Hogwarts, and they never learnt proper behaviour. But they're heaps of fun, and they've helped me navigate my new life.'

'Where are we anyway?' asked Harry, looking down the city street.

'Manchester. Although not the wizarding district, obviously. It's an easy Floo path from London, as you probably noticed, and between the four of us the rent is manageable.'

'Don't you have relations you could live with?'

'Yes, on my mother's side, but I prefer some independence. The problem is they expect me to act like a pure-blood gentleman, without the accompanying vault.'

'Trips to France, you mean?'

'Yes, but also who I spend time with. If I were living under their roof, I'd be discouraged from dating half-bloods or hanging out with people like my flatmates—Rupert in particular.' After a pause, he said, 'I assume your last-minute availability this weekend means things are over between you and Miss Travers?'

'I'm afraid so. Her decision, my fault.'

'Yes, I understand you ran into Blaise on Thursday. He wouldn't reveal where he saw you, but if Blaise was there it couldn't have been entirely respectable.'

'That depends on your definition of "respectable." I saw him at Pratt's.'

Theo turned to Harry in surprise. 'Are you a member?'

'No. They invited me to join, and it was my first visit. Have you been?'

'Yes, on my seventeenth birthday. I'd asked my father to allow me to delay my decision about taking the Mark until I was of age. He wasn't pleased—Lucius Malfoy bragged that Draco had already been given the "honour" the previous summer—but Father respected my wish not to take an oath prematurely. And he was far too traditional to deny me a birthday trip to the Boudoir. In fact, I think he hoped it would influence me, since I'd have regular access from then on. But it didn't, and I've never returned ... But what about you? Are you going to join? I didn't know they even offered membership to people our age.'

'They don't normally, but I suspect they had an emergency meeting to see if this might get me to behave like a proper wizard.' Harry said the last word quietly, as they were in public. 'Ironically, behaving properly is what cost me my girlfriend. And no, I don't plan to join.'

'Really? It's rare to turn down a Pratt's invitation, unless you can't afford it.'

'I'll admit I was impressed by how well people get along there, but I also got the sense I'm never going to change anyone's opinion. In other words, they'll either succeed in moulding me into someone I don't want to be, or they'll just pretend to tolerate me when they really think I'm the worthless son of a Mudblood and a middle-class blood traitor.'

Theo chuckled. 'Did Miss Travers teach you that expression?'

'Yes. Are you familiar with it?'

'That's a more genteel variant, but yes. And I see your point about Pratt's, although I'd tell anyone else they were crazy for throwing away the opportunity.'

'Would you join, if you could afford it?' asked Harry.

'Yes, in a heartbeat. My surname is still Nott, and with the right connections I could establish a respectable junior branch of the family. But you don't need Pratt's—you're already the head of two houses, and you couldn't fall into obscurity if you tried.'

They arrived at the restaurant and Harry paid for the food, which they carried away in several bags. As they returned to the flat, Harry asked, 'Why didn't you take the Mark? Clearly you weren't on the fence about it, otherwise a trip to the Boudoir might have pushed you over the edge.'

'No, I'd long since made up my mind. Years earlier, in fact.'

'Really? When?'

'It was after the Triwizard Tournament, when the Dark Lord returned. And yes, I knew you weren't lying, and I apologise for never coming to your defence.'

'That's all right. At least you weren't part of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad.'

'No, but still,' said Theo, trailing off for a moment. 'Anyway, when the Dark Lord returned, he punished my father for not trying to locate him, even though everyone thought he was dead. He said that if my father were loyal, he'd either have devoted his life to finding his Master or he'd have willingly gone to Azkaban. I found this disturbing for multiple reasons. One was that he tortured my father, who was old and didn't bounce back easily. It was months before he stopped twitching, and he had a facial tic for the rest of his life. I was also upset by how casually the Dark Lord had killed Cedric Diggory, who seemed like a model wizard, except perhaps for being in Hufflepuff.'

Harry couldn't help sniggering. 'Poor Hufflepuff. I've come to respect them tremendously, but they'll always feel like a bit of a joke.'

'I know,' said Theo. 'But anyway, I was also concerned that my father was expected to go to Azkaban out of loyalty to someone he believed was dead. That his own life was of such little value that he was supposed to surround himself with Dementors for purely symbolic reasons. I knew what Dementors were like from our third year, and I didn't fancy reliving my worst memories repeatedly just to honour someone who'd died.'

Theo was quiet for a moment, possibly recalling the memory the Dementors had shown him. Harry asked, 'Do you know how to cast a Patronus?'

'No. Do you reckon I'd be able to?'

'I don't see why not. If Snape and Umbridge could cast one, surely you could.'

'Perhaps. Are you proposing to teach me?'

'Not specifically, although come to think of it, a number of people have asked me about that lately,' replied Harry. 'So if I'm following you correctly, it sounds like you didn't entirely expect Voldemort to win, if you thought you might have to go to Azkaban on his behalf. Or have I misunderstood you?'

'No, you're right. I never quite counted you out. I'd already seen you overcome tremendous odds, like with the Basilisk and the Triwizard Tournament. And your first Killing Curse, naturally. The Dark Lord felt very ... out of balance, and you seemed like a necessary correction.'

Harry took a moment to consider Theo's words. 'Do you think we're out of balance in the other direction?' he asked.

'You mean do Light wizards have too much power? Yes, probably. You're clever to try to make amends with Draco now rather than later, because he'll never be willing to talk to you otherwise.'

'Not even at Pratt's?'

'That's hard to picture. He might humour you, but he'll never bend to your will.'

'I'm not asking him to bend to my will,' said Harry. 'I just want bury the hatchet. Neither of us wants another war, but if we're always sniping at each other we'll plant the seeds for one.'

Theo nodded. 'You know what you need to do, right?'

'Yes, his wand. I'll do my best, but it's up to the wand, not me.'

'Have you talked to Ollivander?' asked Theo. 'He won't sell to Draco, of course, but perhaps he could give you advice on convincing the wand to change loyalties.'

'That's not a bad idea,' said Harry, as they arrived at Theo's building.

They were eagerly greeted by Theo's flatmates, who had put away the takeaway menus and set out a stack of non-matching plates and cutlery. 'We use kitchen roll for serviettes,' announced Rupert. 'Harry, I reckon you can handle it, but poor Theo needed counselling the first time he saw it.'

'Yes, I can handle it,' replied Harry, unloading the bags of takeaway. 'The only reason I don't eat the same way is because my house-elf wouldn't allow it.'

'Oh right,' said Martin. 'Let's see this legendary shave he provides.'

'It was hours ago, so you might have trouble detecting it. But he really does a good job.'

'Theo, did Nipper ever shave you?'

'His name is Pippin, and no. I was to receive my own elf when I married, but clearly that's no longer in the cards.'

'Where is Pippin now?' asked Harry, scooping food onto his plate.

'With my cousin. When he became Head of House and took over the manor, the elves were bound to him. He would need to dismiss them before they'd obey me again.'

Harry nodded, recalling how Narcissa had gained control of Kreacher, after Sirius sent him away. 'Where do new house-elves even come from?' he asked.

'Potter, you of all people should know how babies are made,' said Roy. 'And if not, you'll probably have a lot of them by this time next year.'

'I know where babies come from, and how to prevent them. I suggested that condom, didn't I? I just don't know where families get new house-elves when the current one gets too old.'

'It's a bit of a mystery, to be honest,' said Theo. 'I've never witnessed it myself, since house-elves live a long time, but I'm told that they'll surprise you one day by introducing their successor. It's usually a relation—and no, I have no idea where they were living until then. And there might be a long overlap while the senior elf trains them.'

'Where does the senior elf go?' asked Harry.

'That's up to the family. I think mine just gives them clothes once they're too old to work.'

'Are you serious?' gasped Harry. 'That's awful! Except for Dobby, every elf I've met is terrified of being given clothes.'

'News flash, Potter,' said Roy. 'The Notts are evil. Eeee-vil!'

'It's true,' said Theo, 'but I suspect the Blacks were the same.'

'Er, actually, I think the Blacks beheaded them. When I first moved into the house, the staircase was lined with house-elf trophies.'

Rupert spit out his drink from laughter. 'I never fail to be impressed by how civilised pure-blood wizards are. Will you keep up the tradition, then?'

'Half-blood, and no. For one thing, if I tried it, Hermione would sever my head and mount it somewhere.'

They ate dinner quickly, and soon the table was cleared for poker. 'Theo warned you about the stakes, right?' asked Martin.

'Yes, and I won't complain, since this will be my first time playing poker.'

'Really?' exclaimed Roy. 'Is it too late to raise the stakes?'

'Bad idea,' said Theo. 'Harry is the wielder of sheer improbability. He'll probably have five aces in his first hand.'

Harry told them about Kreacher's interference that morning, and everyone agreed that Harry needed to go to a Muggle casino. 'You can start the Apprentices' Support Fund,' suggested Martin. 'I can guarantee we won't enquire too closely about where it came from.'

'I'm not going to a casino,' insisted Harry.

'Then you may as well relinquish House Black,' said Theo. 'You're clearly unworthy.'

The next several hours were fun, as Harry got the hang of playing poker and everyone took swigs from the Firewhisky. He didn't get drunk, but he was definitely relaxed, and the conversation flowed accordingly.

'So Potter, would you be willing to rate your seven partners?' asked Roy.

'Eight,' corrected Harry.

'On Tuesday you said it was seven,' said Roy.

'That was Tuesday,' he replied, and everyone laughed. 'And no, I won't rate them—that would be a gross violation of their privacy.'

'We don't need their names,' said Martin. 'You can just refer to them by colour.'

'They'd all be red,' said Rupert.

'No, only three of them. And one was more of a strawberry blonde. But yeah, I can come up with colours. Let's see ...' He furrowed his brow. 'This isn't easy, actually. The witch from _Sorceress—_er, I mean, "blue,"—was exhausting. And honestly not a very interesting person.'

'Hence all the shagging,' said Roy.

'Exactly. But she knew what she was doing, so I'll give her high marks. This last one, "red," definitely knew what she was doing. "O" for Outstanding, with extra credit.'

'Damn straight she knew what she was doing,' said Theo. 'That was the prostitute, right?'

'You said under Veritaserum you'd never seen a prostitute!' cried Roy.

'That was on Tuesday,' noted Martin. 'Really, try to keep up.'

'Excuse me,' said Harry. 'I have three objections. One: The question wasn't whether I'd been with a prostitute—it was whether I'd paid for sex, which I still haven't done. Two: She was in France, so the correct term is _fille de joie. _Three ... er, what was the third one?' Harry furrowed his brow again. 'I guess it was the Tuesday thing. Carry on!'

'Mate, it's your list,' said Rupert. 'You carry on.'

'Yes, of course! My mistake. Let's see ... green. Lovely. We'd probably be engaged now if she hadn't dumped me.'

'You're not doing a very good job protecting their privacy,' said Theo. 'Clearly that's Ginny Weasley.'

'Untrue!' replied Harry. 'That describes two witches, which is why I've been forbidden to propose to anyone before I'm twenty-one.'

'That makes sense,' said Theo. 'Then how would you describe the other one?'

'Lovely,' sighed Harry. 'In fact that's all I have to say about any of them, except for the exhausting one. Women are brilliant.'

'Then why are you here with us?' asked Rupert. 'I'd have thought Saturday would be your big night out.'

'Because I screwed up with Lydia and decided to take the weekend off. By the way, don't tell anyone about that—for her sake, not mine. My reputation is in a shambles, of course.'

'You're a bloody legend,' said Roy. 'We've had dozens of requests for stamina potions since your article came out.'

'It's not me, it's the Light magic,' replied Harry. 'Well, maybe it's partly me. Ginny trained me, after all.'

'Hang on, what?' exclaimed Theo, sitting up. 'You're a Light wizard?'

'Of course he's a Light wizard,' said Rupert. 'He's Harry fucking Potter.'

'No, you don't get it,' said Theo. 'Harry, are you really a Light wizard?'

'Oops!' said Harry with mock remorse. 'I probably shouldn't have mentioned that. But it's no matter, I can Occlumence the fuck out of anyone who tries. Occlumence ... is that even a word? It should be.'

'I think I'm missing something,' said Roy, and Martin and Rupert nodded.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Actual Light wizards are extremely rare, although I have no idea why because it's easier than falling off a log and I can barely stop myself. Do you want to see?'

'Good lord, no!' cried Theo. 'Light wizards are dangerous as hell. He could probably snap our wands without even trying.'

'Only if you try Dark magic on me. Otherwise you'll just have to shield your eyes a bit.'

'Holy shit, that wasn't Glowpox! You were glowing in public!'

'Guilty as charged. The team covered it up for me, but I'll probably announce it in a week or so.'

Theo shook his head in amazement. 'Sheer improbability! Are you certain you're safe?'

'Yes, Alistair tried Legilimency on me, and so did Lydia's dad. I was able to withstand Voldemort in the end, so there's really no concern.'

Roy said, 'I think I'm speaking for Rupert and Martin when I say, "What the fuck are you talking about?"'

Theo told them what he knew, which matched what Harry had learnt from the book by Jacobus Filch. 'And there's one more thing,' said Theo. 'Apparently Light magic can make you incredibly randy. Which really explains a lot.'

His three flatmates burst into laughter. 'Then what's my excuse?' asked Martin.

'You're nineteen,' said Harry. 'I don't think Light magic explains everything about my behaviour, but it's definitely a factor.'

'Perhaps, but I don't recall you being like this in school,' observed Theo. 'Either you were discreet, which I find hard to believe, or you hardly dated anyone besides Ginny Weasley.'

'The latter. And I wasn't like this in school—I was way too preoccupied with fighting Voldemort.'

'Were you a Light wizard back then?' asked Theo.

'No, I didn't start glowing until last month, when I was in Paris. But a lot of what happened during the war can only be explained by Light magic, including aspects of how I finally defeated Voldemort.'

'The war might have ended sooner if you'd been a mature Light wizard by then, or even an immature one. Father taught me to Apparate when I was fifteen—laws be damned—just in case I ever saw a wizard start glowing. In fact, he warned me specifically about you, Harry.'

'What can I say? I'm a bloody menace. But seriously, it's harmless unless you try to attack me—I'll show you.'

Theo's flatmates were keen to see it, and Theo nodded cautiously. 'All right, go ahead.'

Harry closed his eyes and allowed the bliss to rise within him. When he opened his eyes, his face relaxed and he knew he was glowing. 'Ta da!'

'Thank Merlin Draco doesn't have a decent wand,' said Theo. 'Otherwise he might die tomorrow.'

'Is he planning to curse me?' asked Harry, concerned.

'Not that I'm aware of, but he's already furious at you, and there's no telling what he'll do if he loses his temper.'

'Would it help if I told him and Narcissa about the Light magic straight away? I was considering warning them.'

'Definitely tell them before you give Draco his old wand. Sweet Salazar—he's probably die if he tried using it on you, if you were still its master.'

'That's a good point, and I'd hate for that to happen.' Harry closed his eyes again and he felt the Light magic grow stronger.

'Er, I feel like I'm invading your privacy,' said Rupert. 'Does Light magic feel like it looks?'

'I don't know what it looks like,' replied Harry, 'but it feels fantastic.'

'Why haven't I heard of this?Actually, I know why I haven't heard of it, but why haven't Roy or Martin heard of it?'

'It's seldom taught,' explained Harry. 'Apparently it's harder to learn than the Dark Arts, because it relies on positive emotions rather than negative ones.'

Martin sighed. 'That is a seriously depressing statement about humanity.'

'But it used to be more common,' said Harry. 'Hermione reckons it'll become more popular as soon as I go public, so my teacher asked me to wait until she could warn her colleagues about the anticipated demand.'

'There'll be demand all right—they just need to run a photograph of you looking like this,' said Roy. 'Although it might be more appropriate for _Sorceress _magazine_._'

'Can you prevent it?' asked Theo. 'Or is it still accidental?'

'I can kind of prevent it, but not always. Ron had to rush me out of the pub this afternoon, after the match.'

'There's going to be mayhem when you go public,' said Theo.

'Do you reckon the bookmakers are offering odds on this?' asked Roy. 'We could pool our resources and establish our own Apprentices' Support Fund.'

'I'm going to pretend I never heard that,' said Harry. He allowed his glow to dim, and they resumed playing poker a while longer.

'Father would be spinning in his grave if he knew I was casually talking about Light magic with a glowing Harry Potter,' said Theo.

'I have no idea how my father would react, but Sirius would be gobsmacked as well.'

'I'm a bit gobsmacked myself,' said Rupert. 'Once again, Theo has exposed me to a whole new world.'

'Yes, Prince Pure-Blood has certainly earned his keep tonight,' said Roy.

After the next hand, Harry pushed back from the table and said, 'I'm out. I've lost almost five Sickles, so I'd better call it a night.' He thanked Theo and told the others he'd enjoyed meeting them.

'Likewise,' said Rupert. 'I have to say, Potter, you give egomaniacal toffs a good name.'

'Cheers,' laughed Harry, and after saying goodbye he returned to Grimmauld Place. He arrived in the formal reception room, and when he passed through the entrance hall he saw that Padfoot was also playing poker. His companions included a mastiff, some kind of terrier, the fluffy lapdog Harry had seen before, and, oddly, a Hippogriff. Harry chuckled and tossed in enough treats for everyone, including the Hippogriff, and went upstairs to bed.

When he arose the next morning, he showered and summoned Kreacher for his shave. _Kreacher! _he called silently.

He expected the elf to respond mentally, but instead the he appeared with a loud _crack_ and immediately threw his arms around Harry's legs. 'Master is most kind!' he cried. 'Master has punished Kreacher perfectly! Kreacher was very disobedient, and his punishment was most severe.'

Harry was unsure how to interpret this. _Does this mean Kreacher loved or hated working for Molly all day?_ 'Did Mrs Weasley treat you all right?'

'The Red Lady was as demanding as Mistress! Kreacher cleaned the chicken coop and banished garden gnomes and reinforced the house charms and wrestled a ghoul ...'

'You wrestled the ghoul?' exclaimed Harry.

'Yes! And Kreacher hung wallpaper and transfigured the sofa and repaired the china, and the Red Lady said she has even more tasks for the next time Kreacher is naughty and needs to be punished.'

Following a hunch, Harry asked, 'Do you think you were punished sufficiently? You were awfully disobedient yesterday.'

'Master is right. Kreacher was the worst of all elves. Kreacher deserves more punishment.'

'Can it wait until after breakfast, or should I cook for myself?'

Kreacher's eyes shot open in alarm. 'Master mustn't cook his own breakfast two days in a row! Bad, bad Kreacher!'

'Point taken. Just shave me, make breakfast, and then start your punishment with Mrs Weasley.'

'Yes, Master!' cried the elf gleefully before Apparating loudly from the floor to the bathroom counter.

After dressing and eating breakfast, Harry spent several hours replying to fan mail. _Who would have suspected that the most applicable skill I'd learn at Hogwarts would be how to write for hours without developing a cramp?_ he mused. It was disquieting to realise that his detentions with Gilderoy Lockhart and Dolores Umbridge had been particularly helpful.

Before noon, he went upstairs and found the Mokeskin pouch he wore during the final year of the war and retrieved Draco Malfoy's wand. He waved it a few times, and although it felt different to his holly and phoenix feather wand, it was undeniably friendly. Harry cast a charm to tie the shoelaces on his Doc Martens, and the wand worked perfectly. _Hopefully Ollivander will have some advice,_ he thought, as he tucked it into his current pouch.

Ollivander's shop looked the same from the outside as when Harry had first visited on his eleventh birthday, with a single wand lying atop a faded cushion in the window. But the interior was different, due to the relative lack of wands. Before the war, the walls had been lined with thousands of narrow boxes, stacked from floor to ceiling. But now there were several hundred at most, and Harry could see Ollivander in the back room, standing over a younger wizard at a workbench.

Harry had to wait several minutes for Ollivander to acknowledge him, even though a bell had rung when he walked through the door. _I suppose there's not much competition_, he thought, _so he doesn't exactly need to fall over customers._

'Mr Potter,' said the wandmaker, inclining his head. 'To what do I owe this visit? I trust your wand is working well?'

'Yes,' replied Harry, passing Ollivander his holly wand. 'It's worked perfectly ever since I repaired it with the Elder Wand.'

Ollivander's face clouded. 'The wand you destroyed. I'd hoped it wasn't true, but your broadcast on Tuesday removed all doubt.'

'I couldn't allow it to stay in existence—it was too dangerous. There's no good reason for anyone to own a wand that powerful.'

'That is a matter of opinion, Mr Potter, but what's done is done,' replied Ollivander, handing back Harry's wand. But then his expression softened and he said, 'It's always a pleasure to see you. Please accept my congratulations on your ongoing winning streak with the Chudley Cannons. I can think of no one more deserving.'

'Cheers, that's very kind. And I'm glad to see you in such good health.'

'Thank you, although my stock of wands is still severely diminished,' he said, gesturing towards the bare walls. 'Now that the school term has begun, my apprentice and I are once again at leisure to craft wands, but it will be years before I'm able to replace what those swines stole.'

'Do you have any idea what happened to all of them?'

'I'm told that the shop was picked clean within hours of my abduction, and that the black market was flooded. Several wizards of my acquaintance showed me wands they purchased overseas from other vendors, and I recognised them at once as my own handiwork.' With a sigh, he said, 'But I mustn't complain. The wand always chooses the wizard, and who am I to say that the wizard is always British? Perhaps those wands chose to disperse in search of their true masters.'

'That's a good way to look at it,' said Harry. 'I actually have a question along those lines.' He pulled Draco's wand from his pouch and handed it to Ollivander.

'Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. I sold this wand to Draco Malfoy.' The wandmaker's voice hardened when he said, 'Malfoy.'

'Yes, although it answers to me now, as you may recall. I'm here because I'd like to give it back to Draco, and I'm wondering how I might persuade it to change its allegiance.'

Ollivander closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'Obviously disarming is out of the question.'

'Correct. But is there a way for me to voluntarily release it back to its original master?'

He narrowed his eyes. 'Are you certain you want to? I'm asking not just for obvious reasons, but also because that will be essential to a successful transfer.'

_That's a good question_, thought Harry. _Do I want Draco to have his wand back? _'I'm told he still doesn't have a decent wand, although he'll undoubtedly buy one as soon as he's free to travel abroad,' he replied. 'I also know he'll be very powerful politically someday, and that this is my best opportunity to make peace with him.'

'Is that what you want?'

'If it means preventing the next war, then yes, I want that more than anything.'

'That's a tall order, even for you, Mr Potter. Wars have deep roots, and it's rare for one individual to be able to prevent one.'

Harry felt a flash of his obnoxious Seeker persona. 'It's also rare to survive the Killing Curse,' he said simply.

Ollivander looked taken aback. 'Indeed. Then you must tell your wand—the hawthorn wand—that you wish for it to return to Mr Malfoy.' He lowered his voice and added, 'You might also share your other wish with it.'

'You mean tell it I don't want it to start a war?'

'Wands don't start wars—wizards do. As you well know ... the brother to your holly wand was wielded by such a wizard.'

'So what are you saying?' asked Harry. 'What am I supposed to tell Draco's wand?'

'Your wand,' corrected Ollivander. 'Only you, as its master, can decide what to say and how to say it.'

'Should I do it now?' asked Harry. 'I'll be seeing Draco in a few hours.'

'No, it must be done in his presence.'

Harry was sceptical. 'Are you proposing I stand in front of Draco and tell his wand not to perform Dark magic? I might as well snap it right in front of him.'

'Are you capable only of spoken communication?'

This time Harry closed his eyes. 'No. There are other ways to communicate.' He felt the energy that normally resided in his torso automatically flow into his wand hand, and he knew what he needed to do.

When Harry opened his eyes again, the wandmaker nodded. 'If I may be so bold, I recommend you let him try using the wand before you issue your instructions. There's a lot to be said for showmanship,' he said, and beams of rainbow light shot from the end of the hawthorn wand.

He handed it back to Harry, who said, 'Thanks for the advice. I'm glad I came.'

'Likewise.' In a lower voice, the wandmaker asked, 'Do you still have the pieces?'

'Of the Elder Wand, you mean?'

He replied almost hungrily. 'Yes.'

'I do. In fact, what do you suggest I do with them? It crossed my mind to donate them to the Museum of Broken Wands,' began Harry, but Ollivander quickly shook his head.

'No, you mustn't. If you truly want to prevent a wand that powerful from falling into wizard hands, you should keep it far from any wandmaker. Even myself.'

'Should I destroy it then?'

Ollivander shook his head more emphatically than before. 'Pass the pieces to your descendants, separately. If you have a daughter, give one half to her in the hope it wanders into another family, and so forth. The two halves will call to each other, but as its final master you can insist they remain apart. Yet it will unite your descendants regardless.'

_That is seriously cool! _thought Harry, but he only nodded. 'Thank you, and goodbye,' he said, sliding the hawthorn wand into his pouch.

'Until next time, Mr Potter.'

Harry left and popped into a nearby deli, where he bought a sandwich to take away. While waiting for them to prepare it, Harry refrained from casting a privacy charm and instead sat down and pulled out his copy of _Great Expectations._ He knew it was a bit unfriendly to have his nose in a book, but at least he wouldn't look through anyone.

Reading was futile, since several people asked him why he had a Muggle novel, but his sandwich was ready quickly and he was able to leave. He returned home and read as he ate, mostly to distract himself from thinking about his afternoon with the Malfoys. He was to arrive with Andromeda at two, and he had no idea what to expect.

_Plenty of people know I'm going there, so Draco probably won't murder me_, he thought. _And even though Kreacher is busy, he'll undoubtedly drop everything if I need rescuing. _And Harry knew that in a pinch his Light magic would probably protect him.

After eating he changed into robes. He'd decided to wear the daytime robes Thimble had modelled after the portrait of Robert de Montesquiou, suspecting they might be a conversation piece. Harry had a feeling that Draco was a burgeoning dandy and that robes might be a safe topic, as they'd been with Charles Selwyn.

He slid a boutonnière into his lapel and went downstairs to wait for Andromeda. He was holding the bouquet he'd ordered for Narcissa, and Andromeda nodded approvingly when she stepped from the fireplace. 'Good afternoon, Harry,' she said warmly. 'At least you look impeccable, if nothing else. And those are lovely flowers.'

'Cheers,' he replied, and he led her to the sitting room.

'Is Lydia gone?' she asked, peering upstairs.

'Yes, and we're no longer seeing each other. I don't anticipate any more news items about us.'

'That's fortunate. Are there any upcoming scandals I should know about?'

'I wouldn't describe this as a scandal, but I'm preparing to reveal that I'm a Light wizard.'

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. 'I assume you aren't using the term in the general sense.'

'No. I've been experiencing accidental Light magic for several weeks, and I've found a teacher. Normally I wouldn't announce it, but I have a tendency to glow spontaneously, so it's likely to come out regardless.'

'Will you be at risk once it's public?'

'Not at all. I've been tested by several master Legilimens and they couldn't make a dent.'

'Impressive.' She smiled slightly and said, 'Do you suppose this might salvage your reputation?'

'It might do, but I wouldn't count on it. I should warn you, though, that I'm planning to tell Narcissa and Draco this afternoon.'

She nodded. 'I can think of several reasons, but what's yours?'

'To protect Draco, in case he attempts an attack.'

'He doesn't have a decent wand.' replied Andromeda, and Harry told her his other plan for the afternoon.

'I must say, you've surprised me—in a good way. Giving him a wand is probably the only way you can salvage the situation.'

Harry chuckled and said, 'That's the second time you've used the word "salvage" in reference to me.'

'I suppose it is,' she acknowledged, before telling him what to expect that afternoon. 'According to Narcissa, we'll have tea in the drawing room, and then Draco will invite you to his study for private conversation.'

'Really? Did she say what I should expect?'

'No, but I get the impression she's nervous. None of us wants another war, or whatever else might result if you and Draco can't find common ground. And she sees just as clearly as we do that there's only a short window for you to make amends. Unfortunately you're both nineteen and hot-headed, and neither of you is likely to make concessions.'

'What kind of concessions would I make, other than to apologise for the Patronus and give him his wand?' asked Harry irritably.

'I'm certain there are any number of concessions he'd like, starting with a blanket apology for every time you've slighted him all the way up to relinquishing your claim on House Black.'

'That's not going to happen. Sirius specifically asked me–'

'I know,' interrupted Andromeda. 'But Sirius was all but disinherited. I still don't know why the family magic chose you instead of Draco.'

'I don't know either,' replied Harry. 'But it did, and here we are.'

'Do you expect any concessions from Draco?' she asked.

Harry took a moment to consider her question. 'He doesn't need to like me, although we have several mutual friends at this point. I hope he'll accept that I'm head of House Black, and not raise too big a stink if I change my name.'

'If you change your name? I thought you'd already decided.'

'I did, but I'd like to involve the recovered branches.' He told her what Blaise had pointed out about the Harry Potter show, and Andromeda was again impressed.

'I'm starting to almost feel optimistic about this afternoon. Was Lydia the good influence?'

'Perhaps,' he replied, without elaborating, and Andromeda looked at the clock.

'We should leave soon,' she said. 'I've been instructed to bring you by Side-Along. Where can we Apparate from?'

'From the back garden,' he said, leading her there. 'Was that Draco's idea?'

'I don't know, but it's certainly the most impressive point of entry. Although that can be said of any room in Malfoy Manor.'

'Not the cellar,' he grumbled.

'Harry, I thought you'd improved,' she scolded. 'Don't make me revise my opinion.'

'Yes, I'm sorry.' They walked outside and he added, 'Just give me a moment to clear my head.' She nodded, and Harry closed his eyes and expanded into broad awareness. _You're safe. Hermione and Ron are safe. Bellatrix, Greyback, and Voldemort are all dead. It's just a house._ 'All right,' he said, reaching for her hand.

Andromeda Apparated them to the front gates of Malfoy Manor, and they walked up the drive towards the house. Several albino peacocks strutted a short distance away, atop the hedge, and Harry felt his heart race. _You're safe. Hermione and Ron are safe. The war is over. It's just a house._

He'd never seen Malfoy Manor by day, and it was impressive. _Why is Draco so bent out of shape about not inheriting from the Blacks? _he wondered. Malfoy Manor was far grander than Grimmauld Place and infinitely less dreary, although Harry much preferred his own house.

When they approached the enormous front door a tasselled cord lowered, and Andromeda pulled on it. The cord withdrew, and within seconds a neatly-dressed house-elf opened the door. She wore a starched tea towel with a green and black crest in which the letter M was flanked by two silhouetted dragons. 'Good afternoon, Miss Andromeda, Mr Potter,' said the elf with a curtsey. 'Please come in.'

Andromeda entered first, and Harry took a deep breath as he followed her. _It's like Claridge's_, he thought, and even though the memory of Lydia was painful, it wasn't unsettling. They followed the elf through the sumptuously decorated hallway and Harry did his best to ignore the portraits, who were clearly whispering about him. _At least they won't criticise me for being aloof_, he mused.

The elf led them to a heavy-looking door, which opened automatically and revealed a vast, sunlit drawing room. Harry couldn't help looking up at the two chandeliers, and he noted that the one Dobby had crashed had been fully restored.

'Welcome,' said Narcissa, gliding towards them. She air-kissed her sister before turning to Harry and accepting his bouquet. 'Thank you, Harry, these are lovely. Nitta, put these in water,' she instructed the elf, who took the flowers and vanished.

'Thank you for inviting me,' said Harry, looking around the room and not seeing Draco.

'You're wondering where Draco is,' she remarked. 'He'll be along presently. But please, have a seat.'

Narcissa led them to a sofa and several chairs, and Harry tried to decide where Draco was least likely to sit. _I don't need to start by usurping his favourite spot,_ he thought. Noticing his hesitation, Narcissa tacitly indicated a straight-backed, upholstered chair.

Andromeda and Narcissa spoke cordially to each other while Harry acclimated to his surroundings. _This is all right,_ he thought, _but where's Draco?_ _Surely he isn't busy. _Harry suspected Draco was deliberately making him wait, which he understood. _I can't blame him for wanting to make the most of his home advantage._

Narcissa asked, 'Have you corresponded any further with the other branches of the family?'

'I've exchanged several letters with them,' replied Andromeda, and she looked meaningfully at Harry.

'I'm afraid I haven't—not since my initial letter. But now that we've heard from all of them, I'd like to meet them in person and try to build a relationship. I don't feel comfortable being the sole bearer of the Black surname, so I'm hoping they'll come forward as well.'

Narcissa raised a single eyebrow in a way that recalled her sister. 'Does this mean you're not changing your name immediately?'

'That's right. Although at this point, hardly anyone will be surprised when I do.'

'Perhaps not, but that doesn't mean you need to rush into things. The Blacks were once considered a highly deliberate and strategic family, although Sirius and Bellatrix were clearly exceptions to the rule.'

'Nobody will ever describe me as deliberate,' said Harry, 'but I'd like to become more strategic, where it's beneficial.'

Nitta, the house-elf, returned with a laden tea trolley, which included a vase containing Harry's flowers. Narcissa said, 'I'm grateful you didn't bring narcissi, as so many visitors do. To my mind they're appropriate only in spring.'

'I feel the same way about spring flowers,' replied Harry. 'Although I'll never refuse lilies of the valley.'

'I'm fond of them too,' she said. 'Your behaviour may be appalling, but I can't fault your taste.'

'I'm glad we've found common ground. I only hope Draco and I can do the same.'

'As do I.'

She asked Harry how he took his tea, and he was tempted to horrify her by asking for six lumps of sugar and a splash of Ribena, but he just asked for the usual milk. Narcissa resumed her conversation with Andromeda while Harry sipped his tea and ate several biscuits.

'Draco, there you are,' announced Narcissa, looking up. Harry rose and turned towards him, unsure how to proceed. He felt himself expand automatically into awareness, which he recognised as a form of self-defence. _What am I so afraid of? _he wondered, but he was unable to release the feeling.

The only sound in the room was Draco's sharp footsteps as he approached. Harry noted his fitted robes, which were as elegant as anything Lucius had worn. But there were no flowers in his lapel, which Harry knew was as clear a message as his old 'POTTER STINKS' badge.

'Malfoy,' said Harry, extending his hand. 'I'm glad to see you.'

'Potter,' replied Draco coolly. He shook Harry's hand lightly, according to custom, but Draco's eyes bore into his own so strongly that Harry felt his Occlumency shields rise. Draco sat in an armchair, never looking away. 'How nice of you to make time to visit,' he drawled. 'I know you're terribly busy.'

'I am busy,' said Harry as he sat down, still fending off Draco's mental attack. 'But it's high time I came to see you, for multiple reasons.' He felt prods on all sides of his head, including a sharp one behind his scar, but he never lowered his gaze. _I want to prevent the next war_, he thought, deliberately allowing the message to escape his otherwise impenetrable shields.

'That's only one reason,' said Draco, not even pretending Harry had said it aloud.

'Can you name a better one?' asked Harry.

'It all depends on how you'd like to accomplish it,' said Draco. 'If you're inviting me to join your fan club, I'm not interested.'

'That isn't what I want. I'm looking for common ground.'

'Yes ... I understand we're fifth cousins once removed. No wonder we're so alike—it's like looking in a mirror.'

'Draco,' began Harry, unsure how to continue.

'Oh? Are we on first-name terms? How could I have forgotten?'

'Draco,' admonished Andromeda. 'Harry's making a sincere effort.'

'Yes, Aunt Dromeda—you're right. And we have so few relations on that side, thanks to my insane Aunt Bella and his equally insane godfather. Although apparently Potter dredged up some new ones, by way of a Squib and a blood traitor.'

Draco had briefly turned away from Harry to address Andromeda, and when he turned back he didn't bother resuming his attempt at Legilimency. 'What were you hoping to find?' asked Harry.

'Proof that you haven't changed,' said Draco. 'Because you haven't, except that you've finally mastered Occlumency. Snape used to say you had the weakest mind he'd ever encountered.'

'Did it ever occur to him he was a lousy teacher?' snapped Harry.

'Harry,' said Andromeda firmly, 'remember what we talked about.'

'We talked about a lot of things,' he scowled. 'Was it the part about how Draco and I are both hot-headed nineteen-year-olds, or that I should tell them I'm a Light wizard?'

Harry hadn't realised Draco could turn paler, and Narcissa reflexively extended her hand as if to protect him. 'Sweet Circe!' she exclaimed in terror. 'I should have known that wasn't Glowpox! I beg you, don't hurt him.'

'I don't want to hurt anyone. No true Light wizard does. The reason I'm telling you is in order not to hurt him, because I can't control it yet.'

'Then why did you even leave the house?' rasped Narcissa. 'Draco, for Merlin's sake, get out of here!'

Draco was still frozen, and Harry said, 'It's been happening for weeks, and I haven't hurt anyone—Theo Nott saw me glowing last night and he's fine. The only way Draco might get hurt would be if he attempted Dark magic, which is why I'm telling you all this.'

Narcissa still looked worried, and she hadn't lowered her arm. Harry added, 'Did I hurt him just now when he assaulted me with full-strength Legilimency?'

Mother and son both relaxed. 'No, you're right,' said Narcissa. 'Are you at least learning to control it?'

'I found someone who can teach me—our first proper lesson will be tomorrow night. And I can usually prevent it, although not always. That's why I'm planning to announce it soon, since it's bound to come out anyway. And frankly I'd like to promote the Light Arts, because they're bloody brilliant.'

'Harry, language!' scolded Andromeda, which actually caused Draco to snigger.

'I'm sorry, I meant to say they're perfectly delightful. Positively spiffing!'

Andromeda glared at him and said nothing.

'This is your plan then,' said Narcissa resignedly. 'To call yourself Harry Potter-Black and openly practise the Light Arts.'

'I'll never practise the Dark Arts, if that's what you're suggesting.'

'Oh really?' exclaimed Draco. 'So the scars you gave me are only in my imagination?' He rolled his eyes and added, 'I always knew you were a hypocrite, Potter.'

'I didn't say I've never performed Dark magic, but I'll never do it again, even if it costs my life.'

'Easy for you to say, when you're impossible to kill,' said Draco. 'Does the Ministry know you've performed Dark magic?'

'Yes, I gave full testimony before a private tribunal, which exonerated me.'

Draco rolled his eyes again. 'They'd exonerate you for anything, Potter. You could burn down a Muggle hospital and seal the doors to prevent escape, and they'd award you another Order of Merlin.'

'Draco,' said Narcissa gently, 'this isn't helping.'

'Oh right,' said Draco. 'Our list of demands. Mother, what order did we decide on?'

Narcissa looked as if she wished there were something stronger in her cup than tea. 'I'd hoped to raise the topic more gracefully, but my son has once again caused me to question the Sorting Hat's decision to place him in Slytherin.' After glaring at Draco she turned to Harry with a much milder expression. 'Lucius,' she said simply. 'Currently he's ineligible for parole, but I'm told that with your influence the DMLE would consider revisiting his case after ten years.'

Harry recalled Lucius's trial the previous summer, and how his harsh sentence had come as a surprise to many onlookers. He was widely expected to escape punishment, particularly since he hadn't participated in the Battle of Hogwarts. But the DMLE barristers convincingly argued that Lucius had materially abetted Voldemort for years and had Imperiused multiple victims, including high-ranking Ministry officials. Furthermore, Harry testified privately against him, specifically about his role in opening the Chamber of Secrets. His deposition had been kept secret both to protect Ginny and to reduce the risk of anyone learning about the Horcruxes, but a redacted summary was provided to the court.

'No,' replied Harry. 'I can't in good conscience allow Lucius to go free, ever. He's too fond of tormenting Muggles, as you well know, and he'll never give up his views on blood purity.'

'But he rejected the Dark Lord,' said Narcissa.

'Because the Dark Lord rejected him,' countered Harry. 'We all know that the only reason Lucius soured on Voldemort was because your family fell out of favour. And I'm sure you recall how eager he was to turn me in when I was held captive here, to get back into Voldemort's good graces. Whereas Draco lied about recognising me, which is why I testified on his behalf and kept him out of Azkaban.'

Draco suddenly drained his teacup. 'I need a refill,' he declared, handing his mother the empty cup. 'Pansy and I devised a drinking game for today's get-together, and Potter just mentioned how he kept me out of Azkaban, which we decided was worth a full bottoms-up. But Mother, could you provide something a bit stronger than tea this time around?'

Narcissa glared again at Draco and poured him another cup of tea. 'Harry, I can see you're intractable on the subject of Lucius,' she sighed. 'What about Draco's sentence?'

Harry was taken aback. 'Draco received two years of house arrest in spite of taking the Dark Mark and conspiring to kill Dumbledore, which involved Imperiusing Madam Rosmerta and nearly killing Katie Bell. I doubt I could reduce his sentence any further.'

'You underestimate your influence,' she replied.

He was tempted to point out that he'd exhausted his influence keeping Draco out of Azkaban, but Draco's tea looked hot and Harry didn't want to scald him. 'I can try, but if they ask me to explain why I think his sentence should be reduced or commuted, I don't know what I'd say. So far this afternoon he's been consistently hostile and tried Legilimency on me.'

'So I do need to sign up for your fan club!' exclaimed Draco. 'Let's see ... thanks ever so much for sending your Patronus to the Manor last month!' he said brightly. 'I was so disappointed not to see it in person after you punched Andrew Gilstrap and had to beg Granger to protect your abusive Muggle relations.'

Harry was having trouble remembering why he wanted to make amends with Malfoy. _Oh right, to prevent the next war. _'I'm sorry I sent you my Patronus. That was inexcusable, and all I can say in my defence is that I told George and Lee I wouldn't do it again.'

Draco surprised Harry by relaxing his scowl. 'Thank you,' he said simply.

Narcissa and Andromeda both exhaled audibly. 'Harry, is there anything you'd like to request?' said Andromeda. 'We seem to be in full negotiations at this point.'

'Draco, I want to make amends, and not spend the rest of our lives sniping at each other. I don't necessarily expect us to become mates, although I'm on good terms now with Theo, Blaise, and Daphne. But I'd like to put our experience as child soldiers behind us. That's what we were, you know.'

Draco seemed to be mulling over Harry's statement. 'You've taken over House Black,' he said. 'You're barely even related to them.'

'Sirius is the only father I remember. And for whatever reason, the house magic chose me. Do you deny it?'

'No,' replied Draco. 'I don't.'

'It's been pointed out to me that I've been disrespectful towards House Black, and I acknowledge that. Unfortunately I can't change the past, but I'd like to do better going forward.'

'I have a suggestion,' said Narcissa. She levelled her gaze at Harry and said, 'Destroy Walburga's portrait.'

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. 'I might have agreed to that a few days ago, but I won't now. I spoke yesterday to some people who've suffered their entire lives from prejudice, and they said what a difference it made to hear the same insults from Walburga. She made them realise just how illogical and small-minded those prejudices were, and they recommended their mates visit her as well.' He shook his head and added, 'I'd never have thought it possible, but she's doing good in the world. So, no, I won't destroy her.'

Narcissa sighed. 'Then how do you propose to raise the family's standing, other than changing your name and announcing you're a Light wizard? Do you plan to rebuild the family fortune? Particularly now that you've halved it,' she added, with a glance at Andromeda.

'I have no intention of touching the Black vault for anything major,' he said. 'My plan is to let one of my sons take the name, assuming I have sons, and pass the legacy to him.'

'So you won't replenish it?'

'I can talk to Gringotts about investments if you like, but if you're referring to the usual ways Dark families build their fortunes, then no.'

'You don't need to steal,' said Narcissa. 'Given the size of the Muggle population, even a simple magically-enhanced enterprise can yield huge returns.'

'As long as I bribe the right officials, you mean?'

'That's how business is done,' replied Narcissa. 'You have a responsibility to the family.'

_Don't let her find out about Ron's casino scheme, _he thought. 'I won't break the law or bribe anyone. But I'll make an appointment at Gringotts and see what they recommend. I get along very well with the goblins now, oddly enough.'

Andromeda nodded. 'Harry, this is the one situation where I'd advise you to act like a Gryffindor. You can afford to take risks.'

'Understood.'

'Is that settled then?' asked Draco. 'Have you agreed to use your uncanny good luck to enrich House Black?'

'Apparently,' replied Harry.

'Unbelievable! We've actually agreed on something. Potter, shall we celebrate in the study with something a bit stronger?'

Harry glanced at Andromeda, who nodded. 'Yes, thank you,' said Harry, rising. 'Narcissa, I appreciate your candour, and I'm hopeful we can maintain a good relationship.'

Narcissa responded with something resembling warmth, and the sisters extended their wishes that he and Draco have a good time together. _I'll settle for both of us emerging alive,_ thought Harry, and he followed Draco from the room.


	72. Chapter 72

As Harry accompanied Draco to the study, he reflected on the first half of his visit. _I hadn't anticipated they'd ask me to reduce anyone's sentence, although I should have done. _He was relieved he'd stood firm about Lucius, but he hadn't categorically refused to help Draco. _What difference will it make if he's free from house arrest a few months earlier? _thought Harry, although he remained sceptical he had that kind of influence.

He was relieved he hadn't needed to mention Draco's wand in the drawing room. Harry was nervous about communicating with the hawthorn wand, and he didn't fancy having a larger audience than necessary. He also hoped Draco might be less hostile in private, since in his current state Harry was uncertain whether he could willingly ask the wand to change loyalties.

The walk to Draco's study seemed improbably long, but they finally arrived and Draco opened the door. 'After you, Potter,' he said quickly, chivvying Harry inside.

Harry's throat clenched shut and his heart started pounding. _Sirius! _he thought wildly, and he tried to race towards it, but his legs wouldn't move. A ragged black curtain fluttered in a stone archway, and Harry was suddenly drenched in sweat. His trembling hands pulled at his cravat, and he thought, _What's the point? I'm going to die._

All he could do was sink to the floor. _Expand into awareness_, Owen told him, but the words made no sense. Harry felt pinprick-small, his eyes still locked on the black fabric within the stone window frame. _It's all my fault, _he knew with certainty, and he was more alone than ever. Nothing else existed—just the tattered curtain and his own incalculable loss.

After what might have been thirty seconds—or an hour—Harry gasped, 'Hermione,' in a voice he could barely hear.

'Granger can't help you.'

Harry looked up and saw Lucius Malfoy, and in a panic he looked for Bellatrix. _Hang on, that's not Lucius,_ he thought. _And Bellatrix is dead. And so is Sirius,_ he recalled, and choking sobs overtook him.

_Kreacher,_ he called mutely. _Help me._

The house-elf appeared in his mind with a _pop. Master! _he cried. _Is Master all right?_

_No,_ replied Harry mentally. _Come help me._

Harry couldn't understand why Kreacher was taking so long. _Where are you? _he thought hopelessly, still heaving with sobs.

_Kreacher cannot come,_ replied the elf despondently. _The house stops him._

_I love you,_ thought Harry, and his sobs were replaced by smoothly-flowing tears.

'Nitta,' called Draco, 'fetch Potter a Calming Draught.'

Harry looked up and slowly remembered where he was. _I'm in Malfoy's study. Andromeda is in the drawing room. _His head turned towards the door, which was still open behind them. The house-elf appeared with a phial on a silver tray, which she set on the floor, and Draco said, 'You can change the window back to normal.'

'Yes, Master Draco,' replied Nitta, and in an instant the black, fluttering curtain was replaced by a diamond-paned window overlooking a vast, manicured lawn. The stone archway became smooth walnut, matching the rest of the study.

Harry looked dumbly at the phial. 'It's not poison,' said Draco. 'I'm not stupid enough to try to kill the Saviour of the Wizarding World—although I was arguably taking a risk you'd knock me out with your Light magic. But it was worth it.'

His hands still trembling, Harry reached for the phial and opened it. He turned again to Draco, who nodded. 'Just take it, Potter. It's a Calming Draught.'

Harry drank it, and within seconds he felt steady again, although he was suddenly cold both from perspiration and tears. 'Why?' he asked hoarsely.

'I wanted to know whether you're damaged too, or if you got off scot-free as usual.'

'I didn't,' replied Harry sadly. 'But how did you know?' he asked, gesturing vaguely towards the window.

'Father was there, remember? And so was Aunt Bella, although she was hardly a reliable source.

'Why couldn't Kreacher come?'

'You asked for Granger, not Kreacher.'

'No, mentally. I called Kreacher, but he said he couldn't come.'

'You can thank Dobby for that,' replied Draco. 'He alerted us to a shocking flaw in our security, as you may recall. It wasn't easy to remedy, but fortunately we had it done before they confiscated half our gold, so in a sense we got it for fifty percent off.'

_Kreacher, _called Harry silently. _I'm fine. It was only a cruel prank by Draco. I was never actually in danger._

Harry felt a fierce presence in his mind. _Should Kreacher hurl the Malfoy whelp into a dragon pit?_

_No!_ replied Harry. _I don't need anything, but thank you. And I love you._

_Kreacher loves Master_, rasped the elf before disappearing with a small _pop._

Harry was able to rise, and without consulting Draco he sat in an armchair opposite a large wooden desk.

'Why would you think I'm not damaged?' asked Harry. 'I'm the one with all the dead fathers, remember?'

'Because you make it look easy. All you had to do after the war was eat a few square meals and then waltz to the Ministry for your Order of Merlin award.'

'And attend several dozen funerals,' said Harry. 'And wonder every day whether I could have prevented them.'

'And play Quidditch,' continued Draco. 'And joke on the radio about the insane, profligate Blacks, and shag a new witch every week.' Gesturing at Harry's robes, Draco added, 'And pretend you're an aristocrat, when you're just the filthy son of a Mudblood and a middle-class blood traitor.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I've been taunted mercilessly for the last two months. I'll give you credit for triggering a panic attack—not even Gilstrap knows about black, fluttering curtains—but nothing else you say is going to bother me.' Draco shrugged, and Harry asked, 'How long have you been planning this?'

'More than a week,' he admitted. 'Let's just say it came to me in a dream.'

On a hunch, Harry asked, 'Do you have nightmares too?'

Draco looked at him carefully and then nodded. 'Fiendfyre, mostly. And my parents being tortured.' He walked to the shelf and poured out two glasses of Firewhisky before placing them on the desk and sitting opposite Harry. 'And you?'

'Some Fiendfyre, but mostly torture.'

After a silence, Draco said, 'He made us watch. I had to watch him torture my parents, and the others. We were expected to cheer.'

'That's because he enjoyed it,' said Harry. 'It was his version of sex.'

'Of course you'd phrase it that way,' scoffed Draco. 'Is it the Light magic, or have you always been like this?'

Harry took a sip from his glass. 'No, not always. I think it's some combination of post-war Harry and the Light magic.'

'Post-war Harry,' echoed Draco. 'The one who's simultaneously the most envied wizard in Britain and a colossal headcase, apparently.'

'That sounds about right. There was a banner at yesterday's match telling me I need a Mind Healer. And my teammates recommend it regularly as well.'

'Mother tried to make me see one. Nitta told her about my nightmares, so she ambushed me one day with Cassia Dexter herself, in this very room. I just sat and glared at her the entire time.'

'I call her Doctor Niffler,' replied Harry, and Draco sniggered.

'Oh right, you said that on the radio once.'

'Do you listen?'

'I'm under house arrest—I listen to everything. And I read all the newspapers and magazines as well. Theo suggested I get a television, but between all the background magic and the lack of electricity it was hopeless.'

'The goblins have a device you can hire,' suggested Harry. 'That's what I've used for music at my parties. But they won't let you buy it.'

'Bloody goblins,' grumbled Draco. 'They'd murder us all for a handful of gold.'

'No they wouldn't. They need us every bit as much as we need them.'

'Silly me—I forgot you're England's leading goblin diplomat.'

'Yeah, I still can't believe that.' Harry took another sip of Firewhisky and asked, 'When did you study Legilimency? Did Snape teach you?'

'No, he'd have been insane to let another Death Eater into his mind. I learnt Occlumency from Aunt Bella, but I only started studying Legilimency this past year. In my leisure time.'

'You're actually pretty good at it,' said Harry. 'Better than Desmond Travers, I reckon, and he considers himself an expert.'

'Not good enough to get into your head.'

'Don't take it personally—Voldemort taught me Occlumency the hard way.'

'Yes,' sighed Draco. 'He taught me any number of things the hard way.'

'Such as?'

'Just how illogical wizards can be.'

'Are you referring to him or to his followers?'

'To his followers. The Dark Lord himself was unfailingly logical.'

'That's not how I'd describe him,' replied Harry, recalling how Voldemort had repeatedly undervalued the power of love and sacrifice.

'Don't get me wrong, he made false assumptions. Clearly he underestimated you, and probably Granger. But he understood perfectly how to control and manipulate people.'

'That he did,' said Harry. 'For someone without a nose, he was remarkably good at seduction.'

'You really are obsessed with sex,' scoffed Draco.

'I wasn't talking about sex. I was talking about seduction, which can be used for anything. How else do you suppose he convinced people like your father to bow down to him?'

'You'll laugh, but my father thought he was manipulating the Dark Lord.'

'Are you serious? How did he work that out?'

'Father wanted to promote blood purity and wizarding traditions, and so did both of my grandfathers. Dumbledore had too much power—both magical and political—and they needed someone who could challenge him. They saw the Dark Lord as a puppet they could manipulate, particularly since they considered him unstable. All they had to do was bow down to him and call him "Lord," and he'd oppose Dumbledore and advance their agenda.'

'And they didn't care that he was a half-blood?'

'No, that gave them leverage over him, or so they thought. They scorned him for growing up in a Muggle orphanage, and, frankly, for being a Gaunt. The Gaunts were considered the wrong kind of pure-blood.'

'Poor, you mean?'

'And hopelessly inbred. Even my family weaves in a half-blood every now and again. The right kind of half-blood, that is.'

'Not like me, I gather?'

'Exactly. Having a Muggle aunt or cousin would be out of the question.'

'Are you saying you'll never marry me?' said Harry, batting his eyes, and Draco laughed. 'Then I might as well leave,' he continued, 'since that was the real reason I came to see you.'

'Bollocks, Potter. You have that vow.'

'We could have waited a couple of years. But you're right, it would never work.' He took another sip of Firewhisky and asked, 'How long before your father figured out he wasn't the one pulling the strings?'

'A shockingly long time,' admitted Draco. 'Not until after I failed to kill Dumbledore.'

'But didn't Voldemort punish your father for not looking for him the first time he died?'

'No. He punished most of the others, but he wanted Father to believe he was special. He also wanted me to take the Mark, and if he'd tortured my father, I might have pulled a Theo and refused.'

'Yeah, why did he torture Theo's dad? Wasn't he afraid of losing his support?'

'The Notts hadn't nearly as much gold as the Malfoys, and old Nott was completely gaga for the Dark Lord. I think he fancied him back in school.'

'Bringing us back to seduction,' said Harry.

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'Is that what you're doing now? Trying to win me over?'

'No, this is just conversation. I was hoping to win you over another way.' He opened his pouch and pulled out the hawthorn wand.

Draco inhaled sharply, and his pale eyes darkened with longing. He began reaching across the desk, but then he stopped and asked, 'What's the catch?'

'There is no catch. You need a wand. I have a spare.'

'Yes, but only one,' grumbled Draco. 'You destroyed my other wand.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'You didn't really think I'd let you have the Elder Wand, did you?'

'No, but I can't believe you broke it. You really have no respect for wizarding history.'

'No, I don't—I'd much rather keep wizards alive.' Harry held up the wand and added, 'Do you want it or not?'

'You realise I'm not giving up the Dark Arts,' said Draco defiantly.

'I wish I could persuade you otherwise,' replied Harry. 'I've done both, and Light magic's much nicer. I could show you if you like.'

'Merlin, no! Reading that article in _Sorceress_ was bad enough.'

Harry laughed and said, 'Trust me, Light magic is even better.'

'Something tells me Light magic and I wouldn't get along. I still have a Dark Mark, after all.'

'Hasn't it faded?' asked Harry. 'My scar has.'

'No. And thank Merlin for Cooling Charms, because I'm probably wearing long sleeves for the rest of my life.' He reached for the wand and took it between his fingers. 'It's cold,' he said, frowning. He tried casting _Lumos_ but the wand only flickered.

'Yes, I suspected as much,' said Harry. 'Give it over—I'll see if I can convince it.'

Reluctantly, Draco handed the wand back to Harry, who stood up, and it felt sweet within his hand. _I love you, _he thought, and the wand began to glow. _It's time for you to return to your old Master._

Harry felt his Light magic arise, but he knew he was nowhere near glowing. He automatically expanded into awareness and set a sincere intention that the hawthorn wand change its allegiance. _This is Draco's wand_, he resolved. And then a thought arose: _May it sow only peace. _He felt warm energy flow from his torso through his right hand and into the wand.

After about fifteen seconds Harry knew the transfer was complete. 'Try it now,' he said, handing it back to Draco.

Draco rose from his chair, perhaps recognising the solemnity of the moment. He waved the wand and sparks danced from its tip. 'Potter,' he began, but then he suddenly dropped the wand and grasped his left arm in pain. 'Fuck, ow!' he cried. 'What the hell did you do to me?'

'I transferred the wand! What happened?'

Smoke billowed from Draco's left sleeve, and he yanked it back and ripped the button from his cuff, revealing his forearm. Harry covered his nose and mouth to block the smell, which was revolting. _That's not what burnt skin smells like, _he noted in confusion.

Draco was wincing, his eyes squeezed shut, and he covered his nose with his right elbow. But then he opened his eyes and held up his other forearm where he could see it.

'Does it hurt?' gasped Harry, not wanting to breathe.

Draco shook his head, and they both watched green smoke curl away from his skin, in a manner that recalled the Dark Mark floating in the sky. Harry released his holly wand from its holster and conjured a glass, which he filled with water just in case.

'Vanish the smoke, you idiot!' choked Draco, and Harry quickly did so. The air instantly became less foul, and they could see that Draco's arm had nearly stopped smoking. His Dark Mark was still visible, but it was pink and raw, like newly-healed skin.

Draco lowered his right arm and took a deep breath. 'Bloody hell, Potter—what did you do to me?'

'I healed your Dark Mark by the looks of it,' he replied, astonished. 'You're sure it doesn't hurt?'

'Not like at first.' With a shudder he added, 'For a moment I thought I was on fire. What the hell did you do?'

Bewildered, Harry said, 'All I did was tell the wand to change its allegiance.' But then his eyes shot open in realisation.

Draco noticed Harry's change of expression. 'What?' he asked accusingly.

Harry closed his eyes. 'I told it to sow only peace.'

Draco's jaw dropped. 'You what?! Damn you, Potter! You wrecked my wand!'

'And healed your Dark Mark, which you were complaining about a few minutes ago!'

Picking up his wand, Draco carefully waved it. '_Lumos,_' he said, and the tip glowed brightly.

'Try a Patronus,' suggested Harry, and Draco scowled at him.

'Do you lie awake at night thinking up ways to ruin my life, or does it just come naturally?'

'I fail to see how I ruined your life just now. Worst case scenario, the wand won't let you hurt anyone and you'll just have to bear with it until you get a new one.'

'Good point,' admitted Draco. 'Can you teach me how to fistfight? I understand you're good at it.'

'Very funny. And by the way, you're welcome.'

'Thank you, Potter,' chanted Draco sarcastically. But then he closed his eyes for a moment. 'Thank you. I mean it. I can't tell you what it's been like not having a decent wand.'

'I can only imagine,' replied Harry dryly.

For several minutes Draco cast a series of spells with his wand, transfiguring various items, making things float, etc. 'Can I offer you more Firewhisky?' he asked, levitating the bottle.

'No, I've had more than enough,' replied Harry, indicating the glass he hadn't yet finished.

'I suppose I have as well,' admitted Draco, looking at his empty glass. 'This wasn't my first one this afternoon.'

'Why am I not shocked? Did you need Dutch courage before pulling your stunt with the curtains?'

'No, it was to pass the time while waiting. On Sundays I usually finish reading the Quidditch news by eleven, and then Pansy comes over for brunch, but she was gone by one. By the way, she's cross you didn't invite her to your party.'

'Oh right, sorry about that. I'll invite her next time. Now that I've had Andrew Gilstrap to the house, I can't claim I won't host someone who hates me.'

'I should have him over sometime. I'm certain he'd enjoy hearing about you.'

'Please don't,' implored Harry.

'I'm just kidding. Puddlemere's my pick for this year's cup, not Montrose. Gilstrap lost my respect when he couldn't find the Snitch during those five minutes. Why did you punch him anyway?'

Harry told him what Gilstrap had claimed about his father being tortured. 'That was clever,' said Draco. 'But he should have been prepared to follow through and not lose his nerve when you snapped.'

'He's another one who needs a Mind Healer,' observed Harry. 'Maybe the three of us should have group sessions with Doctor Niffler. Although I should warn you he'd probably hate you even more than he hates me. He's obsessed with unearned privilege, and specifically why he doesn't have more of it.'

The clock chimed four, and Draco said, 'Mother is probably afraid you killed me with your Light magic. Shall we return to the drawing room?'

'Yes, Andromeda is probably worried as well. You'll be pleased to know how often she scolds me.'

'Even though you bribed her with half the vault?'

'That wasn't a bribe,' snapped Harry. 'That was to take care of Teddy Lupin, who happens to be your cousin.'

'And he's really not a werewolf?'

'Yes, really. He's a Metamorphmagus, just like Tonks was.'

'Why in Merlin's name did she marry Lupin? Between her Black strain and her Metamorphmagus ability she could have had anyone she wanted.'

'Exactly. And she wanted Lupin.'

They were walking to the drawing room, but Draco stopped and said, 'We're not friends, you know. I'll never join your fan club.'

'Is that what you think friends are? I realise Crabbe and Goyle treated you that way, and maybe Pansy, but is that how you'd describe Blaise and Theo? Or Daphne?'

Draco frowned. 'No. And not Pansy either—not for years.'

'You should meet the other Cannons—they take the piss out of me non-stop. Which suits me perfectly, to be honest.'

'So you won't mind if I call you a dim-witted, overrated attention-hog?'

'No, but I reserve the right to call you a spoilt, ferrety git.'

'I'm not ferrety,' said Draco.

'Yes, you are,' retorted Harry. 'That's probably why Pansy doesn't fancy you anymore.'

'At least I'm fully grown. I can assure you these aren't raised shoes.'

Harry shrugged. 'I've come to terms with my height, since it means I can play league Quidditch. Witches don't complain, and it's the one thing the other Seekers don't taunt me about.'

'The other Seekers must have a field day with you,' observed Draco. 'And I'm envious—we didn't do nearly enough taunting during our house matches at Hogwarts.'

'Only you would complain we didn't have enough opportunities for verbal abuse back at school. The real problem was that we didn't play nearly enough Quidditch. I can't believe we only played three matches a year.'

'I know. I complained to Father repeatedly, but he said that was the tradition.'

They entered the drawing room, and Narcissa and Andromeda visibly scanned them for signs of injury. 'Mother, we're fine,' drawled Draco. 'Potter set me on fire, and I reduced him to sobs, but otherwise we're fully intact.'

Andromeda looked at Harry in alarm. 'I'm fine,' he told her. 'It was nothing a Calming Draught couldn't fix, and then some Firewhisky for good measure.'

The sisters looked at each other in exasperation. 'I daresay we've brought them closer,' observed Draco. 'I bet if we practice duelling in the cellar, that'll be enough to get them to spend Christmas together.'

'I've had quite enough of your cellar, thank you very much,' replied Harry.

'Mother, can you pour me some tea? Potter mentioning the cellar was worth another bottoms-up.'

'Andromeda, I'm sure you and Harry are keen to go home,' said Narcissa hastily. 'If you'd rather travel by Floo, you're welcome to do so.'

Narcissa led Harry and Andromeda to the fireplace, while Draco helped himself to tea and the remaining biscuits. 'Potter, is there anything you want me to tell Father next time I owl him?'

'Could you ask who his shoemaker was? I distinctly remember he was wearing low boots with a silver buckle when I freed Dobby, and they were awfully nice.'

'Those were from Kellingworth's,' said Narcissa. 'But you really shouldn't go there.'

'Yes, that's what I was afraid of. Anyway, thank you again for having me here this afternoon, and I'm sorry if I frightened you with my Light magic. And Draco should be fine—he was only on fire momentarily. But he'll tell you all about it.'

Narcissa was in the process of extending her hand, and to her credit she only froze momentarily before completing the gesture. 'Thank you again for the flowers, and for your willingness to make inquiries on Draco's behalf.'

_I guess that's decided then, _thought Harry, shaking her hand. Andromeda kissed her sister goodbye, and then by unspoken agreement she and Harry both returned to Grimmauld Place.

'What in Merlin's name happened between the two of you?' she demanded. 'Narcissa tried interrogating Nitta, but apparently Draco had sworn the elf to secrecy.'

Harry told her about Draco's cruel prank, and Andromeda nearly required a Calming Draught of her own. 'That was incredibly foolish, particularly when he knows you're experiencing accidental Light magic! Draco is every bit as reckless as you are!'

'I'd never do anything like that!' cried Harry.

'No, you just punch rival Seekers and ruin innocent pure-bloods. And apparently set Draco on fire,' she scolded.

'I didn't mean to!' He explained what had happened with his wand, and how Draco's Dark Mark had seemingly been excised.

'Harry! You were only supposed to transfer the wand, not imbue it with Light magic!'

'That's the only way I knew how to transfer it. Ollivander told me to communicate nonverbally, and that's how I did it—same as how I practise Occlumency.' Avoiding her eyes, he added, 'I might also have set an intention that the wand only sow peace.'

To his surprise, Andromeda chuckled. 'It's sown something all right. We'll have to wait and see, since I doubt there's much precedent for any of this, but I can't help wondering if you removed more than just his Dark Mark.'

'What do you mean?'

'I'm just guessing, but I suspect his Mark wasn't fading because he was still fuelling it with his harmful intentions.'

Harry looked at her in shock. 'Are you saying I changed his underlying intentions somehow?'

'I don't know,' she admitted. 'You should probably ask your teacher tomorrow. Honestly, we're fortunate you didn't harm him more seriously. Did he still seem like himself afterwards?'

'He insulted me any number of times. So yeah, he's still the same old Malfoy.'

'Then maybe it was just the Mark. I suppose Narcissa will owl me if he starts behaving differently.' She smiled and said, 'Draco was right—our shared anxiety this afternoon definitely brought us closer. She told me how Lucius and Sirius had quarrelled at her engagement party, resulting in a trip to St Mungo's for both of them.'

'Wasn't Sirius five years younger? Was he really able to duel Lucius back then?'

'No, she said he ambushed him in the toilet with Dungbombs, and when Lucius staggered out, gasping for breath, Sirius was ready with a wand to turn his hair green. Only he misfired and Lucius's skin turned green instead, so naturally, Lucius cursed Sirius green and shouted, "Take that, Gryffindor!" And then the punching began.'

Harry laughed and said, 'Is it wrong that I'm really proud of my godfather right now?'

'Yes it is,' she chided. 'In retrospect, we shouldn't have been surprised they'd both wind up in Azkaban.'

'Exonerated!' protested Harry. 'Speaking of which, did you notice how Narcissa railroaded me into trying to reduce Draco's sentence?'

'Yes, and I respect her for it. You were right to refuse to help Lucius, but another year of house arrest will only make Draco worse.'

'You're right, and yes, I'll speak on his behalf. Do you reckon the DMLE can handle it, or will I need to take it to the Wizengamot?'

'Almost certainly the latter.'

'I'm going to need to wear one of those funny hats, won't I?' groaned Harry. 'But at least the lords will vote with me this time.'

Andromeda and Harry spoke a short while longer, and she said, 'I suppose this afternoon went as well as we could have hoped, given the personalities involved.'

'You're probably right. We'll have to see whether Draco invites me back.'

After warm goodbyes, Andromeda left, and Harry went upstairs to shower before going to dinner at the Burrow. _I'd hoped to wear these robes tonight, _he thought, _but they clearly weren't charmed against panic attack perspiration. _His boutonnière had wilted as well, and the best option among his other boutonnières was a snowdrop, meaning 'hope.' _As in, I hope Molly and Arthur don't tear me off a strip for my recent behaviour._

Bouquet in hand, he Apparated outside the Burrow, deciding he hadn't visited recently enough to just Floo into the kitchen as he'd habitually done. He took a deep breath before knocking on the door, not knowing whether Molly would start berating him straight away or give him a false sense of security and then attack during dinner.

To Harry's great surprise, Kreacher answered the door. 'Good evening, Master,' he said, bowing low. 'Welcome to the Burrow. The Red Lady is expecting Master.'

'I'm glad to see you, Kreacher,' replied Harry, following him inside. He was about to ask the elf about his day, but he was struck dumb by the how different the Burrow looked. The ceiling was still perilously low for the taller Weasleys, but the formerly rough-hewn beams now resembled polished mahogany. The floor planks were smooth and no longer seemed inclined to pull apart trespassing socks, and the rugs were threadbare no more.

'Harry, do come in,' called Molly as she drifted down the stairs in a manner recalling Narcissa Malfoy. She wore a dress Harry recognised from the festivities surrounding Bill and Fleur's wedding, and her hair was elegantly upswept. 'What lovely flowers,' she said, taking them from him. 'Kreacher! Put these in water, in the china vase you repaired this morning.'

'Yes, madam,' said Kreacher obediently, taking the flowers and Apparating loudly to the adjacent kitchen.

Molly wrapped Harry in a motherly hug and then backed away from him, as if to evaluate whether he'd grown since she last saw him. 'Why Harry, I can't get over how stylish you've become! I like to think I planted the seed with those dress robes I selected for you, for the Yule Ball all those years ago. Do you still have them?'

'Er, I outgrew them,' he replied. 'But they were certainly nice, and I remember how much I appreciated them at the time.' _Especially compared to those awful lace robes you bought for Ron, _he added mentally, recalling how bad he'd felt that they couldn't afford anything better.

'I chose green to bring out your eyes, but without your glasses there's no need,' she gushed. 'You've really grown into a fine young man!'

'Thank you,' he said, embarrassed. _Is she trying to soften me up before lecturing me_, _or did I unwittingly bribe her with two days of Kreacher?_ 'And how are you doing?' he asked.

'Splendidly!' replied Molly. 'As you can see, Kreacher has done wonders with the house. I can't thank you enough for sending him.'

'He seems to enjoy it, in which case I'll be glad to send him around some other time as well.'

'That would be absolutely divine. But let me fetch Arthur. Kreacher! Fetch Arthur from the shed.'

'Yes, Madam,' replied Kreacher, disappearing with a loud _crack_, and moments later he returned with a very disorientated Arthur.

'Er, I was in the middle of something,' said Arthur, who was wearing round goggles and holding a pair of pliers.

'You can't have been up to any good,' chided Molly. 'You never use Muggle tools unless you're tinkering with something you oughtn't.'

Without a word, Arthur removed his goggles and placed them in the front pocket of his apron, along with the pliers. Next he took off the apron and was about to hang it on a hook, but Molly said, 'Not in here! Kreacher's just tidied everything and I don't want it messed up again.'

'I'd have left my apron in the shed, but I didn't have any warning,' countered Arthur.

'Just leave it upstairs when you change for dinner.'

Arthur looked down at his robes, which were dusty from whatever he'd been doing but were otherwise the same as what he always wore. 'What should I wear?' he asked uncertainly.

'I've laid it out on the bed. Do you need Kreacher's help getting ready?'

Arthur's ears turned pink, just as Ron's did when he was mortified. 'Of course not—I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself.'

'I'll be the judge of that,' muttered Molly. In a much sweeter voice, she said, 'Harry, dear, can Kreacher get you anything? Some pumpkin juice perhaps?'

'Just some water, thanks,' he said, trying not to smirk at Mrs Weasley's radical transformation. 'I hope I'm not too early,' he added, wondering where everyone else was.

'Not at all,' she replied. 'I expect George and Percy presently, and Ron and Janet should be along soon afterwards.' Harry followed her into the kitchen, where the family clock indicated Percy was 'travelling,' and moments later he stepped from the fireplace.

'Good evening, Mum,' he said. 'Don't you look nice! What's the occasion?'

Molly, who looked offended, said, 'Sunday dinner, of course,' but she hugged Percy warmly. 'Do say hello to Harry.'

'Oh, I say!' exclaimed Percy, extending his hand. 'What a surprise! What brings you here?'

'Ron invited me,' said Harry, shaking hands with Percy. 'And it's been ages, so I'm glad he suggested it.'

'Did you bring anyone?' asked Percy cautiously, peering into the sitting room.

'No, just myself. And how are you doing?'

Percy stood up straight and said, 'Quite well, thank you. I've found a real home at the Department of Magical Transportation, and I was lately appointed deputy in charge of the Portkey Office.'

'Congratulations,' said Harry sincerely. 'I imagine that's quite a big job.'

'It is, particularly considering what a shambles the office was in when I arrived. You wouldn't believe the disarray they called a filing system, which was almost completely lacking in cross-referencing. You could look up a portkey by origin, destination, date, or type of object, but there was nothing to link them all together. For all you'd know, they could be referring to four separate portkeys rather than one! Naturally I've begun reorganising it completely, but it's been the political battle of my career just to get permission.'

George had arrived and was listening to Percy with mock solemnity. 'Are you serious?' he asked. 'The political battle of your career? Did you have to go head-to-head with anyone, or call in any favours? I imagine you did.'

Percy narrowed his eyes. 'Hang on, are you pumping me for gossip just so you can broadcast it on the radio? This is highly sensitive information, you know, and as your brother I'll ask you not to repeat it.'

'Oh dear,' said George. 'I'll try not to say anything, but I don't know if I can just sit on something this volatile.'

'You have the delay,' said Harry. 'Even if you let something slip, you can stop it from being broadcast.'

'That's true,' said Percy. 'But I really shouldn't reveal anything more, because the in-store audience will hear it regardless.'

Harry greeted George, who was looking around the Burrow in admiration. 'Kreacher, you've done a fantastic job. The Burrow almost looks like an actual house now and not just like a pile of building materials that had too much to drink and passed out.'

'George, is that what you're wearing?' asked Molly disapprovingly.

'It's nice to see you too, Mum,' he replied, kissing her on the cheek. 'And yes, this is what I'm wearing. I was on my feet all day at the shop, and I couldn't be arsed to change.'

George was wearing his magenta staff robes, which clashed brilliantly with his hair and were splattered with what appeared to be nougat and more than a few feathers. 'Was there a Canary Creams incident?' asked Harry.

'I'm afraid so. Some kids bought a box and decided to see how many they could fit in their mouth. Fred and I had tested eating six at once, which went fine, but it turns out seven is a whole new threshold.'

'It's a magically powerful number,' observed Harry.

'That it is. So now Lee's making warning labels, and we need to test the other sweets as well. But the good news is we've hired a new staff member, which means we now have a FLOOF-Certified logo in the shop window.'

'Fantastic!' replied Harry. 'Are you happy with the new employee?'

'Very much so! She's particularly good at Transfiguration, which makes sense for a werewolf, and we're thinking of creating some werewolf-themed products. We're also working on a temporary baldness hat, for people who lack your special ability to shave their head and have it grow back the next morning. But we haven't yet worked out all the kinks, like how not to also remove eyelashes, nose-hairs, and the tiny hairs within the ear canal—all of which are more useful than you'd realise. So I'm hopeful she'll be able to get it working properly.'

'How's the condom project coming along?' whispered Harry.

George looked to make sure his mother wasn't listening. 'We're in the early testing phase. Quite a few wizards have volunteered to test the size-enhancing model, which is clearly going to be a big seller. Are you sure you don't want a share of the profits?'

Harry was about to refuse when a horrible realisation struck him. 'Bloody hell, I just realised how you could make a Malfoy-sized fortune.'

George's eyes shot open. 'I'm listening.'

'Sell them to Muggles. You'd have to bribe the right Ministry officials, and you couldn't enhance the size implausibly, but it would be an absolute goldmine.'

'Who do I owl?' asked George insistently. 'You know I'm not afraid to bend the occasional rule.'

Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'Blimey, I don't know. But I know who to ask—just this afternoon Narcissa Malfoy told me to do it.'

'Narcissa Malfoy told you to sell charmed condoms to Muggles?' said an astonished George.

'No, she told me to rebuild the Black fortune by paying a bribe or two and selling something magically-enhanced to Muggles. I agreed I'd try to rebuild the fortune, but I refused to bribe anyone or do something illegal.'

'I'm sure she wouldn't hold it against you if you changed your mind.'

'No, she'd be delighted. But I can't even imagine talking to her about this—it would almost be worth joining Pratt's to go around her.'

'You were invited to join Pratt's?!' exclaimed George, and Percy's head snapped in their direction.

'Now you've done it,' muttered Harry.

'Harry,' said Percy warmly. 'Did I just overhear that you were given the remarkable honour of a Pratt's invitation, at your age?'

Harry sighed, 'I've been asked not to talk about it, for privacy's sake.'

'Of course,' said Percy. 'Pratt's respects privacy above all else. I assume you're joining.'

'Actually no, I've decided not to.'

Percy blanched. 'Don't tell me you can't afford it!'

'No, I can afford it, but I don't think I'll ever fit in.'

'Oh yes you would,' insisted Percy.

'Are you a member?' asked Harry.

'If only! For one thing, I haven't been asked, although I've done my best to cultivate our Prewett relations. But more importantly, I can't afford it yet.'

'Yet?' asked George. 'How do you ever expect to afford it on a Ministry salary? Scratch that—stupid question. Something tells me we've come back around to our original topic.'

'Harry, you have to join Pratt's,' Percy urged. 'I read what you said about wanting to prevent the next war, and Pratt's is the best possible venue. Part of the problem last time around was that Dumbledore shunned the place, and so did his allies, which is why so many neutral families ended up leaning Dark.'

'Er, there's something else I should mention,' said Harry, 'I'm preparing to go public as a Light wizard. I've been experiencing accidental Light magic.'

George appeared lost, but Percy clearly understood Harry's meaning. 'Then it's crucial you join now, before they find out. They won't kick out a member, but if you turn down their offer they mightn't give you another chance.'

'Why exactly would I want to join a club that doesn't welcome Light wizards?' asked Harry.

'It's not that they're opposed to the Light Arts, at least not officially. But as a mature Light wizard you'd be much harder to control, so they'd have nothing to gain by offering you membership.'

'And what would I have to gain?'

'Access. And a neutral setting for negotiations. You'd never have been rebuked by the Wizengamot if you'd discussed it first at Pratt's.'

'Actually, Harry won that round, even though he didn't win his vote,' said George, who seemed relieved to be able to follow the conversation again.

'If you join Pratt's,' continued Percy, 'you'll be able to redefine neutrality by normalising the Light extreme. Currently the Prewetts and some of the more complaisant Longbottoms represent the Light extreme at Pratt's, and that's not saying much. If I were to join, I'd be in the same category.'

Harry was impressed by Percy's candour. 'Just to be clear, you're saying that if I joined Pratt's and skewed it Light, that would have ripple effects into the Wizengamot and beyond?'

'Yes, exactly.'

'But then I'd have to go there,' he grumbled.

'Surely it's not that disagreeable,' said Percy knowingly.

George's jaw dropped. 'Do they have a brothel?'

'No comment,' said Harry and Percy in unison.

'You wouldn't have to go there often,' persisted Percy. 'Just turn up once a week after practice, spend an hour in the lounge, and go home. Anyone who wants to talk to you will know how to find you, and they'll be far less inclined to conspire against you.'

Harry was starting to feel convinced until he remembered another problem. 'But it's all Hogwarts wizards,' he argued. 'How am I going to promote equality by interacting with a bunch of Hogwarts elites?'

'In the Wizengamot,' replied Percy, which prompted Harry to roll his eyes.

'Why can't I just be a Seeker?' he groaned.

'You'll never just be a Seeker,' said George. 'Clearly you were born to be a Seeker/Basilisk slayer/Dark Lord vanquisher/Sex god/Condom magnate. Oh, and Goblin diplomat.'

'That's actually a good point,' added Percy. 'Harry, if you want to revise the laws around goblins, you have to join Pratt's. And frankly, you need to prove you're interested in making money, or else no one will take you seriously.'

George nodded sagely. 'It all comes back to our condom scheme. You'd be doing it for the goblins. Er, hang on ... that came out wrong.'

'What do you mean, condom scheme?' asked Percy.

Harry shook his head in exasperation and said, 'George, you tell him.'

George explained, and Percy's eyes grew wide. 'Thank Merlin I don't work in the Improper Use of Magic Office, because I don't want to be in the chain of approvals. But that's an absolutely brilliant idea, and you simply have to go through with it.'

'But it's technically illegal,' whispered Harry.

'Where's the harm?' asked George. 'You'd be helping people. Saving marriages, even.'

'I suppose it's better than Ron's casino scheme,' admitted Harry.

'Don't bother with casinos,' said George. 'Fred and I already tried, when we were trying to get the shop off the ground. Every major casino and nearly all the minor ones are warded against magical interference. I heard Ludo Bagman had to go to Uzbekistan to find one, and he nearly went mad because the country is primarily Muslim and he couldn't find a pub.'

'I know about the wards in casinos, but Kreacher and I have a telepathic bond.'

'No way!' cried George. 'Prove it!'

'All right. What do you want to drink? You too, Percy.'

'I'd like a pumpkin juice,' replied Percy.

'And I'd like a bottle of Honeydukes Chocolate Porter. I bought Dad a case of it last week, but Mum won't let us drink alcohol at dinner because that's what the Prewetts used to do and she swore her family would be different. So we'll need to disguise it somehow.'

'Actually, I'd like one as well,' chimed Percy.

'Coming right up,' said Harry, closing his eyes. _Kreacher! _he called silently.

_Yes, Master!_

_Would you please bring two bottles of Honeydukes Chocolate Porter, which are presumably in the pantry? But disguise them so they look like Butterbeer._

_Yes, Master, right away!_

Moments later, Kreacher arrived with two bottles of what looked like Butterbeer. 'Thank you, Kreacher. That will be all.'

Kreacher disappeared again, and Harry handed the bottles to George and Percy. They both took long sips to confirm the contents and nodded in approval.

'Ron's right—you could make a killing in a single weekend,' said George. 'Just take an ageing potion and disguise yourself, and no one would be the wiser.'

'I'm not doing that,' insisted Harry.

'No, of course not,' said George reassuringly. 'The casino scheme is just a counterpoint to our more ethical condom scheme.'

'I object to the word "scheme,"' remarked Percy. 'It's merely a business venture, in which I'm certain I could be of assistance.'

They were silent for a moment. 'He's right, you know,' said Harry. 'Percy knows better than anyone how to stay out of trouble.'

'It'll require start-up capital,' said Percy. 'And before you tell me you have enough, I can assure you that you don't. Entering the Muggle market is hugely expensive.' Looking at Harry, he added, 'Just how good is your relationship with Gringotts?'

'First rate. Are you suggesting we take out a loan?'

'No, I'm suggesting we partner with them. They have subsidiary banks in the Muggle world, which probably have holdings in that market sector. I know both of you have very little free time, but I'd be prepared to manage the business end.'

'Wouldn't that be a conflict with your Ministry post?' asked Harry.

'No, because it has nothing to do with Magical Transport. It's a good thing I no longer work in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, because we'll need to involve them as well.'

George looked at Percy appraisingly. 'Are you seriously offering to help? This isn't strictly above board.'

Percy shot a glance at their father, who was wearing fresh robes and a boutonnière. 'We've seen the result of strictly above-board career decisions. Obviously you aren't interested in being poor your whole life, or else you and Fred wouldn't have started a business. And I'm not keen on poverty either, but I also don't believe in turning the Ministry entirely over to Dark families. Frankly, I've been looking for a supplemental income opportunity, and it's hard to find one this upstanding, believe it or not.'

George and Harry both sniggered when Percy said 'upstanding.' George extended his hand to Percy and said, 'I'm in. And I'll welcome your participation.'

Percy shook George's hand and asked, 'Harry, what about you?'

'Can we keep my name out of it?'

'You'll be needed for the Gringotts conversations,' said Percy. 'But then they can establish a private company, and you would just be another shareholder.'

'What about Pratt's?'

'You have to join,' said Percy. 'It's unquestionably the best way to advance the Light agenda.'

Harry looked at George, who nodded. 'He's right. You'd be mad to turn it down.'

'I feel like I should sneak up to Ron's old room and glow for a few minutes, just to reassure myself I'm not a complete sell-out. Between Pratt's, my alliance with the Malfoys, and a dubious business venture I'm starting to wonder.'

'You made an alliance with the Malfoys?' exclaimed Percy. 'Did you have to make concessions?'

'Not really, other than telling Narcissa I'd try to rebuild the Black fortune, and agreeing to reduce Draco's sentence if I'm able. I also gave Draco back his wand.'

Percy looked at Harry approvingly. 'That was prudent. Light wizards won't always be on top, and I was worried you were burning too many bridges.'

'Are you seriously proposing to reduce Draco's joke of a sentence even further?' asked George, appalled.

'Yes. House arrest isn't helping him—if anything it's making him more bitter. But I refused to help Lucius.'

'That's good,' said Percy. 'You mustn't forget you still hold most of the cards.'

They were no longer speaking as quietly as before, and Arthur approached them. 'Harry, forgive me for not greeting you properly earlier,' he said, first moving to hug Harry but then pausing and extending his hand.

Harry hugged Arthur and said, 'It's good to see you—I'm sorry it's been so long.'

'I understand, given the circumstances. I'm just glad Ron invited you tonight, although I know Bill and Fleur will be disappointed not to see you.'

'Yes, I should probably talk to Bill soon anyway,' replied Harry, recalling the wards at Pratt's. He'd been reluctant to tell Hermione, lest she start asking probing questions.

'First, let me congratulate you on the Cannons' winning streak. I don't need to tell you just how extraordinary that is.'

'Cheers,' replied Harry. 'Honestly, it's doing me a world of good just to be on a broomstick every day. I'd gone nearly two years without, and I never realised how much I missed it.'

'I'm sorry the Ministry didn't suit you,' said Arthur, 'but at least you discovered that early on, and fortunately Ron seems to like it. And I should thank you for sending Kreacher over this weekend. As you can see, Molly's been making the most of the opportunity, and it's given me more time to tinker than usual.'

'Are you working on anything interesting?' asked Harry.

'I am indeed. But I'll show you after dinner, and we can talk privately as well.'

_And that'll be the lecture, _thought Harry grimly. _I wonder if we can get some of that porter into him first. _'George, I reckon your dad might enjoy some Butterbeer. Let him try a swig of yours.'

Arthur protested, claiming Butterbeer was too sweet, but George insisted he try some. 'Oh, this is good,' said Arthur knowingly. 'Yes, I could fancy a bottle.'

Harry impressed Arthur by asking Kreacher to deliver it wordlessly, but before he could comment there was a knock on the front door, and the elf immediately scurried to open it. 'Welcome to the Burrow,' announced Kreacher, bowing, and Ron and Janet stepped inside.

'What the fuck,' began George, but Harry elbowed him just as Janet raised a finger to her lips. Harry had to clamp his mouth shut to keep from laughing, and to his relief only George seemed to have noticed. _Sweet mother of Merlin, _thought Harry. _Ron is wearing makeup._

'Mum, the house looks great!' he exclaimed. 'Was this Kreacher's doing?'

Molly, who had somehow contrived to go upstairs again, swept down the stairs as when Harry had arrived. 'Ronald, welcome,' she said, embracing him. 'And you must be Janet. It's a pleasure to meet you.'

'Likewise,' replied Janet, her eyes sparkling with mirth. 'I've heard so much about you, Mrs Weasley, and Mr Weasley as well.'

'I can't say Ron has told us much about you,' said Molly, with a slight edge to her voice, 'but we're looking forward to getting to know you. Please, have a seat.' She led everyone to the lounge, in which all the furniture actually matched, and when everyone was seated she asked, 'Would you care for something to drink? Kreacher will be glad to fetch it.'

'Try the Butterbeer,' advised George. 'Kreacher, bring Ron the same kind you brought me.'

'And what about you, Janet?' asked Molly.

'They have pumpkin juice,' suggested Harry.

'Thank you, but I think I'll have Butterbeer as well,' replied Janet.

'That's two Butterbeers,' called George. 'Weasley-style.'

Kreacher appeared quickly with the two bottles, and both Ron and Janet appeared surprised when they tasted it, but neither of them complained.

'So Janet, how long have you and Ron been seeing each other?' prompted Molly.

'Let's see ... it was after Harry's first match, against the Falcons, so that brings us to seven weeks.'

Arthur frowned and started counting out weeks on his fingers. 'Ron, wasn't that right around when you and Hermione–' Molly cleared her throat loudly and he stopped short.

Ron stiffened, so Harry decided to help. 'Ron and Janet started dating a week after he and Hermione split up, and that's when Hermione and Ryan began dating as well. It was all very tidy.'

'I see,' said Molly. 'And I suppose you've kept it all in the family, with you and, er, Ryan being teammates.'

'Yes, we regularly swap stories,' said Janet calmly, causing Ron to choke on his drink. 'About Harry, that is. Ryan and I regularly share our findings with the rest of the starters over lunch. They certainly had a lot of adventures together at Hogwarts.'

'I can't say I was pleased to hear about all their "adventures," when they became public,' grumbled Molly. 'What I knew was bad enough, but then last year, when everything came out, I nearly had a heart attack.'

'I can't believe you sent me a Howler about the troll!' said Ron. 'That was during first year!'

'You made Hermione cry,' she scolded, 'and then you recklessly ran after a troll to find her.'

'That was my fault too,' said Harry. 'Not the crying, but the part about being reckless.'

'You had a higher calling,' said Molly reverently. 'Destiny was guiding you.'

'What are you on about?' asked Ron. 'The prophecy didn't say anything about a troll.'

'I meant Harry's status as the Chosen One. He was locked in battle with You-Know-Who from the very start.'

'Yes, Harry spat up on him as a newborn, didn't you?' said George. 'And then there was that time you were on the changing table with your nappy off, and you splashed him right in the nose. Er, nose location.'

Harry and Ron started sniggering, but Janet remained perfectly composed. 'You-Know-Who is no laughing matter,' she said firmly. 'He was a mass-murderer after all.'

'Thank you, Janet,' replied Molly. 'I can't tell you how many times I've scolded them for not taking things seriously. Harry, you of all people!' she began, but then her expression softened. 'I apologise, Harry. You should feel free to process your trauma however you see fit.'

'Like six times in one night?' smirked George, and this time Arthur sniggered as well.

Molly continued interrogating Janet, who masterfully skirted the edge between perfect decorum and shocking irreverence. _She's really a good match for Ron_, thought Harry._ But what on earth is up with that makeup_? Ron's demeanour suggested he had no idea he was wearing it, which meant Janet had somehow performed the charms without his knowledge. _It's not bad_, mused Harry. _She seems to have darkened his eyebrows and lashes, and his cheeks and lips are looking rather rosy._

Kreacher rang a gong to indicate that dinner was ready, and they all filed to the kitchen table. In the commotion, Harry pulled Janet aside and whispered, 'What did you do to him?'

'I discovered some cosmetic charms that work at a distance,' she confessed. 'They're for stage actors, to freshen their appearance mid-scene. I tried to make it noticeable, but not entirely—how do you think I did?'

'George and I certainly noticed, but I don't think anyone else can tell.'

'Should I take it up a notch?' she asked.

'Not yet,' advised Harry. 'The light's better in the kitchen, so it may be more visible there.'

They took their places around the table, which was laden with food, and Molly looked appraisingly at Ron as he filled his plate. 'Ron, you're certainly looking handsome tonight,' she said fondly. 'I don't think I ever noticed what high cheekbones you have.'

Ron touched the side of his face and said, 'Er, thanks?'

'I always think he's handsome,' fawned Janet. 'I noticed him right away when we first met—so tall and confident.'

'Confident?' asked George. 'Are you sure you're not confusing him with Bill? Bill's the one with the scars.'

'George!' admonished Molly. 'Have you forgotten that your brother is an Order of Merlin recipient?'

'No, because you remind me every week. But I have to agree, Ron is in exceptionally fine form tonight. Have you done something different with your hair?'

'Actually, I went to a barber Janet recommended.'

'He's not a barber, he's a coiffeur,' corrected Janet. 'Although he's technically Italian, not French.'

Harry was unable to discern anything different about Ron's hair, but he said, 'Yeah, that must be it. I'd ask for his name, but obviously there's no point.'

'Your hair suits you,' said Molly approvingly. 'I daresay it's one of your trademarks, like your scar or wearing flowers.'

'And his glasses,' added George. 'Er, perhaps not.'

'I was very surprised to learn you'd had your eyesight fixed,' said Percy. 'I wouldn't have thought you'd be willing to undergo a blood ritual, given your history.'

'Darius Sprott vouched for the Optimancer, and Hermione came with me, so I wasn't at all worried,' replied Harry. 'I only wish I'd done it sooner. My eyesight is far better now than it was before, even with my glasses.'

'I suppose that makes Penumbra easier to navigate,' said George. 'Squinting might ruin the impression you're trying to make.'

'George!' scolded Molly. 'That's hardly appropriate dinner conversation.'

'Yes, I suppose it's more suited to elevenses,' replied George. 'Or perhaps breakfast in bed.'

'We talk about it all the time at lunch,' remarked Janet. 'Harry's been a non-stop source of entertainment for the other Cannons.'

'Yes, I've heard he's inexhaustible,' said George.

To Harry's surprise, Percy burst into laughter and called, 'Kreacher, may I have another Butterbeer? Weasley-style?'

'I'll have one as well,' added Arthur, waving his bottle in the air. 'Harry, you're sure you won't have one?'

'No, I had quite enough this afternoon at Malfoy Manor.'

'You went to Malfoy Manor?' asked Molly, concerned.

Harry explained that Andromeda had urged him to make amends with Draco while there was still time, and Arthur and Molly concurred. 'I'd hate to see Draco become a repeat of his father, both for wizarding Britain's sake and his own,' said Arthur. 'We certainly don't need any more young people repeating their parents' mistakes,' he added, glancing at Harry.

_What is he implying_? wondered Harry. _I suppose I'll find out after dinner._

Molly updated Harry on Bill and Fleur, with several disapproving statements about their lack of children. 'I can understand why they didn't want to start a family during the war, but with Bill's career thriving there's no longer any reason to delay. Frankly I'm worried Fleur doesn't want children for fear of ruining her figure.'

'Nonsense,' said Arthur. 'You're still as lovely as the day I met you, and I'm certain Bill will feel the same about Fleur.'

'Ron, how will you feel if I put on weight after sprogging?' asked Janet.

'What do you mean?' sputtered Ron. 'Mum was talking about Fleur.'

'But when it's our turn!' continued Janet earnestly. 'I won't always be a professional athlete, particularly once I have a houseful of little Weasleys to look after.'

'A houseful?' asked Ron nervously. 'Just how big a, er, house are you picturing?'

'Seven is a magically powerful number,' she said meaningfully. 'And then we'd have an entire Quidditch team!'

Harry and George weren't even hiding their laughter, and Molly looked almost hungrily at Janet's midsection.

'Do you reckon you'd produce any Beaters?' asked Harry. 'The way you're built, you'd spawn nothing but Keepers.'

'I'm certain there are charms to stunt one of them into a Seeker,' said George.

'George Fabian Weasley!' scolded Molly. 'I'll not hear you talk about stunting one of my grandchildren!'

'It shouldn't be necessary,' replied Janet. 'There's a runt in every litter.'

'Oi!' cried Harry. 'I'm not a runt!'

'Isn't he adorable?' said Janet to Molly. 'Sometimes I just want to tuck him into my pocket.'

'He is, isn't he!' agreed Molly. 'I'm sorry we didn't get to keep him in the family.'

'Sorry you didn't get those Galleons,' muttered George.

'They were exaggerated,' scowled Harry.

'We'll remedy that,' replied George, making a vaguely rude, lap-based hand gesture.

Percy cleared his throat and asked Janet about her family, which fortunately moved the conversation onto less rocky territory. Harry leaned back and felt grateful that Kreacher had tamed Molly so completely. _I'll have to punish him in thanks_, he resolved cheerfully.

Coincidentally, Molly started gushing again about what a help Kreacher had been. 'I always knew this house had potential, and Kreacher unlocked it. You haven't been upstairs, but there's new wallpaper in the staircase, and in Arthur's and my bedroom as well.'

'Which patterns did you choose?' asked Harry.

'We used the star pattern in the staircase, and in the bedroom we used the peacock feathers,' replied Molly. 'So elegant, don't you think?'

_It looked great in the Boudoir_, thought Harry, but he only nodded.

After pudding, Arthur pulled Harry aside and said, 'I thought we might talk man-to-man in the shed.'

'Yes, I'd like that,' lied Harry, noting with dismay that Arthur had only drunk two bottles of porter, which wouldn't be enough to affect him. As they walked to the shed in the twilight, Harry expanded into awareness in preparation for what he suspected would be a blistering lecture.

'Have a seat,' said Arthur, indicating a stool. Harry sat down, and Arthur said, 'I've been worried about you, son.'

An angry voice in Harry's mind said, _You're not my father, _but he just waited for Arthur to continue.

'Ever since you and Ginny split up, you've seemed a bit untethered. I wish you'd talked to me before leaving the Ministry, and I know Kingsley wishes you'd told him you weren't happy, instead of just quitting on the spot. We might have found you a different role.'

In spite of his expanded state, Harry felt his irritation grow. 'I didn't want a different role. Did Kingsley tell you why I left?'

'He said something about how you'd never had a proper childhood, which I understand. But there's more to childhood than just doing whatever you want.'

'Is that what you think I'm doing now?'

'Honestly, yes.'

'And you don't think it requires discipline to attend practice five days a week and play a match on the sixth, spend hours replying to fan mail, go to sleep at a reasonable hour, and largely abstain from alcohol?'

'No, clearly that requires discipline, and I commend you for it. But you have a good deal more liberty than you had previously, and I'm concerned you may be ... overdoing it.'

'Overdoing it? Can you give me an example?' asked Harry, curious about which of his vices Arthur had in mind.

Arthur's ears turned pink. 'Er, well,' he hesitated. 'Your robes, for example. I realise you're not poor, but inherited gold in particular is easy to squander, and I know your parties have been expensive as well.'

'Would it be crass to tell you just how much I'm earning? I get a percentage of merchandise sales, after all. Furthermore, nearly every tailor in Britain has offered me robes at cost, and yes, I know which ones to avoid.'

'I'm relieved to hear that,' said Arthur. 'But still, you don't have any adults in your life setting boundaries. Obviously that wasn't your choice, but I think you need someone.'

'Are you volunteering?' retorted Harry, his irritation bordering on sarcasm.

'I've always been here for you—I hope you know that. I realise things changed when you and Ginny split up, but not from my perspective. I thought of you as a son long before you and Ginny were a couple.'

'But I'm not your son. And I had Sirius.'

'Yes, and you're very like him, which concerns me as well. Unfortunately, he never grew out of his Gryffindor impulsiveness. And I'll never forgive him for running after Pettigrew when he had a clear responsibility to look after you.'

'Sirius isn't solely to blame,' argued Harry. 'Dumbledore could have found me a family. We both know he stuck me with the Dursleys on purpose.'

Arthur sighed heavily. 'I wish I'd known to intervene. But Dumbledore said it was necessary for you to stay with your aunt, and that you were all right.'

'I wasn't all right. And you were so awestruck by Dumbledore that you couldn't see it.' Harry's heart was pounding, and he was surprised by how angry he was.

'I'm so sorry ... Molly was beside herself when we read that article, and so was I. If anyone should have realised you were being abused, it should have been us.'

'Someone did realise it, and he didn't care. Dumbledore saw my school reports and those teacher recommendations, and he ignored them. He prevented anyone from helping me.'

'I won't make excuses for him,' said Arthur. 'All I can say is that he loved you and he wanted to defeat Voldemort.'

'You've got the order backwards. He wanted to defeat Voldemort, and everything else was secondary. He raised me to die.'

Arthur closed his eyes and sighed again. 'I can't argue with you. But please remember who deserves the blame, first and foremost.'

'What's the point in being angry at Voldemort?' snapped Harry. 'He wasn't rational—he wasn't sane. He was irretrievably broken as soon as he killed Myrtle Warren and created that diary. But Dumbledore was at least theoretically whole, and he should have done better.'

'You're right, he should have done,' said Arthur. 'But there's no changing the past, and I doubt you'll get much satisfaction from yelling at his portrait. But it's not too late for you to be a healthy adult.'

'Are you implying I'm not one?'

'That's not what I'm saying. For one thing, you're only nineteen. I realise you're of age, and that you've endured more than many people do in an entire lifetime, but there's still a long way from nineteen to adulthood.'

'Is this your way of saying I still need parents?'

'We all need parents. I don't know anyone who's finished growing up and couldn't stand to keep maturing. Ron's improved tremendously in the last couple of years, but he's still not done. And neither are you.'

'I never claimed I was fully mature. Obviously I want to keep learning and developing.'

'Do you?' asked Arthur, with a hint of disbelief.

'Yes,' replied Harry hotly. 'And if you knew anything about my current life besides gossip, you'd know I was pursuing that.'

'Is that so?'

'Yes. For one thing, I've engaged a tutor, to teach me about culture and everything else I never learnt at Hogwarts.'

'That's a start,' said Arthur patronisingly.

Harry knew what he needed to reveal, but he was reluctant. He took a deep breath and said, 'I've been experiencing accidental Light magic.'

Arthur inhaled sharply. 'Are you sure?'

'Do you mean am I just making excuses for my private life?' he snapped. 'No, I'm sure. That wasn't Glowpox a few weeks ago.'

'But true Light magic is incredibly rare ...'

'Yes, and so is surviving the Killing Curse, and about a dozen other things I've done. I'm not normal, for good or for ill, and you're treating me as if I were.'

After a silence, Arthur said, 'I know you're not normal, but that doesn't mean you don't need guidance.'

'I have guidance. I've spoken to Alistair and–'

'The vampire?! That's hardly the kind of guidance you need!'

'He's a Light vampire, and it's not as though we're best mates. But he found me a teacher, and I met with her once already.'

'Is she also ... a vampire?'

'No, she's a witch. She spent decades studying the Light Arts, mostly abroad, and she's agreed to teach me, and Hermione as well.'

Arthur relaxed slightly. 'Is Hermione also experiencing Light magic?'

'Not the way I am. For her it's more theoretical, but Davina is confident Hermione can connect it to her magic.'

'And you're sure you trust this Davina?' asked Arthur warily. 'How much is she charging you?'

'She didn't want payment at all, but I insisted. It's no more than I'm paying my other tutor.'

'I just worry about you. There are so many people who would take advantage.' He glanced towards the house and said, 'Even Molly. She was as concerned as I am, but after two days of Kreacher she's convinced you can do no wrong. And I suspect there are a lot of people who treat you that way.'

'You haven't met my teammates,' replied Harry. 'I mean, you've met Janet, but she's putting on a show tonight just to make Ron squirm. Normally she takes the piss out of me right and left.'

'Perhaps, but that's not the same as correcting you.'

'I have Andromeda. And Owen Barrowmaker. And Tuttle, my coach.'

Arthur chuckled. 'I suppose she used to keep Ludo Bagman in line. Although I hope you turn out better than he did.'

'Please, give me a little credit!'

'But Harry, your personal life! I know it's none of my business, but it's all so public.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Clearly I need to give you the same explanation I gave Ron and Hermione. Do me a favour and repeat it to Molly the next time she decides she's upset with me.' Arthur frowned, and Harry continued. 'I have no privacy. Unless I only date Muggles, which requires lying, people are going to know about my personal life. I tried settling down like a proper wizard, but Ginny wouldn't have me and neither would Helena. As for Lydia, that was her idea, not mine, and I'm only human. And surely you're not going to lecture me on the virtues of celibacy.'

Arthur sighed again. 'I hate to suggest this, but there's another option.'

'No. I was invited to join Pratt's, and Percy's convinced me to do it, but I'm not going back to the brothel. The fact is I fall in love too easily, and it's just a matter of time before someone takes advantage of me in that setting.'

'You were invited to join Pratt's? At your age?'

'Yes, probably because they think they can control me better that way. I wasn't going to join, but Percy said it's my best chance to prevent the next war and promote equality among wizards.'

'He's not wrong,' admitted Arthur. 'I was never invited to join, although some of Molly's relations are members. And besides, I could never afford it. But be careful—wizarding Britain is very corrupt, and I suspect Pratt's is where a lot of the deals are made. Honestly, I still worry about Percy in that regard.'

_With good reason, _thought Harry. 'I should tell you I'm going public soon with my Light magic. It's an open secret, particularly now that I've told the Malfoys, so there's no harm in announcing it.'

'You're not going to announce it on the radio, are you?'

'No, I've made an arrangement with Rita Skeeter.'

Arthur was aghast. 'After everything she's printed about you?'

Harry shrugged. 'We agreed that if I give her right of first refusal on any news items, other than Quidditch news or what I announce on the radio, then she'll only write favourably about me. That's why the _Prophet_ didn't criticise me about Lydia.'

'And you're not bribing her?'

'Other than the cost to Gringotts for our magically-binding contract, no.'

Arthur shook his head slowly. 'You've entered a world I'm completely ignorant of. But perhaps it's for the best, given your circumstances.' He looked at Harry and said, 'I brought you here to offer you guidance, but it's clear you don't want any. And maybe you don't need it—I couldn't say. But I hope you know you're always welcome here, and that Molly and I will always consider you part of the family.'

'I'm sorry I'm not more receptive, and I don't mean to imply you've never done anything for me. You took me in during all those summers, and you showed me how normal families interact. You sent me gifts at Christmas and my birthday, and you made me feel like a normal child even. I can't thank you enough for that. And I'd have loved to officially be part of the family, but that's not what Ginny wanted.'

'Apparently not,' sighed Arthur. 'But when you're a parent, you'll learn you can't influence your children's decisions. Not really.'

'Then maybe you really are like a father to me,' joked Harry, and Arthur chuckled. Hoping to change the topic, Harry asked Arthur about his latest project. 'Where did you find a pinball machine?'

'Is that what it's called?' asked Arthur, fascinated. 'Are you familiar with them?'

'Not really. They weren't very common when I was a kid—they'd mostly been replaced by video games. But I saw one in a restaurant once and Dudley got to play.'

'So you play it?' prompted Arthur. 'How exactly?'

'Er, you drop a coin into that slot, maybe 10p, and it releases a metal ball right here. And you pull this thingy and the ball shoots into play. And then you use these buttons to control the flippers—I think that's what Uncle Vernon called them. The flippers bang the ball about, and it bounces off these things, which light up and make a lot of noise. And you get points, which display up here.'

'And this is some kind of recreational activity? Or does it perform a task?'

'No, it's just for fun. That's why you pay to do it.' _And why I wasn't allowed to have a go_, thought Harry sadly.

'So there'd be no point in automating it?'

'No, none at all. Unless you just wanted to watch, which might be a little entertaining. But probably not for long.'

'Right,' said Arthur slowly. 'Do you reckon you could make it do something else? Something more useful?'

'Well, it did look like fun when Dudley played it. I bet if you got it working, people would have a good time with it. Where did you find it anyway?'

Arthur averted his eyes. 'Er, I just ran across it somewhere. I'm certain no one was using it.'

_So you stole it,_ thought Harry. 'It looks pretty old,' he acknowledged, 'and a bit worse for wear.'

'Right,' said Arthur cheerfully. 'Anyway, I shouldn't keep you any longer. Shall we return to the house?'

Harry nodded, and they walked back to the Burrow together. _That could have gone worse_, he thought. _At least he didn't ambush me with a fluttering black curtain._

When they returned to the house, Harry wondered whether Janet had strengthened Ron's cosmetic charms, because his lips looked redder than they had before dinner, and his eyelids were slightly shimmery. He was talking to George near the staircase, which gave Harry a chance to pull Janet aside and ask.

'I had to cast a _Finite_ before he went to the loo, so he wouldn't see it in the mirror. But my wand is up my sleeve, and I recast the charms when he was walking back to the table. I decided to hit him a little harder this time, just for fun.'

'Did anyone notice?'

'Percy took off his glasses and cleaned them, but he didn't say anything. Molly, on the other hand, winked and told me to keep an eye on Ron because he has all the makings of a heartbreaker.'

'You're my new hero,' said Harry sincerely. 'But I'll hex you to bits if you ever try the same on me.'

They chatted until the front door swung open and Ginny stepped inside, wearing an old rucksack. 'Hi, I'm back,' she announced. 'Oh my god, what happened to the house?'

'Ginny!' exclaimed Molly. 'We weren't expecting you for another hour.'

'Yeah, I forgot about the time change. I left Rome at nine o'clock and got home at eight. But what's with the house?'

'Er, Harry loaned us Kreacher for a couple of days,' said Molly awkwardly, and Harry realised he should make himself visible.

He stepped into view and said, 'Hi, Ginny. Ron invited me to dinner so your parents would have someone to pick on besides him.'

'Oh! I didn't see you there. How are you? Did you bring anyone?' she asked, peering about.

'I'm fine, and no, it's just me.'

Ginny took off her rucksack and shook out her hair, which made Harry's heart catch momentarily. 'Does that mean you're no longer seeing Lydia Travers?'

'That's right. It was never long term.'

'What a shame—I'd have loved to see her at Sunday dinner,' she laughed. 'Are you all right?'

'Of course. And you? Were you in Rome?'

'Yes, I went with my teammate Wendy and a friend. We had a great time.'

'I'm glad to hear it. That's the one disadvantage of a Quidditch career—not much chance to travel during the season.'

'At least you get to play! I'm just holding the skybenches in place.'

'You play all week, though, right?'

'Yes, and I shouldn't complain. But I suppose our teams will be facing each other on Saturday.'

'They will be, and I reckon the Cannons' winning streak will come to an end.'

'Don't say that. Obviously I'm rooting for the Harpies, but I'll cheer for you as well.'

'Just don't hold up a sign telling me to see a Mind Healer, or to make an honest woman out of Lydia.'

'I promise, but I make no guarantees about the Harpyheads. I almost feel bad for our opponents, particularly at home matches.'

Harry didn't have a reply, and he just gazed at Ginny, without exactly meaning to. She blushed slightly and started looking around the room. 'Sweet Merlin!' she cried when she saw Ron. 'Are you wearing makeup?'

Ron looked over his shoulder to see who she was addressing. When he saw no one, he said, 'Of course not! You've got me confused with Harry.'

'No she hasn't,' smirked Harry. 'Look in a mirror.'

Ginny and George were laughing, and Percy leaned in for a closer examination. 'He's right, you are wearing makeup!'

Ron poked his head into the bathroom and shouted, 'Damn you, Lindhurst! Mum, it was a practical joke by Janet, I'm sure of it.'

'That was makeup?' said Molly incredulously. 'I must say, it suits you.'

'Mum!'

'I mean, the lip colour is a bit much, but I think the eyebrows and lashes are a nice touch. Ginger hair, you know.'

Ginny looked at Harry accusingly. 'What did Ron mean when he said I had him confused with you? Don't tell me that's been mascara the whole time.'

'Of course not! For Merlin's sake, we were in the Prefects' bathtub together!'

All four Weasley males glared at Harry. George said, 'I think what Harry meant to say is that Ron was referring to the bit we had to censor from his broadcast on Tuesday.'

'Er, yeah,' replied Harry. 'I said something about a Frenchman chatting me up because I was wearing makeup.'

'Muggle makeup!' clarified Ron. 'Tart armour!'

'Did you wear eye makeup?' asked Molly. 'I'm sure it looked lovely.'

'Mum, stop sucking up to Harry,' scolded Ron. 'Ginny, if you're ever in trouble, just loan Mum a house-elf and all will be forgiven.'

Janet, seated comfortably on the sofa, looked extremely pleased with herself. 'Ron, I can't believe you didn't invite me to Sunday dinner sooner. This is brilliant.'

'I would sell my soul to see photos of Harry wearing tart armour,' proclaimed Ginny.

'Ginny!' cried Molly. 'Don't joke about selling your soul!'

'Oh, and the Frenchman said Harry looked like a British rocker,' added George. 'And yes, I'd love to see it as well. Maybe you could try it out at Pratt's first.'

'You're joining Pratt's?' said Ron and Ginny simultaneously.

'Yes,' declared Percy. 'Harry, you should go home and owl them at once.'

'Use one of the ravens,' suggested Ron. 'And sign it "Lord Black."'

'They're jackdaws!' protested Harry. 'And lordships are bollocks,' he added weakly. 'Oh bugger, I'm going home.'

'Master!' cried Kreacher, whose arms were covered in soap suds. 'Kreacher used to apply makeup for Mistress! Would Master like for Kreacher to apply makeup on Master? Kreacher would be glad to learn the latest techniques.'

'Walburga Black wore tart armour?' exclaimed George.

'I'm so glad I didn't miss this,' said Ginny. 'If I weren't stuffed from dinner I'd want popcorn.'

'No, Kreacher, I do not want for you to apply makeup,' said Harry firmly.

'Couldn't you throw a drag party?' suggested Janet. 'That way you wouldn't be the only one.'

'I'm leaving now,' declared Harry. 'Molly, thank you for dinner, and you too Arthur.'

Molly hugged Harry and thanked him again for sending Kreacher, and Arthur clasped Harry on the shoulders and told him not to be a stranger. 'I'll try to get that pinball machine working for you.'

'I'd like that,' said Harry sincerely. He said goodbye to the others, drinking in the sight of Ginny one last time, and Flooed home.

Before he lost his nerve, he pulled out a sheet of the stationery Lydia had given him and wrote to the Pratt's membership committee:

_After much deliberation, I've decided to accept your offer and become a member of Pratt's. I believe I have a lot to learn from my fellow wizards, and I'm grateful you were able to overlook my age and other possible marks against me. I also appreciate the opportunity to mingle with people I mightn't otherwise get to know, and I look forward to finding common ground. Please find enclosed the authorisation for my monthly dues payment._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

He went upstairs to the owlery and attached the letter to Viola's leg, in cheeky defiance of the Pratt's prohibition against females. As he watched her fly off, he relaxed the tiny inner constriction that had been holding back his Light magic, and his diffuse glow merged with the reddish night sky.


	73. Chapter 73

'You bloody sell-out!' cried Gemma the next morning during laps. 'I should have known you could never resist easy access to French prostitutes!'

'They're _filles de joie_,' corrected Harry. 'And I've resolved never to return to the brothel.'

'I should bring in a dictionary and show you the definition of "never,"' she scoffed. 'Because you clearly think it means "at least not until teatime."'

'I know what it means, and I'm serious. The fact is, I fall in love too easily, and my life is scandalous enough without me publicly taking up with a French prostitute.'

'_Fille de joie_,' retorted Gemma, and they both laughed. 'So if it's not for the sex, why are you joining? Did you want to make your prathood official?'

'Several people, including George Weasley, persuaded me that joining Pratt's is my best chance to influence wizarding Britain for the better. They said I'll be able to draw neutral wizards towards the Light end of the political spectrum.'

'That makes sense. But didn't you say it's expensive and elitist?'

'It is,' said Harry. 'But if by joining an overpriced, elitist club I can help promote equality among magicals, then it's worth it.'

'That might be the most impressive rationalisation I've heard in my entire life. Have you told Hermione yet?'

'No,' he admitted. 'And I'm dreading it.'

'I can't imagine why! She could only be delighted you're joining a warded, men's only, Dark-wizard-tolerating brothel.'

'It's not a brothel! The brothel's in France.'

'Just down the corridor,' smirked Gemma. 'I hope you realise you're ensuring my ongoing prosperity by giving me so much blackmail material.'

'It wouldn't work. This is exactly how wizards are supposed to behave.'

'Do you reckon it's the same in Australia?' she asked. 'I'm starting to reconsider Plan A.'

Harry decided not to tell Gemma about the condom scheme, and he changed the topic to the Firebolt Ultra. 'I'm supposed to give it a try this week. Did you take to it automatically, or did you have to get the hang of it?'

'I liked it right away. I also tried the Cleansweep X-20 and the Nimbus 2200, but they didn't have the same kick.'

'That's exactly what I don't like—the kick. Bruce claims I just need to alter my flying style and then I'll love it, but I'm sceptical.'

Harry used his Silver Arrow during the morning flying drills, but he knew Bruce would make him switch after lunch. Fortunately, he was distracted during lunch by Janet's tales of Sunday dinner at the Burrow. 'Everyone should date a Weasley, just to experience a night with the family,' she insisted. 'I can't even imagine what Christmas is like.'

'All of you, stay away from Ginny,' cautioned Harry. 'And by "all of you" I mean Darren.'

'I don't think you need to worry,' said Janet. 'When she pulled back her hair after you left, there was a highly-visible love bite.'

'Are you serious?'

'Yeah, I told her about it before Molly noticed, but I think Arthur saw it.'

'At least he couldn't blame me,' grumbled Harry. 'He gave me a proper scolding after dinner for everything from quitting the Ministry to my private life.'

'Did you tell him about the Light you-know-what?' asked Suresh discreetly, as the pub was unusually crowded.

'Yes, but I'd be lying if I claimed it fully explains my behaviour.'

'Not necessarily,' said Gary. 'As humans, we like to believe we have top-down control over our actions, but that control is more of a construct than anything else.'

Harry looked lost, and Suresh said, 'Can you use smaller words? Harry went to Hogwarts.'

'So did I,' retorted Gary. 'Although I admit I didn't learn this there. Harry, my point is that the so-called rational self is just a creation of all our irrational processes, which are largely emotional or biological. So if you have Light magic in the mix, that could skew your decisions significantly. But really, there's no point in berating yourself, as long as you're not hurting anyone.'

'But I hurt Lydia, remember?'

'Well, yes, that was unfortunate. In that case, you need to strengthen your commitment to behaving ethically, to counterbalance the parts of yourself you can't control.'

Darren rolled his eyes. 'You're being a serious killjoy, Wisenborn.'

'No, this is good,' said Harry. 'Gary, you're saying that if I consciously set the intention not to hurt someone, it'll make me less likely to be swayed by my other impulses?'

'That's the idea. But I think humility is crucial—you mustn't assume you're infallible.'

'No, he's just unkillable,' said Suresh. 'That's not the same as being infallible.'

'I should ask my teacher about this tonight,' resolved Harry. 'Although I'm not thrilled about Hermione finding out what I did.'

Ryan suddenly looked sheepish. 'Er, Harry, I have a confession. I may have told Hermione that you cheated on Lydia.'

'You may have done?' probed Renée.

'All right, I told her. She asked me why Lydia wasn't at the match—she was concerned it had something to do with the Squibs—and I told her you'd broken up. And naturally she wanted to know why. I'm sorry, Harry.'

Harry sighed. 'That's all right. I know how hard it is to keep anything from her.'

'It is. Her mum told me that her first word after "mama" and "dada" was "why."'

_She's bound to figure out what happened,_ thought Harry sadly, _particularly once I tell her about Pratt's. _He supposed it was better for her to hear it from him, and he decided to tell her that night after their lesson with Davina.

He was distracted for a while, in spite of Janet's continued insistence he host a drag party. 'I'd love that,' said Renée, 'but I doubt Vampire John Lennon would be in favour.'

'Well, of course not,' retorted Janet. 'He can't see his own reflection. Yoko would have to apply his makeup, and it would be all arty and weird.'

'Who would you invite?' asked Suresh.

'Nobody, because it's not happening,' said Harry firmly.

'Is that because you wouldn't enjoy it, or because you're afraid of publicity.'

'The latter,' admitted Harry.

'So make people sign a magically-binding contract,' said Renée. 'Anyone who spills the beans publicly would face consequences.'

'Such as?' prompted Harry.

'Antlers. For a month,' said Darren.

'And their teeth fall out,' added Janet. 'For a month.'

'That would be a good deterrent,' said Harry. 'But who would I invite? Not the entire league, surely.'

'How about the same rules as your first party?' said Suresh. 'Your own mates and a bunch of ours?'

'Not Romilda,' declared Darren.

'I didn't invite her in the first place,' said Harry. 'And that's a good point—I can't do portkey invitations again, because there's no telling who might turn up. And I won't spend the entire time greeting guests—I want to enjoy myself for once.'

'Might I recommend you wait until after you go public with your Light magic?' said Ryan. 'That way you can glow to your heart's content.'

'That sounds absolutely brilliant,' said Harry rapturously, closing his eyes.

'Knock it off, Snitchbottom,' said Janet, and she tossed the contents of her water glass on him.

'Oi!' he cried, mopping his shirt with a napkin. 'And thanks, that was close. I swear, it's getting harder to control all of a sudden.'

'You just proved Ryan's point,' she said, surreptitiously hitting him with a Drying Charm. 'But at least you'd be making a great sales pitch for the Light Arts.'

'Do it, Snitchbottom,' echoed Suresh. 'No one is going to question your sexuality after your last broadcast. Worst case scenario is that a few blokes are going to try to snog you.'

'I'll think about it. But not right now—I need to talk with Squabble and Mrs Thwip,' said Harry, tossing several coins onto the table and rising.

'The busy life of the Cannons' socialite Seeker,' declared Janet.

'Don't you dare call me a socialite,' scowled Harry.

'Forgive me, my lord!'

'Is Henry a lord?' exclaimed Candice, who had suddenly appeared with their bill.

Four of them said 'No,' and the other three said, 'Yes,' simultaneously.

Candice looked bewildered, and Suresh said, 'In Albania. But it doesn't count, because he's in exile.'

'Still, that's not something you encounter every day,' said Candice, impressed. 'Do you have a castle?'

'No, it was destroyed by the Soviets,' said Gary. 'And Henry's never even been there, although some of the locals want him to return. They miss feudalism, apparently.'

'But no castle,' said Candice. 'Do you have any treasure?'

_A cursed tiara_, thought Harry. 'No,' replied Ryan. 'The communists seized everything. Henry's grandparents used to scrounge around Europe trying to get other nobles to take them in, but his dad gave up and married an English girl, and Henry's the result.'

'But if Albania ever restores the monarchy, he'll be ready,' added Gary.

Candice lowered her voice. 'Is that how you got into this kind of work, Henry? To influence Albanian politics?'

Harry stiffened and said, 'I'm afraid I can't talk about that, and I really need to go. But I'll see you tomorrow, cheers!'

He tried to maintain a straight face as he scurried out of the pub. _My life is genuinely weird_, he thought, recalling how Voldemort had found Ravenclaw's lost diadem in Albania and lurked there for years as a wraith.

When he arrived at the training grounds, he stopped first in Victor Squabble's office, where he was pleased to find Sandra as well. 'I don't know if you can help me with this, but I've agreed to try reducing Draco Malfoy's sentence. He's currently in his second year of house arrest, and I'd like to recommend he go free early.'

Victor and Sandra both looked worried, and Sandra peered into Harry's eyes. 'You haven't been Imperiused, have you?'

'No, but thanks for asking. I refused to intervene on his father's behalf, but I saw Draco yesterday, and it's clear that house arrest is only making him bitter. In the interest of not having him as an enemy for my entire life, I agreed to seek his freedom. But I don't know where to start.'

'I'm afraid this goes way beyond my area of expertise,' said Victor. 'Sandra, could you consult the law books?'

She was already pulling a volume from the shelf. 'I'm almost certain you'd have to address the Wizengamot, since they voted on the original punishment.'

'That's what I was afraid of,' replied Harry. 'When is their next session?'

'A week from Wednesday,' she said, flipping through the book. She was quiet for several minutes as she read, and then she frowned and turned to what looked like an appendix. 'Yes,' she murmured. 'That's the easiest way.'

'What is?' asked Harry.

'Normally it's hard to appeal a sentence in the absence of new evidence,' she said. 'The DMLE has the power to revisit a case, but that can take months. However, I just consulted the 1707 amendment to the Wizengamot charter, and if you invoke lordly privilege you're allowed to bring the question directly to the Wizengamot floor. Note that you'd need a two-thirds vote to overturn the existing sentence, but I don't anticipate that being a problem, if you recommend it. Certainly the lords won't vote against freeing a Malfoy.'

Harry sighed. 'I'm going to need a hat, won't I?'

'I'm afraid so. And unlike the robes, there's no room for manoeuvring.' She showed him the detailed drawing of the lords' hat.

Frowning, he asked, 'What else will I need to do?'

She continued to read. 'Oh dear. Are you certain you're willing to do this?'

'Do what?' he asked nervously.

'You would have to guarantee that Draco Malfoy wouldn't violate the terms of his early release.'

'What does that mean exactly?'

'If Draco Malfoy committed and were convicted of a crime during the early release period, you and he would both be punished for it.'

'Are you kidding?' exclaimed Harry. 'Any crime?'

She kept reading and then said, 'No, only a crime he wouldn't have been able to commit under house arrest. So if he Imperiused someone at home, you wouldn't be punishable for that. Likewise if he's convicted of a white-collar crime, such as bribery—regardless of where he commits it. The DMLE has a certain amount of discretion, so if it's a borderline case they might be willing to leave you out of it. But if it's a flagrant crime, they'd have no choice but to punish you as well.'

'And it's only until the end of his original sentence?' asked Harry.

'That's right. When is that?'

'Next July sometime,' said Harry, who was struggling to think clearly.

'Are you seriously considering this?' asked Victor.

'I was, but you've given me pause. I'm inclined to go the DMLE route, even though it would take longer. Would I be liable in that case?'

'No,' replied Sandra. 'But whether they act on your request depends entirely the individuals involved. How's your relationship with Merrick Bode?'

Harry's face fell as he recalled the taciturn head of the DMLE. 'He'll never agree to it,' he said dourly. Lucius Malfoy had Imperiused Bode's younger brother, Broderick, and sent him after the prophecy, which rendered him insane. He was just starting to improve when a Death Eater murdered him with a deadly plant. 'Merrick Bode wanted Draco to go to Azkaban, same as Lucius,' explained Harry. 'Kingsley told me he was furious when I testified on Draco and Narcissa's behalf. If he has to approve the change in Draco's sentence, it'll never happen.'

There was collective silence until Victor sat up and said, 'Here's my advice. If you really want to do this, insist that the Malfoys sign a magically-binding civil contract that forfeits all their remaining assets to you if Draco is convicted of a crime during the early release period. I can work with Gringotts to write it up if you like.'

'All their assets?' gasped Harry

'Down to the last speck of dust in Malfoy Manor,' said Victor.

Harry frowned again. 'It won't do me much good if I'm in Azkaban.'

'You could designate secondary recipients, but I'm sure it would never come to that. Draco Malfoy would have to be insane to risk his family's wealth—it may have been halved, but it's still significant.'

'Yes, I saw the numbers when they calculated the Gringotts restitution. It's far more than what Sirius left me.'

Sandra looked at him carefully. 'Do you trust Draco's sanity?'

'That's a good question. House arrest hasn't been good for him, and he was definitely damaged by the war, same as me. But otherwise he's more or less as I remember him.'

'It's your decision,' said Sandra. 'But you shouldn't make it lightly.'

Harry thanked them for their advice, and in a fog he went down the corridor to Mrs Thwip's office. 'Here's my latest correspondence,' he told her, pulling a large pile from his pouch. 'I assume you have an equally large pile of new post requiring personal replies?'

'I do indeed, Mister Potter,' she said, handing him a very thick envelope. 'And don't look so downcast. You should be pleased you're this popular.'

'I am,' he said sincerely. 'I truly appreciate that people take the time to write and make banners, and all the rest.'

'Speaking of banners,' she said archly. 'I understand you told two young witches to owl you in care of the team.'

'Oh, bugger! I'm sorry, yes. Please excuse my language, Mrs Thwip.'

'Thank you for the swift correction, Mr Potter. Regarding the two women, I'm afraid you might have trouble identifying them amongst the numerous claimants.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Since Saturday evening, you've received seven different letters from witches claiming to be the two in question.'

'Claiming? Surely a photograph would settle the matter,' replied Harry.

'Yes, and several included them,' she said, handing him another thick envelope.

Harry closed his eyes in mortification. 'You know about Light magic, right?'

'I've recently been informed.'

He took a deep breath and handed the envelope back to her. 'I hate to ask this of you, but would you please apologise on my behalf and say I won't be contacting them? I may not be able to control my impulses, but I'm occasionally capable of rational decisions. And please, tell them it's nothing personal and that I'm sure they're lovely.'

'Yes, Mr Potter,' said Mrs Thwip, placing the envelope on a stack labelled _Priority._

'Thank you. I appreciate your patience with me.'

'That's my job, Mr Potter.'

Harry felt a hint of relief as he walked from Mrs Thwip's office to the locker room. _I'd rather meet a witch first before committing to have sex with her_, he thought. _And there's something to be said for anticipation. _His mind wandered back to Alex, the Transfiguration expert who had helped redecorate Grimmauld Place the week before, and he resolved to owl her that night.

When Harry arrived at the benches for Seeker training, he brought his Silver Arrow with him, but Bruce promptly relieved him of it. To make matters worse, instead of handing Harry a Firebolt Ultra, Bruce gave him the ancient Pegasus Ten.

'What did I ever do to you?' groaned Harry. 'Are you trying to make me appreciate the Firebolt Ultra by comparison?'

'I want you to practise those tweaks before we put you on the Firebolt. They need to become ingrained habits, or else you'll have the same complaints as before.'

'Fine,' said Harry, throwing his leg over the broomstick. 'Should I fly anywhere specific, or just do my best to stay aloft?'

'Stay close to the ground and fly up and down the length of the pitch.' Bruce reviewed the tweaks they'd discussed, and Harry took off.

_Is this what flying feels like to people who don't like flying? _he wondered. But he dutifully practised Bruce's tweaks, which involved seemingly inconsequential details such as how to hold his ribcage and point his kneecaps. _The Firebolt Ultra has to be a seriously crap broom to rely on proper kneecap deployment, _he thought grumpily.

After several interminable flights along the pitch, Bruce waved Harry to the benches and said, 'You seem to have all the individual pieces in place, but can you unify them?'

'How do you mean?' asked Harry, although he already knew the answer.

'Draw a set of imaginary lines connecting all the body parts you've adjusted, and visualise the point at the centre.'

Harry closed his eyes and tried to find the point Bruce was describing. After frowning, he suddenly opened his eyes in astonishment. 'It's in my lower abdomen, right here,' he said, pointing to the muscles Bruce had told him to engage in order to align his magic with the broom's.

'I was hoping you'd say that. There's no point in forcing it, if you can't actually feel it,' said Bruce. 'If you can stand it, I'd like for you to practise some more on the Pegasus Ten, but this time attempt to unite all the tweaks around the lower abdomen adjustment. And I know this isn't helpful advice, but try not to think about it.'

Harry nodded and kicked off again. He refreshed his visualisation of the lines of energy between his lower abdomen and all the areas he was suppose to tweak, and he set an intention that they work together as a whole. This time, the Pegasus Ten almost felt too fast, not because he was moving any faster but because it was distracting to alternate between the individual tweaks and the unified experience. But even a fleeting moment of unity made him want to keep trying.

'It's hard,' he told Bruce during his next break. 'I get a taste of it, and then it falls apart again.'

'I think that's more mental than physical,' said Bruce. 'From my vantage point, you were maintaining all the individual pieces. The trick will be to relax your effort without falling into old habits.'

Harry glanced at Gemma, who was practising with Owen and the Launcher, and he could see her frustration. 'It's like what Gemma is doing, learning to trust her awareness to find the Snitch,' said Harry. 'That came easily to me, and this came easily to her.'

'No, she had to learn this too, by using third-rate brooms for a long time. I don't know Viktor Krum's history, but it may have been similar. But you've always flown the top of the line.'

'So you're saying I'm spoilt?' joked Harry. 'I should have known.'

'Nobody who read about your childhood can possibly call you spoilt,' remarked Bruce.

'That's right! Why don't I get credit for all the non-magical brooms I've had to use? I'm certain I've done far more actual sweeping than Krum ever has, or even Gemma.'

Harry flew up and down the pitch several more times, and he experienced longer stretches of unified effort than before. On an instinct, he allowed slightly more light magic to flow, and the sense of harmony increased. Furthermore, he was no longer irritated by the Pegasus Ten, and he merely enjoyed how peaceful it felt.

'That was good,' said Bruce, still reviewing his Omnioculars. 'You looked more relaxed. Er, hang on a minute.'

'What's the matter?' asked Harry.

'We may have a problem—watch this,' said Bruce, handing Harry the Omnioculars. 'Look at your hands.'

Harry watched the recording and quickly saw what Bruce was referring to. 'Bugger, they're glowing. I'd have thought the gloves would hide it, but they don't.'

'When are you going public?' asked Bruce.

'I'm just waiting for the go-ahead from my teacher, hopefully tonight. Then I'll owl Rita Skeeter and we'll schedule an interview.'

'Do you reckon it's better to announce it before or after the Harpies match?'

'After, if we can wait,' said Harry. 'I'd rather not give the Harpyheads more material.'

'Agreed. But you should be ready to announce it immediately after the match, just in case. Talk to Susanna and Thaddeus.' He chuckled and added, 'I wonder if the bookmakers have odds on this.'

'You're not the first person to ask,' said Harry. 'And it's none of my business what you do in your leisure time. Just leave me out of it.'

'Understood. Are you ready for the Firebolt?'

Harry nodded. 'There's no time like the present.'

Bruce gave him the Firebolt Ultra, and Harry stepped over it. Before taking off, he visualised the lines of energy connecting all the areas he was trying to tweak, and then he relaxed into a unified whole.

_Sweet Merlin, this is fast!_ he thought, mostly because he'd become accustomed to the Pegasus Ten. He wasn't actually flying at top speed, but instead he was testing whether he could turn smoothly. _So far so good_, he thought after taking a few lengths of the pitch. He leaned forward and drew more speed from the broom to see what would happen.

The Firebolt delivered and he shot forward more quickly. _Steady,_ he told himself, and he felt the lines of energy connect in his lower abdomen. Light magic arose, but not too much, and he tightened his turns.

Harry felt the kick he'd previously disliked, but it was no longer unpleasant. _It's like adrenaline_, he thought, and he aligned himself with it instead of fighting it as he'd done before. He accelerated harder, and when he reached the end of the pitch he turned sharply around a goalpost.

_Ugh, there it is_, he thought, feeling the unpleasant kick he recalled. _But that was a sharp turn at top speed, so maybe it's just requires practice. _He invited more Light magic to arise, and the next time he took a hairpin turn the broom didn't bother him. The problem was resistance, he realised, and he consciously dropped his expectation of how the broom should behave.

He was still flying close to the ground, primarily to keep out of the way, but he couldn't resist pointing upwards and disrupting the Chasers. _They're over my pitch_, he thought mischievously, and his unexpected fly-through earned him shouts and jeers.

'Get a grip, Snitchbottom,' called Ryan, and Harry gleefully raised two fingers at him. _Oh blast, I'm glowing again_, he thought, and he zoomed to the ground.

'You looked great,' said Bruce. 'How did it feel?'

'Good. Too good, in fact.'

'Yeah, I saw that, but only through the Omnioculars. We should ask Ryan whether he noticed it.'

Ryan had not, in fact, realised that Harry's hands were glowing. 'But didn't you say Light magic is distracting on a broom?' he asked.

'It was the first time I tried it, but that was full-on glowing. This was just my hands.'

'I have to say, you were flying lightning fast, and it's been ages since you caught us off guard like that.'

'Owen told me to step up the feints,' said Harry.

'That you've done.'

Tuttle, who had been hovering near the rings, flew down and cried, 'Fuck me, is that the Firebolt?'

'That would be fraternising,' replied Darren. 'And yes.'

'Potter, what did you think?' she asked.

'I'm seeing its virtues,' he admitted. 'But my hands were glowing.'

'Can you keep it that way? Hands-only, that is?'

'Probably? Maybe? It's been getting harder to prevent. I suspect I'll have to go public right after the match.'

'Go talk to Susanna and Thaddeus,' she ordered. 'The rest of you, back to work.'

Harry left the broom with Bruce and walked inside. 'Are you all right?' asked Lara with concern.

'Blinky lights,' he said, holding up his hands. 'I need to talk to the publicity department.'

He knocked on Susanna's door and said, 'Do you have a minute?'

'Yes, of course. Shall I fetch Thaddeus as well?'

He nodded, and soon they were gathered around Susanna's desk. 'I can't put off the Light magic announcement much longer. I'm liable to light up like a Christmas tree against the Harpies, and you'll need to be ready. Otherwise I'll just have Rita run the article on Sunday.'

'Rita Skeeter?' asked Thaddeus. 'Did I miss something?'

Harry explained his relationship with her, and Thaddeus and Susanna were gobsmacked. 'How did we never learn she could be tamed like that?' exclaimed Susanna.

'We've never had anyone like Harry,' observed Thaddeus. 'I suspect she only offers deals to people who consistently generate news.'

'Would you be willing to coordinate with her?' asked Harry. 'If I start glowing during the match, obviously the team has to make an announcement and it'll count as Quidditch news. But if you don't leave her a story she can sell, she could claim I've violated our contract and start coming after me again.'

'Forgive me for suggesting this,' said Thaddeus, 'but we can just follow the same pattern as when the story about your family came out. Everyone knew the essentials as soon as you punched Gilstrap, but they had to wait until morning for Rita's full article.'

'That's true,' said Harry, 'and I'm told she was on the radio that evening teasing the article. I'm sure she'd be only too glad to do the same if my Light magic comes out early. The only trick is that I shouldn't reveal too much while talking to reporters after the match.'

'That's fine,' said Thaddeus. 'We can coordinate with Rita to provide some basic information about Light magic, but not give away the main points of her article.'

Susanna looked thoughtful for a moment. 'Should we get the products team in on this?'

'Glowing merchandise?' said Thaddeus. 'Definitely—it'll be a goldmine.'

'Blimey, you're right,' exclaimed Harry. 'I swear, I'm not just doing this for the gold!'

'Of course not,' said Susanna. 'I've already heard rumours that you're donating generously to several major charities, and we can help those along if you like.'

'I'd rather keep that private, but I might get back to you if people start calling me a miser.'

Harry returned to the pitch, and within minutes it was time for the practice match. 'This should be entertaining,' said Gemma when she saw Harry carrying the Firebolt Ultra. 'The reserve players have a wager about how many times you'll swear this afternoon.'

'They might be disappointed,' he replied, and he told her about the Light magic.

'You just find new ways to cheat, don't you!' she cried indignantly.

'It's not cheating! That's like saying you're cheating by weighing less than I do.'

'Fine, Toffer,' she scowled. 'We'll just add it to Harry Potter-Black's growing list of unfair advantages.'

Tuttle released the four balls, and Harry and Gemma launched into the air. 'Does Owen still want you to track me?' he asked.

'Yeah, to see whether you can keep up.'

'Should we start with a race?'

She grinned. 'Why not?'

They flew together to one end of the pitch, and Harry took a moment to reestablish the link between all the tweaks Bruce had recommended. They aligned the tips of their broomsticks, and Harry said, 'On your marks, get set, go!'

He and Gemma zoomed across the pitch, and his Light magic arose automatically. They were close to the ground, so there was no risk of collision, and within mere seconds they reached the opposite side.

'Not bad, Toffer. I won, but by less than usual.'

Harry nodded but then shot upwards into his first feint, which gave him an opportunity to practise turning on the new broom. Gemma caught up with him, and after the feint they compared notes. 'It was only a little jumpy, and that was when I zig-zagged between Lyle and Renée.'

'I'm sorry, is that the sound of someone eating crow?' she asked innocently.

'Yes, you were right and I was wrong. East Kettleton is better than Hogwarts and I'm just a spoilt git who never learnt to fly properly. Although I'm probably better at actual sweeping than you are.'

'I doubt it, Toffer. I worked two Muggle jobs during the war, remember?'

'Bugger, you're right!' Harry scowled and added, 'But I've pitched more tents than you. And caught more fish.'

'Yes, and gathered more mushrooms, and killed more Dark Lords.'

Harry sighed. 'I wish you wouldn't phrase it like that.'

'Dark Lords?' asked Gemma.

'No, killed.'

'Well, you didn't exactly hug him, did you?'

'Actually, that's not far off from how I killed my Defence professor as a first year.'

'Wasn't he possessed by Voldemort and trying to kill you?'

'Yeah, but he was still a human, and he died because of me.'

'Get over yourself, Toffer. You didn't kill him—Voldemort did. You were just an accessory.'

Harry wasn't sure how to respond, so he shot into a wild feint through the opposing Chasers, which gave him an opportunity to practise his turning. It felt jumpy, and after grumbling he refreshed his visualisation of the lines of energy in his body, and the broomstick smoothed accordingly.

'I swore once,' he confessed when Gemma approached him.

'I'm sorry?'

'You said the reserves had a wager about how many times I'd swear about the Firebolt. I swore just now.'

'Right, but how many times?' she asked. 'Did you just say "bugger" or did you say "fuck this bloody piece of shit?"'

'More like the latter,' admitted Harry. 'You should put me down for three.'

Gemma was quiet for a while before saying, 'I really upset you when I said you didn't kill your professor, didn't I?'

'Yeah, but I'm not sure why. Shouldn't I be relieved to hear I'm not responsible?'

'I don't know. I guess it's upsetting for some reason.'

They flew in silence, and Harry deliberately increased his flow of Light magic. After circling the pitch several times, he said, 'It meant I was powerless.'

'What did?'

'The fact that it was Voldemort who killed Quirrell, and not me. I was just a tool.'

Gemma rolled her eyes. 'I think you're reading too much into this. You were acting out of self-defence. If things had been normal, you could have just kicked him in the bollocks and run away. But this was your life and therefore completely mental, which meant that when you tried to defend yourself it was all mixed up with Voldemort and the poor bugger died. But that's Voldemort's fault, not yours.'

Harry didn't reply, and they continued flying without talking. Eventually he asked, 'Have you ever killed anyone, or hurt someone seriously? You don't have to answer if you don't want to.'

'Yeah, once,' she admitted. 'I didn't kill anyone, but I hurt one of my classmates with accidental magic.'

'What happened?'

'When I was nine there were some girls in my school, a year older. They used to pick on me—said I was weird, because I was a bit of a loner.' Gemma was quiet for a moment and added, 'It was a Saturday, and I was on the high street picking out a birthday present for my mum, and they saw me in the shop. They followed me out, and I was scared they were going to take what I'd bought her, so I started running. You know I'm fast—same as you—but one of the girls was a lot taller and she was gaining on me. I knew she was about to catch up, and I remember thinking, "Please, let her break a leg." And she did, and I got away.'

'Are you sure it was accidental magic?' asked Harry. 'She might have tripped.'

'That's what I thought at the time. It wasn't until a few years later, when I was at East Kettleton and I saw my file. I was in the headmistress's office because I'd mouthed off to one of my professors, and the headmistress had to take a Floo call. When she was in front of the fireplace, I looked at the file on her desk and saw a list of all the times I'd done accidental magic, and that was on it.'

'It sounds like she deserved it, if she was a bully.'

'Yeah, but she broke her leg in three places and had to have surgery. I saw her last year, and it looked like she had a bit of a limp.'

'Was she still a bully afterwards?'

'I don't know—she and her mates left me alone after that. I'm not even sure if they remained friends, since they were sporty types and she was in a cast for the rest of the year.'

'How did you react, when you learnt it was accidental magic?'

'It came as a shock, but I didn't really process it at the time because I was waiting to be punished by the headmistress. But I felt bad about it—I still do.'

Harry knew he should probably feint, but it was rare for Gemma to open up like this and he didn't want to fly away in the middle of it. 'That's how I feel about Quirrell,' he replied. 'The fact is I wanted to hurt him, or Voldemort anyway. I wanted to stop him. I just didn't realise that stopping him meant killing him.'

'Yeah, that's it,' said Gemma. 'I just didn't want her to take my mum's present, because I'd spent all my money on it. I felt bad at the time, because I thought maybe God had answered my prayer and broken her leg, but I didn't feel entirely responsible because I figured God knew what he was doing. But then later I found out it was all me.'

'No, it was that girl too. No one was forcing her to chase you.'

'Yeah, well, same with your professor. No one was forcing him to attack you.'

'That's not true, Voldemort was. But I see your point.' He sighed and added, 'It's all about intent, isn't it? We decide we want to hurt someone, and we might even have a good reason for it, but we can't control how it turns out. Maybe that girl would have just tripped, or I could have kicked Quirrell in the bollocks and run away. But instead we got the maximally harmful outcome.'

After another silence, Gemma said, 'This is kind of a heavy conversation for a match, innit? Do you reckon you should feint?'

'Yeah, probably,' replied Harry, and he flew maniacally towards Janet's rings. The Firebolt was less jumpy this time, and he was starting to believe he could make it work.

After he and Gemma resumed circling, they didn't continue their conversation. Instead she hounded him about Twatt's and asked whether he was going to start taking all his meals there. 'It's included in your dues, right?'

'No, there's a surcharge. But even if there weren't, Kreacher would never forgive me if I made a habit of eating there.'

'Still, you need to at least try it. I'll bet it's good. In fact, you should smuggle food out so the rest of us can try some.'

'I'm not even supposed to talk about Pratt's,' replied Harry. 'For all I know, they'll come Obliviate you.'

'Do you reckon there's a ceremony when you join?' she persisted. 'Will they brand you?'

'Like a Dark Mark? Not bloody likely. And I think the only ceremony is the monthly debiting of my vault.'

'Are you at least charging it to the Blacks?'

'No, the Potters. Other than giving half of it to my godson, I haven't touched the Black vault. Although I should really do something about that cursed tiara.'

'You have a cursed tiara? That is so cool! Can I try it?'

'Which part of "cursed" don't you understand?'

'Surely someone can un-curse it,' she scoffed. 'Goblins can do anything.'

'It's worth a try, I guess. You could wear it to my next party ... or maybe not, if it's drag.'

'You're having a drag party?'

'That's Janet's latest proposal, so naturally all the other starters are ganging up on me. But I can't imagine how it'll stay out of the papers, even with a binding magical contract.' He explained Renée's suggestion, and Gemma nodded in approval.

'But drag's more interesting for men,' she complained. 'Women already wear trousers, so it's not as exciting for us to cross-dress for the night.'

'Are you a witch or not?' demanded Harry. 'It doesn't have to be Muggle drag ... you could wear wizard's robes. I'm sure Kreacher could transfigure some of mine for the night.'

'You're right—I could even wear flowers! And the tiara, of course.' But then she narrowed her eyes and said, 'Or are you going to wear it? Damn you, Toffer—you're totally going to wear it.'

'I will not wear a tiara. The ring is bad enough.'

She looked at him appraisingly. 'All right, I believe you. I suppose we'd know by now if you had a jewellery fetish.'

'No, just robes and flowers. And shoes. And I really need to wear a _foulard_ one of these days. But that's it.'

'Are you certain? What about hats? I'll wager that by this time next year you have a signature hat.'

'Like Cornelius Fudge and his lime-green bowler? No.'

'You're bound to spot a hat on some old portrait and decide you want to wear it. Particularly if you start losing your hair.'

'Oi! I'm only nineteen!'

'Some blokes start losing their hair that early. Do you reckon it'll just recede at the temples, or will you get a bald spot in the back like a monk?'

'How should I know?' snapped Harry.

'Oh right, you haven't any relations. I suppose you couldn't ask your aunt whether the men in her family went bald or not.'

'Why my aunt?'

'Baldness in men comes from the maternal line,' she replied. 'When my elder brother learnt that in his biology class, he freaked out because my mum's dad is completely bald.'

'I have no idea whether my mum's dad was bald or not,' admitted Harry. 'The only family photos on display were of my aunt, uncle, and cousin ... Hang on, I saw some of my relations in the Mirror of Erised, but I can't remember which ones were bald.'

'The Mirror of what?' asked Gemma.

'It was at Hogwarts—part of Dumbledore's scheme to hide the Philosopher's Stone and trap Voldemort. It's an enchanted mirror that shows you what you most desire.'

'How was that supposed to hide the Philosopher's Stone?'

'It's complicated, but it basically worked, except for the part where I had to kill my professor.'

'Well done, Albus!' exclaimed Gemma. 'Just leave the dirty work to an eleven-year-old orphan!'

'Yeah, more or less.'

'So what did you see in it?' she asked.

'The first few times I saw the mirror, it showed me my parents and my other relations.'

'Oh my god, that is the saddest thing I've ever heard!'

'I guess so. Dumbledore ended up hiding the mirror so I wouldn't spend all my time in front of it, and then I only saw it again when Voldemort nearly got the Stone.'

'What did you see that time?'

'Me getting the Stone, and not Voldemort. And then the Stone was in my pocket. Honestly it was pretty weird, and I have trouble believing Dumbledore couldn't have found a better hiding place than that. But I guess it was supposed to trap Voldemort, which didn't work, of course.'

'Do you know what happened to the mirror?'

'No, I've no idea where it went.'

'What do you reckon you'd see in it now? Besides French prostitutes, of course.'

_Sirius_, thought Harry immediately. _And Remus and Tonks. And Fred, and Colin Creevey, and everyone else._ 'I don't know,' he replied. 'The Snitch maybe. And French prostitutes.'

Harry flew off without bothering to feint, and Gemma caught up with him. 'I'm sorry, that was a completely daft question. Feel free to hex me after we land.'

He smiled and said, 'No, I'll just have you try on the tiara before the goblins remove the curse.'

'That sounds fair. And really, I'm sorry ... I sometime talk without thinking, as you might have noticed.'

'Yeah, I noticed, but I'm the same way.' He was about to feint in earnest when a flash of gold caught his eye. _All right, Firebolt,_ he thought. _Show us what you've got._

With his eye still on the Snitch, Harry refreshed all the bodily tweaks Bruce had taught him, and then he shot towards it. The Snitch was particularly active, changing direction several times, which forced Harry to turn sharply during the chase. On an instinct, he gave rise to far more Light magic than before, and his hand was glowing as it grabbed the Snitch.

'Crowd around him!' called Ryan, and within seconds Harry was surrounded by most of his teammates. 'You're glowing, and we can't let them see you.'

'Oh, bugger,' moaned Harry blissfully, causing the other Cannons to laugh. 'I guess I overdid it.'

'Phalanx formation, to the benches,' ordered Ryan, and everyone flew down together in a tight mass.

'I wonder what the team observers will make of this,' mused Suresh as they landed. Harry was easy to hide because of his height, and he took his time letting his Light magic subside.

'Group hug,' suggested Renée. 'New team tradition ... come on.'

'Make Potter charm his trousers first,' said Janet.

'I don't need to charm my trousers!' laughed Harry, and they crushed him in a hug. 'Although this isn't helping with the glowing,' he added. 'I really love you all.'

'We love you too, Snitchbottom,' said Darren. 'Even though you're truly, deeply weird.'

Harry pulled his hood over his head as they walked en masse to the benches, and his teammates flanked him so he'd be hidden from view. Tuttle stood in front of them and asked, 'What in hell just happened?'

'I caught the Snitch?' offered Harry.

'How did you outfly me?' demanded Gemma.

Bruce and Owen each had a set of Omnioculars and were reviewing the final chase. 'Er, you're not going to believe this,' said Owen.

'Try me,' replied Tuttle.

'Harry teleported.'


	74. Chapter 74

'Are you fucking kidding me?' exclaimed Tuttle. 'Potter teleported?'

'Only a couple of feet, but yeah,' said Owen, handing his Omnioculars to her. 'It's easiest to see in slow motion.'

Tuttle watched the recording several times, shaking her head in disbelief. 'Potter, did you feel anything?'

'Er, it's hard to say,' he said, his glow dimming. 'The Snitch was so erratic, and we kept turning. It was all happening so fast.'

'Your turns looked good,' said Bruce, who was still looking through his own Omnioculars. 'Not jumpy at all.'

'I felt the kick,' said Harry, 'but it just flowed through me—I didn't resist it.'

'What do you mean by the "kick?"' asked Ryan.

'I used to hate the Firebolt Ultra because it was so jumpy. The acceleration was fast, but there was no fluidity. The tweaks Bruce taught me smoothed it out, for the most part, but I still felt them sometimes, so I set an intention not to resist when it happened.'

Ryan looked puzzled. 'What about the Light magic? Did that happen on its own, or was it deliberate?'

'I had an instinct to increase it, just before I caught the Snitch. Is that when I teleported?'

'Yes,' said Owen. 'Gemma was inches from catching it, but you outstripped her at the last second.'

'Bruce, do you know anything about the charms they're using at Firebolt? Specifically to add that kick?' asked Ryan.

Bruce shook his head. 'No, it's a trade secret, and only Randolph Spudmore himself can share it. It's protected with something similar to a Fidelius Charm, which means his workers are magically prevented from leaking it.'

'Do you think it involves Light magic?' asked Ryan.

'I hadn't even heard of Light magic until a couple of weeks ago,' admitted Bruce. 'You'd have to ask Spudmore.'

'Where does that leave us?' asked Harry, who was back to normal.

'I have no fucking idea,' replied Tuttle. 'Bruce, do you reckon it's a rules violation?'

'I'll consult the rule books, but I wouldn't risk it. The Firebolt Ultra could be banned, and Harry could be punished for knowingly using an illegally charmed broomstick.'

'So I should switch back to the Silver Arrow?'

Tuttle nodded. 'Yeah, for now. And tomorrow see if you can make it happen again, just in case it doesn't have anything to do with the Firebolt.'

'All right,' said Harry uncertainly. 'I can ask my Light Arts teacher as well—I'm seeing her tonight.'

Tuttle gave her notes for the match, and the trainers led the players through their stretches. Harry was in a fog the entire time, his body responding mechanically to the trainers' instructions.

Janet approached him as they walked back to the building. 'How long has it been since your last wand-polishing? Not since Thursday, right?'

'That's right. Are you suggesting that had an effect?'

'No, I'm just grasping at straws. Furthermore, Ron was convinced you went straight to Penumbra after dinner last night, and I wanted to prove him wrong.'

'I'm not sure if I'll ever go back to Penumbra, other than to see Alistair.'

'What? Why not?'

'It's a bit tawdry, don't you think?'

'Of course it's tawdry! What's your point?'

'I think I'd rather get to know a girl first, to see if we have anything in common.'

'So it's no longer enough to have interlocking parts?'

'No, I've discovered I like conversation as well, at least during breaks and afterwards,' said Harry. 'I'll probably fall in love with her regardless, so I might as well start with someone I like.'

After showering, Harry went home to Grimmauld Place and wrote a series of letters. The first was to Alex, asking her to dinner. The second was to Blaise Zabini, asking to learn more about the business he was planning to start, since Harry had decided to identify investment opportunities less dubious than the condom scheme.

He used his old stationery for the third letter, suspecting that Draco wouldn't appreciate seeing the Prongs watermark. _And he'll enjoy sneering at how common it is,_ thought Harry with amusement. Without providing details, he said there was a complication regarding his early release, and that they needed to discuss it in person.

After eating a dinner prepared by Kreacher, who enthusiastically described just how horrible the Red Lady had been, Harry went to the reception hall to await Hermione and Davina. Hermione was first to arrive, and she immediately asked about Harry's meeting with Draco.

'It went remarkably well, believe it or not. Although Malfoy had his house-elf recreate the Veil in his study, and I had a full-blown panic attack.'

'He did what?!' cried Hermione, aghast. 'And you call that a good outcome?'

'Oddly, yes. Until that happened, Draco seemed to think the war hadn't affected me at all, and that only he was traumatised. He was a lot less hostile after seeing me fall apart.'

'He's lucky you didn't curse him!' exclaimed Hermione, still furious.

'He gave me a Calming Draught afterwards, which I desperately needed, so I wasn't particularly upset even though I should have been. I don't get the sense he did it to prove I was weak, but rather to confirm he wasn't alone.' After a pause, Harry added, 'He has nightmares too.'

'He deserves nightmares, for deliberately putting you through that! And then what happened?'

'Er, I gave him back his wand and agreed to try to reduce his sentence.'

Harry was relieved that Davina arrived before Hermione could fully respond. 'Welcome, and please come in,' he said.

'Thank you, it's good to see you both,' she replied, brushing the ashes from her clothes.

'How was your trip to the Continent?' asked Hermione.

'I'll tell you all about it, but let's sit down, shall we?'

Harry led them up to the library, and Davina perused the bookshelves with interest. 'This is a perfectly ghastly collection you have,' she said admiringly. 'Have you decided what to do with it?'

'I'd love to wipe it out of existence,' replied Harry, 'but I'm sure it could be useful for fighting Dark wizards.'

'Yes, that's the dilemma, isn't it? One hates to destroy scholarship of any kind, but so much of this is simply a blight upon humanity. And perhaps it could be useful somehow, although I'd hate the task of reading it.'

They sat at the table and Davina asked how they'd been. 'I practised what Harry taught me about meditation, but I can't say I got very far with it,' said Hermione. 'It was frustrating, actually. I had considered myself good at concentrating on a task, but when I tried resting my attention on the breath sensations, I was terribly distracted.'

'That's normal,' said Davina. 'The reason you're able to concentrate on tasks is because you find them interesting, so they naturally draw your attention. Which, if you think about it, says more about your curiosity and your determination than it does about your ability to maintain stable attention. But there's nothing particularly interesting about the breath, so now you're trying to train your attention to stay still without being drawn to a more interesting object.' Hermione sighed heavily, and Davina added, 'But you mustn't berate yourself. It's simply a matter of practice, and you've already begun.'

'But Harry says he gets distracted as well, yet he's a master Occlumens.'

'There's more than one way to master Occlumency, as he's proven, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't learn to stabilise his attention. Harry, how was your week?'

'Eventful, and a bit of a mixed bag,' he replied. 'In fact, I hardly know where to begin.'

'Are you still glowing?' asked Davina.

'I thought I was starting to get a handle on it, but today in particular it kept getting away from me. It used to happen gradually, which meant I could stop it, but now it hits me like a flood.' He described what had happened at lunch, when Janet threw water on him, and after he'd caught the Snitch.

Davina nodded and said, 'Yes, that's classic early Light magic, although not everyone experiences it that way, as you've seen. I assume you'd still like to go public?'

'Yes, and soon. I suspect I'll glow during Saturday's match against the Holyhead Harpies—my hands at the very least. With your leave, I'd like to owl Rita Skeeter straight away and have her publish on Sunday.'

'That's fine. I spoke with various people in the Light Arts community, and they agree the time is ripe for a resurgence.'

'What do you mean, the time is ripe?' asked Hermione.

'It's a complicated question, and it relates to how change occurs at the societal level. Sometimes change happens from the top down, but more often it arises from the grass roots, often from seemingly separate clusters of individuals who, in retrospect, were working in parallel. And even when change appears to come from the top, it nevertheless arose from below.'

Hermione was nodding but Harry was lost. 'I'm not sure I follow,' he said.

'Take Voldemort. On the surface, he was a powerfully charismatic wizard, and the two wars could never have happened without him. But he didn't arise in a vacuum—he was supported by numerous individuals who shared his beliefs, and without them he could never have gained power. And I'm not even talking about the inner-circle Death Eaters—I'm talking about hundreds or even thousands of wizards in Britain and beyond who were increasingly fixated on blood purity. Without them, a lone madman like Voldemort could never have seized power. In fact, he mightn't have existed in the first place.'

Harry was frowning. 'So Voldemort was influenced by those attitudes?'

'No, he was the manifestation of them,' said Davina. 'Without a critical mass of individuals holding those attitudes, Voldemort never would have formed that way. To say that Voldemort could have formed in a vacuum is like saying a pustule could form without skin.'

'That's a truly vile metaphor,' said Harry. 'But what does that have to do with the Light Arts making a comeback?'

'The attitudes that foster Light magic are collectively on the rise, supporting the emergence of high-profile, charismatic individuals who would promote or embody the Light Arts.'

Smirking, Hermione asked, 'Are you calling Harry a pustule?'

'Yes, and you as well. And according to my colleagues abroad, several other prominent witches and wizards are experiencing Light magic. Which has an amplifying effect, because you'll spark widespread interest in the Light Arts, thereby strengthening the underlying causes.'

'That's good, right?' said Harry.

'Yes, but in turn that causes another backlash, because not every individual is similarly inclined, and they'll feel threatened when Light magic becomes dominant.'

Harry's face fell. 'So we're just doomed to swing back and forth? Light magic will be popular for a while, and then we'll have another Voldemort?'

'I didn't say that,' replied Davina. 'You're forgetting we're all connected, and that we as individuals can influence the whole. In fact there's ultimately no difference.'

'Now you've lost me,' said Hermione. 'How can we as individuals prevent the pendulum from swinging all the way back?'

'Don't take this the wrong way,' said Davina gently, 'but Light wizards aren't all good, and Dark wizards aren't all evil. We're all a mix, and every one of us has parts that are just as warped and malignant as Voldemort. They're deeply buried perhaps, but they exist. And it's our job to find those parts of ourselves and integrate them. Heal them, even.'

Harry suddenly recalled what he'd seen in his vision of King's Cross Station. 'I saw it once. Voldemort's soul ... it was horrid. It was like a baby, only completely pitiful and revolting. I couldn't go near it.'

This time Davina was lost. 'How do you know it was Voldemort's soul?' she asked.

'Dumbledore said it was,' he replied, but Davina still looked sceptical.

Hermione looked at Harry pointedly and said, 'I think you have to tell her.'

'You're right. Davina, this is all completely classified. Can I trust you not to repeat it?'

She agreed, and Harry told her about Horcruxes, which she had never heard of. 'I'm familiar with soul magic,' she said, 'but only practices for healing souls, not breaking them.'

'There are practices for healing souls?' asked Hermione, fascinated.

'Yes, and thank goodness, because otherwise we'd be hindered by our previous mistakes and their effect on the soul. But it sounds like creating a Horcrux is the opposite—the practitioner deliberately breaks his soul by committing murder, and then performs a ritual to encase the soul shard where it can't be reabsorbed.' She shook her head in disgust and said, 'It's pure madness! You'd be better off gouging out your eyeballs and severing your wand hand. I gather Voldemort created a Horcrux?'

'Yes, when he was sixteen,' replied Harry. 'But that was only the first. Knowing that seven was a magically-powerful number, he deliberately made a total of six Horcruxes, dividing his soul into seven.'

Davina was aghast. 'He shattered his soul, deliberately?'

'Yes, because he was afraid to die,' said Hermione.

'I'd be afraid to die too, if I only had a splinter of a soul remaining,' exclaimed Davina. 'Harry, is that what you saw somehow?'

'Yes, but that's not the worst part. When Voldemort killed my parents and tried to kill me, he'd already made five Horcruxes, and his soul was so unstable that a piece broke off and latched onto mine. Right here,' he said, indicating his scar.

Davina's jaw dropped. 'You were a Horcrux? Since you were a baby?'

Harry nodded. 'Yes, until the day the war ended, when he struck me with a second Killing Curse. I learnt I was a Horcrux only an hour earlier, so I sacrificed my life to destroy the final piece. We'd been methodically finding and destroying Horcruxes for more than a year already. That's why we broke into Gringotts—to find one of them.'

'But how did you emerge whole?' asked Davina. 'Not only were your parents murdered, but you were raised without love. It was already a miracle you came out all right, but with a carbuncle on your soul?'

'Harry has a tremendously good heart,' began Hermione, but Harry interrupted her.

'My mother's protection, I suspect. When my mum sacrificed her life, it stayed in my blood as protection. That's why Dumbledore forced me to live with my aunt, to strengthen it.'

Davina scowled. 'He really should have consulted an expert! There were other ways to sustain the protection besides leaving you with your aunt.'

Harry sighed heavily and closed his eyes. 'So it wasn't necessary after all. I could have been adopted and raised by people who loved me.'

'Oh, Harry,' said Davina. 'That was insensitive of me—I apologise. I can't claim to fully understand them, but there are forces greater than Dumbledore that caused you to be stuck with your aunt and uncle. Dumbledore was the instrument, not the cause.'

'What kind of forces?' asked Harry in dismay. 'And what else do they have planned for me?'

'It's not like that—they aren't personal. Again, it has to do with how we're all interconnected, and our collective evolution. I know it's no consolation, but you said last week you'd experienced moments of complete acceptance, and a sense that everything was perfect.'

'Yes,' replied Harry. 'I can't say it's my natural state of mind, but the mere fact that it all happened as it did ... that makes it perfect somehow. Not necessarily pleasant, but perfect.'

'Exactly, well put. I'd challenge you to remember that, whenever you're angry at Dumbledore or anyone else who played a role in crafting some aspect of your reality.'

Harry felt sheepish, recalling how upset he'd been with Arthur Weasley the previous night. 'So I'm to forgive everyone who could have helped me, but didn't? Or, by extension, I'm to forgive the Dursleys for mistreating me in the first place?'

Before Davina could answer, Hermione said, 'But not everyone deserves forgiveness! And furthermore, that's implying we aren't responsible for our own bad behaviour, if it was all fundamentally perfect.'

'That's not what I said,' replied Davina. 'And there's a difference between remorse and blame.'

Hermione's eyes widened in understanding. 'So when it comes to our own bad behaviour, we should have appropriate remorse, but when it spills over into unproductive self-blame, we're better off recognising the deeper roots of that behaviour and its fundamental perfection?'

'Yes. But it's a knife's edge, because we tend to over-punish ourselves for certain things but then absolve ourselves of actions that demand genuine remorse.'

'Then how do we know?' asked Hermione with alarm. 'How do we not fool ourselves?'

'We ask for help. This is why it's essential to have peers—people who know us and can point our our blind spots. I don't know either of you well enough to serve that way, but I'm confident you can do it for each other.'

'Hermione will be glad to hold me accountable,' joked Harry. 'She's very well-organised and can manage vast quantities of data, which may be necessary in my case.'

'Yes, I reckon it will be,' said Hermione dryly, and Harry knew she was referring to how he'd cheated on Lydia.

'But we've strayed from our original topic,' said Davina, 'which was the bit of Voldemort's soul you saw. Where did you see it?'

'It was after the second Killing Curse, when I sacrificed my life so he'd destroy the Horcrux,' explained Harry. 'I didn't actually die, because Voldemort had taken my blood years earlier in the ritual to regain his body. He'd unwittingly kept my mother's sacrifice alive, which is how I survived.'

Davina shook her head in astonishment. 'Unbelievable. And in your vision you saw Dumbledore, and he identified the ... thing as Voldemort's soul?'

'Yes. Afterwards I urged Voldemort to generate feelings of remorse, but he wasn't interested.'

'No, not with a splinter of a soul. He wouldn't understand the concept.'

'Excuse me, Davina?' said Hermione. 'The whole reason Harry told you about Horcruxes was because you said we all have parts of ourselves that are as broken and repellent as the soul fragment Harry saw. How do we repair them?'

'Patience. And love, and honesty. And acceptance. Even Voldemort was acting from a place of suffering. That doesn't mean we excuse what he did, but we recognise the simple need that was driving him, and then generate compassion for that broken being.'

'His fear of death,' said Harry. 'He never forgave his mother for dying and leaving him in an orphanage.'

'Harry understood Voldemort better than anyone,' said Hermione. 'He experienced some of Voldemort's thoughts and actions first-hand.'

Davina paled. 'First-hand?'

'Yes,' replied Harry. 'He enjoyed torturing people—he found it intensely satisfying.'

'And how was it for you?' asked Davina.

'Ghastly. Nightmarish. And intensely satisfying. But it couldn't hold a candle to Light magic ... not even close.'

To Harry's surprise, Davina chuckled. 'That settles it then.'

'Settles what?' asked Hermione.

'For centuries there's been a debate between Light and Dark wizards about which practice was more pleasurable. Numerous practitioners have said that the Light Arts are far more satisfying, but Dark Arts proponents claim their opinion is invalid, because they only dabbled in Dark magic without ever mastering it.'

'But Harry experienced Voldemort's pleasure first-hand!' said Hermione excitedly. 'And no one could accuse Voldemort of not mastering the Dark Arts.'

'Exactly. So you've settled the argument once and for all. Although your experience is classified, which means no one will actually hear about it.'

'No, the last thing we want is to tell a bunch of Dark wizards about Horcruxes,' said Harry.

'It's a shame, though,' said Hermione. 'Not that we can't tell them about Horcruxes, but that they'll never believe Dark magic is inferior. It would be marvellous to lure them away from that path.'

'It is even possible?' asked Harry. 'I personally performed Dark magic twice—successfully, at least—and I feel lucky I wasn't irretrievably corrupted by it.'

'That was fortunate,' said Davina. 'I should point out that theoretically no one is beyond salvation, as long as they don't lock the pieces of their soul into separate prisons as Voldemort did. But the more someone practices Dark magic, the less capable they'll be of generating the necessary remorse.'

'Er, I have a question about that,' began Harry, realising this was a good time to ask about the incident with Draco's wand. He described how he'd asked the wand only to sow peace, and what had happened with Draco's Dark Mark.

'Good heavens!' exclaimed Davina. 'That could have gone wrong any number of ways!' After a silence, she said, 'I believe Jacobus Filch wrote about several Dark wizards who survived contact with a glowing Light wizard.'

'Yes,' said Hermione. 'They were no longer able to perform Dark magic afterwards, or much magic at all. But apparently they were much happier.'

'That's right. Harry, did you see Draco perform magic afterwards?'

'Yes, he cast a series of spells to test his wand—mostly charms and Transfiguration. The wand seemed to work perfectly for him.'

'Fascinating. Perhaps his magic survived because he only allowed a trickle into the wand as he held it,' mused Davina. 'Yes, that makes sense. You said his wand generated sparks, right?'

'Yes, just like when my wand first chose me, on my eleventh birthday.'

'That's literally the most simple, benign magic you can perform,' remarked Davina. 'But it was enough to serve as a conduit for the Light magic you'd loaded into the wand, which was drawn to his Dark Mark and literally wiped it away. With minimal collateral damage, apparently. Remarkable!'

'Do you reckon it wiped away all of his harmful intentions?' asked Harry, hoping it meant Draco could be trusted not to commit a crime during his early release period.

'I don't know. Did he seem changed?'

'Not really. He still insulted me, same as before I gave him the wand.'

'Then I suspect only his Mark was affected, and the specific harmful intentions that were bound up in its creation. Think of it as a lightning conductor on top of a house. The metal rod on top attracts the lightning, and then the electrical current is drawn through a wire harmlessly to the earth, instead of starting a fire or electrocuting someone.'

'So Draco's Dark Mark absorbed Harry's Light magic and was destroyed in the process?' prompted Hermione.

'Yes, and it prevented the rest of him from being harmed.'

'Am I at risk of harming anyone else with my Light magic?' asked Harry, concerned.

'Do you expect to transfer more wands?' asked Davina. Harry shook his head, and she said, 'Then don't worry. Unless someone is actively using Dark magic against you or someone near you, there's no risk. But I don't recommend trying to heal anyone else's Dark Mark, because it could go terribly wrong.'

Harry had more questions, but they still hadn't begun the lesson and he didn't want to waste time. Davina seemed to concur, and she taught each of them methods for training their Light magic. She showed Hermione several simple-looking charms, but with a specific instruction: 'I want you to cast them left-handed.'

Hermione switched her wand to her left hand, and she attempted the first charm. Nothing happened. 'Harry, can you do it?' she asked.

'I didn't ask Harry, I asked you,' said Davina. 'Try again.'

Hermione tried all three charms multiple times, with no success, and she looked near tears. 'Hermione, are you all right?' asked Harry. 'Davina, I don't think I've ever seen Hermione struggle this long with a charm.'

'I'm delighted to hear it,' replied Davina.

'Why?' asked Hermione. 'Surely this isn't a good sign.'

'Actually it is. We're trying to link your prior awakening experience to your magic, and we've identified the block. If you'd been able to cast the charms left-handed, we'd have to keep troubleshooting.'

'But I'm not getting anywhere,' grumbled Hermione.

'You've been practising for five minutes!' said Harry. 'Do you remember how long it took me to learn Summoning Charms?'

'Yes, but that was you!'

Harry burst out laughing, and Davina chuckled as well. 'I think we've identified a mental obstacle,' she said. 'You're strong magically, aren't you.'

'Perhaps,' mumbled Hermione, but Harry said, 'Yes, she's extremely powerful. We found that illegal potion for determining magical strength in the Black family Grimoire, and Hermione's flame nearly burnt a hole in the ceiling.'

'Harry's lying,' said Hermione. 'For one thing, he had nothing to do with the potion—I'm the one who was stupid enough to brew it. And furthermore, my flame didn't reach anywhere near the ceiling.'

'I was speaking figuratively, but it was very tall and bright,' he told Davina. 'And mine was only a bit above average.'

'All of this is good news,' said Davina reassuringly. 'Hermione, because your magic is so strong, you never needed to develop alternative pathways. Harry probably developed his without even realising it, back in school.'

'Even though I've never cast left-handed?' asked Harry.

'Correct. Now you should give it a try.'

Harry attempted the first of the charms using his left hand and was immediately successful. But Hermione looked even more disappointed. 'How do I even learn it? Normally when I'm learning a new charm, at least something happens on the first try. But I'm getting nothing at all, so I haven't anything to work with.'

'I apologise in advance for the maddening instruction, but you need to try less,' said Davina. 'You're accustomed to performing magic straight from a strongly-identified sense of "Hermione." But you need to relax that sense, and allow the charm to happen under its own power. These are simple charms, so you don't need all that strength to perform them. Just let them happen.'

Hermione closed her eyes a moment before trying again. She cast the first charm, and Harry saw a pinprick of light appear on the tip of her wand. 'Did you see that?' he exclaimed.

She hadn't, and so she cast the charm again and was careful to observe. 'You're right, there it is!'

'Well done,' said Davina. 'I think it's clear what you should practise this week. And now your turn, Harry. I want you to practise not glowing.'

'Er, that's what I've been trying. It doesn't entirely work.'

'No, right now. I want you to exaggerate whatever it is you do to clamp down on your Light magic, and then tell me where you feel it.'

Harry took a deep breath and imagined Light magic was about to arise, and then he immediately contracted the base of this throat to prevent it from growing. 'Right here,' he said, pointing.

'All right. Contract it harder.' It was uncomfortable, but he increased the pressure. 'Clamp down hard, as if you were trying to crush a rock in your fist, and then release it completely.'

He followed her instruction, and as soon as he let go he felt energy surge through his chest cavity. 'Why am I not glowing?' he asked.

'Because uncontrolled glowing comes from resistance, and you just released a tiny bit of resistance. The base of the throat is a major choke point for Light energy, so I'm not surprised you started there. But your job going forward is to identify the other areas of resistance, and to exaggerate and then release them.'

'How soon do you reckon until I stop glowing unintentionally?' he asked.

'That's anyone's guess. It might be a while, I'm afraid. Or not. But this practice will take you in the right direction.'

Hermione was still practising her charms, so Harry asked Davina about what happened with the Firebolt Ultra. 'Do you know whether Light magic would interfere with broomstick acceleration charms?'

'I have no idea. As you'll discover, Light magic is highly individual, and it requires a good deal of experimentation. You've already identified the next step, which is to try to replicate what happened using your old broomstick. And then once you've gone public with Light magic, you can try again with the new broomstick, and perhaps talk to the manufacturer.'

'Yes, thank you. And speaking of going public, are you still willing to talk to Rita Skeeter? If so, I'll give her your address.'

'If she agrees to represent Light magic accurately, I'd be glad to.'

'That's the idea,' replied Harry.

Davina rose from her chair and said, 'I think we've covered enough for one lesson. I'm certain we'll have a lot to discuss a week from tonight.'

'Undoubtedly,' said Harry, and he and Hermione led Davina to the fireplace.

After she left, Harry asked Hermione to stay, which didn't seem to surprise her. 'What do you want to talk about?' she asked as they walked to the sitting room.

'You can probably guess.'

'Yes, Ryan told me what happened with Lydia.'

'I know. But you don't know the whole story.'

'Like why you cheated on her? At least you aren't blaming the Light magic. Or are you?'

Harry sat down and said, 'No, I take full responsibility. Honestly, I'd prefer not to tell you what happened, but you'd figure it out eventually and I'd rather you hear it from me.'

Hermione settled into her usual armchair. 'All right. What happened?'

He took a deep breath and asked, 'Have you ever heard of a private wizarding club called Pratt's?'

She sniggered. 'Are you serious?' Harry nodded and she said, 'No.'

'I was invited to join last week. It's an exclusive, all-male club, for Hogwarts wizards only.'

'All-male? It's a portkey brothel!' she cried angrily. 'Shame on you!'

'It's not only a portkey brothel, but yes, you've jumped to the right conclusion.'

'How could you! No wonder Lydia won't see you anymore!'

'I know, it was unforgivable, and I'm not trying to excuse myself. But there's more to the story, and that's what I'd like to tell you.'

Hermione relaxed slightly but her scowl remained. 'I'm listening.'

He used his wand to open a drawer and summon the Pratt's invitation, which he hovered to Hermione. 'First, read the invitation.'

She read it and said, 'Is that true, about Dark and Light wizards mingling freely?'

'Yes. My grandfather wasn't a member, but other Potters were, and so were a lot of the Blacks. Furthermore, when I went there I was warmly greeted by Marcus Flint's father, who was one of the lords who voted against me, and I had a long and mostly civil conversation with Lydia's brother-in-law Charles.'

'Mostly civil?'

'He came close to calling my mother a Mudblood, but he stopped himself and apologised.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'How diplomatic! Were prostitutes there the whole time, or did they wander in and out?'

'No, our conversation was in England, at the Pratt's lounge. The brothel is down a corridor, in France.'

'Right, ley lines,' she said. 'I'll admit that's fascinating, but I'm sure I'll hear about it later.'

'You will,' he said sadly. 'When I showed Lydia the invitation, she told me that Pratt's membership is highly coveted, and that it's essential for anyone who wants to influence politics. But she also said I'd hate it. Her words were something like, "It's for rich and powerful wizards who want to become richer and more powerful."'

'Then why did you even visit?' asked Hermione. 'Oh right, the brothel.'

'No, I honestly had no intention of going,' said Harry. 'I mean really, why would I pay for sex when I had Lydia waiting for me?'

'I don't know. You tell me.'

Harry sighed. 'Lydia insisted I visit, so I could report back to her—the club and the brothel. But we had a clear understanding I wouldn't participate.'

'And yet you did,' scolded Hermione. 'How much did it cost?'

'It was free of charge. Blaise told me the women are permitted to waive the fee, as long as they're earning enough.'

'Blaise Zabini?' exclaimed Hermione. 'Why am I even surprised?'

'Yes, he's a member, or rather his current stepfather is. Before talking to Blaise, I thought I'd be able to visit the brothel but not go upstairs, which is what Lydia wanted. But Blaise said I'd have to be superhuman to resist, and he was right. I should never have gone.'

Hermione's expression changed. 'What do you mean, you'd have to be superhuman to resist?'

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. 'It was completely overwhelming. It smelled like a Love Potion, although there wasn't one. And the women were all so beautiful. Perhaps I can blame the Light magic, at least within that setting, but I should have known better than to go there after Blaise's warning.'

'That's true,' said Hermione. 'But Lydia insisted you go there, and naturally you were curious—I know I would have been. And really, didn't she know what those places are like?'

'Hang on, are you defending me?'

Hermione paused in surprise. 'I suppose I am. But what about the women? How do you know they weren't being coerced?'

'I asked Blaise about that, and he said they're examined regularly. Furthermore, the prices are astronomical, which means they can retire with a fortune after just a few years.'

'And they're in France,' observed Hermione, 'so they mightn't be scorned the way an English witch would be. Yes, I can see why a French witch would choose that career.'

'They certainly earn their Galleons, or Bezants, rather. Blaise said Crabbe and Goyle went there.'

Hermione shuddered. 'Mercy, what a thought!' She looked at Harry and asked, 'How did Lydia find out?'

'I turned up at her flat more than an hour late, with my robes buttoned wrong. But I would have told her regardless.'

Laughing, she said, 'Harry, you need to decide whether you're a scoundrel or not. I can't say I approve of cheating, particularly with prostitutes, but if you're going to make a habit of it you should be more careful.'

'No, I've resolved never to return. Brothels aren't for me.'

'Wasn't she any good at it then?' smirked Hermione.

'Believe me, that wasn't the problem. No, I won't return because I don't think it's good for me. The proprietor hinted I'd have free access, and I don't need that kind of temptation. It's better if I never walk down that corridor again.'

'How did that even work? You just walked down a corridor and you were in France?'

'More or less. There was a tugging sensation, similar to a portkey, but no spinning or flying. I don't recommend running, however.'

She sniggered again. 'I assume that was afterwards. But what about Pratt's? Are you going to become a member?'

'I wasn't going to, but George and Percy talked me into it.'

'Percy I can believe, but George?'

'They said it's the best way to advance the Light agenda. Percy was surprisingly candid and said that wizards like him represent the Light extreme at Pratt's, and that if I were to join I'd redefine the centre. He also said that if I turn down membership now, they'll never offer it again because of my Light magic. Not that they're specifically opposed to Light magic, but because it means they won't be able to control me, which is what they're currently hoping.'

'And who is "they?"'

'The Pratt's membership committee, I suppose. Which is basically the ruling elite, according to both Percy and Lydia.'

'And George thought you should join?'

'Yes, for the same reason Percy gave—that I'd be able to influence the Wizengamot.'

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. 'Goblin rights!'

'Yes. And equality in general. Which reminds me, Pratt's is warded.'

'Damn him!' cried Hermione. 'We really need to burn Phineas Nigellus's portrait.'

'We can't—he's sentient. But maybe I should hang it in a loo somewhere, or facing the rubbish bins.'

Hermione was quiet for a minute. 'Harry, I think this is a case where you're taking all the blame for something that wasn't entirely your fault. Lydia was naive to think you could go to a magically-enhanced brothel and not cheat on her.'

'She came to that conclusion as well, only she said she should have known better because of what a lecherous cad I am.'

'I can understand why she doesn't want to see you, but she shares fully in the blame.'

'No she doesn't,' argued Harry. 'Blaise warned me and I thought I was superhuman. After all, I've survived two Killing Curses!' he added sarcastically.

'You'd also spent a fortnight with Lydia, who worshipped the ground you walked on! She had an unrealistic image of you, and perhaps you bought into it. I know sometimes Ryan treats me that way, and it's a challenge.'

'Ryan has an unrealistic image of you?'

'Yes, sometimes. He's so grateful that I helped stop Voldemort that he'll excuse anything I did. He didn't judge me at all for lying to my parents, or for tricking Umbridge into provoking the centaurs. I haven't told him what I did to Marietta Edgecombe, but he'd probably approve of that as well.'

'Does he see me that way?' asked Harry. 'That's not the impression I get.'

'No, but he's not in love with you. And he's also convinced I was the mastermind, and that without me we'd still be living under Voldemort. Or not living, in your case.'

'He's not wrong. You saved my life more times than I can recall. We'd probably have been killed the night the Ministry fell if you hadn't packed everything in your beaded handbag and thought quickly.'

'And you saved me from the troll, and from the Dementors, and countless other times. And Ron was indispensable as well, and so were loads of other people. Davina's right—we're all completely interconnected.'

Harry nodded, and Draco Malfoy suddenly came to mind. 'I need your advice,' he said, and he told her about the legal requirement for securing Draco's early release.

'That would be a tremendous act of trust,' she said. 'Are you willing to do it?'

'Honestly, yes. Unreservedly. But is that just the Light magic, or my Gryffindor impulsiveness?'

'No,' she said cautiously. 'I learnt to trust your instincts during the war, and this is one of them. And you'd have a civil agreement from him, which gives him a strong incentive to stay out of trouble. But could you also require him not to replace his wand during the early release period?'

'That's a good idea,' said Harry. 'Although I don't know whether it retained any Light magic, or if the Light magic was exhausted by removing Draco's Dark Mark.'

'It's within your rights to ask. You'd be doing him an enormous favour.'

'I know. And I don't think he'd resent it, the way he does about my testimony, because I didn't really have anything to lose then. I'm not sure he realises it, but by the end of the visit yesterday I felt like we could become friends.'

'You could go to Pratt's together! Do you think he still has access, or was Lucius kicked out when he was sentenced to Azkaban?'

'That's a fine question.' Harry flopped back on the sofa and said, 'So you really don't think I'm a colossal sell-out for joining Pratt's, or a monster for cheating on Lydia?'

'No, I don't. And Ryan told me you've stopped taunting and that you're no longer cultivating arrogance. And I saw you with those Squibs—that was incredibly thoughtful. Honestly, I'm proud of you.'

Harry felt the release of tension he hadn't realised he'd been holding. 'Thanks, that means a lot to me. Arthur lectured me last night about how I've gone off the rails, and that I need an adult to set boundaries.'

'You have gone off the rails a bit, but you seem to find your way back, more or less.'

'Cheers. It helps having you around—I reckon you're my conscience.'

'Oh dear, that's a heavy responsibility. Shall I scold you for joining a club that both excludes and objectifies women?'

'Yes, frequently. You wouldn't believe the way Charles Selwyn talked about Lydia and her sister.'

'Did you protest?'

'Some, but not always. I tried not to encourage him, though.'

Kreacher suddenly appeared with a loud _crack._ 'Master's ravens have returned,' he announced, handing Harry two envelopes and then Disapparating loudly.

'Ravens?'

'They're jackdaws,' said Harry sheepishly. 'Which are basically small ravens, but I got them for a good price and they're great post birds.'

'Will this be the newest fashion?' she asked, smirking.

'Unlikely. They're choosy about where they'll live, so they don't work for for most people. But you'll like their names: Viola and Orsino.'

Hermione was delighted, and she automatically started reading over Harry's shoulder. He didn't mind that she saw the letter from Narcissa, inviting him to discuss Draco's release on Tuesday after practice, but he shooed her away when he opened Alex's letter.

'Oh, is this your newest love interest? The witches from the stands, perhaps?'

'Bloody Light magic,' he grumbled. 'No, I told Mrs Thwip to write back with my apologies, and that it was nothing personal. This is from someone I met last week. And no, not at the brothel.'

'I'll leave you to your correspondence,' she said, rising from her chair. 'I should leave anyway—I have an early Spinning class tomorrow.'

Harry saw her out through the kitchen fireplace, and he read the reply from Alex, accepting his dinner invitation for Wednesday night. He'd offered her the choice of a wizarding restaurant, a Muggle restaurant, or Grimmauld Place, and she chose the third option. Alex hadn't struck him as naive, and her reply mentioned how much she'd enjoy a private evening with him, which seemed unambiguous. _That's one advantage of having a terrible reputation_, he thought with satisfaction.

He then composed a letter to Rita Skeeter, proposing she interview him about his Light magic as soon as possible, and providing contact information for Davina and the Cannons publicity team. He posted the letter with Orsino, noting that Lysander hadn't yet returned from delivering the letter to Blaise. _I'm glad I have three birds_, he thought, _even if two of them are pretentious._

Before going to sleep, Harry spent half an hour practising what Davina had taught him. To his surprise, several times when he released the muscle he was tensing, a painful memory arose. One involved Dudley deliberately crushing a small toy Harry had found in the park, and another was just an image of himself alone in his cupboard. He felt both anger and sadness as he released the constrictions, but then a hint of relief. _Maybe I am seeing a Mind Healer_, he mused, allowing himself to glow until bedtime.

-––—––—––-

_Author's note:_

_Starting with the next chapter, I will only be publishing one chapter a week (on Wednesdays). My life has blown up in various ways lately, and my writing output has continued to drop. I still write most days, and I'm very happy with the results, but it's not pouring out of me like before the Coronapocalypse. Hopefully my life will settle down soon and the story will start flowing again._

_Sorry to disappoint my regular readers. In the meantime, check out _Benefits of Old Laws _by Ulktante. I started reading it ages ago, before it was completed, and then I never finished it. I recently started reading again from the beginning, and it's clear how much that story influenced this one, even though they're very different._


	75. Chapter 75

'So you're really not appearing on the radio tonight?' asked Suresh during lunch.

'I'm really not. I've been overexposed, and it'll get worse with the Light magic announcement on Sunday.'

'You're just building up demand,' said Darren. 'Which is very clever of you—well done!'

'I'm not trying to build up demand! People need a bloody break, and so do I.'

'It's classic Vampire John Lennon,' said Janet. 'Keep quiet for a week or so, and then come out with something completely baffling and unexpected.'

'Like Double Fantasy?' asked Ryan, but only Gary laughed. 'It was an album he made with Yoko,' said Ryan. 'Her songs were a bit avant garde.'

'Have you lined up a new Yoko?' asked Gary. 'Although I doubt anyone would ever describe Lydia that way.'

'I have a date tomorrow night, but you won't read about it in the _Prophet_.'

'I see,' said Janet approvingly. 'You're inviting her to come play _"Let's shock the portraits."'_

'The portraits are mostly in guest rooms,' said Harry. 'So it's everyone else who shocks the portraits these days, not me.'

'You're not joking,' said Suresh. 'When I was there on your birthday, Zenobia Black scolded us for depravity and complained that you'd turned Grimmauld Place into a veritable molly-house.'

'A molly-house? Is that an old-timey reference to gay people?' asked Gary.

'Apparently. But we told her that homosexuals no longer hide, and that it's more or less out in the open, which she couldn't believe at first. We were still clothed, so we opened the door and dragged in a few passers-by to confirm it, and old Zenobia was gobsmacked. And then she got a bit emotional and asked if there was still a portrait of Genevieve Black in the house—I think they were married to brothers—and she left and didn't return.'

'Snitchbottom, do you reckon they've shacked up somewhere?' asked Janet. 'There might be some hot sapphic love happening in one of your spare bedrooms.'

'Then I'd hate to interrupt them,' said Harry. 'Particularly if they've been apart this whole time.'

He flew on the Silver Arrow that afternoon, and since it was sunny he experimented more boldly with Light magic. But he was unable to reproduce the teleportation incident, and Bruce proposed trying the Firebolt again after the Harpies match. 'Once you've gone public, we can test it out and contact Randolph Spudmore. He's notoriously tight-lipped, but I'm certain he'll make an exception for you.'

'Don't be so sure,' said Harry. 'I insulted them by accepting a free Firebolt Ultra last year and then all but endorsing the Silver Arrow.'

'Yes, but all will be forgiven if you start flying a Firebolt again.'

Gemma won the practice match, which didn't bother Harry, whose mind was already on his upcoming meetings with the Malfoys and Rita Skeeter. Rita had replied overnight via jackdaw and proposed a private interview at the Leaky Cauldron.And to ensure a maximally strange evening, Harry had decided to dine at Pratt's between the two meetings.

He chose his robes carefully, knowing Rita would bring a photographer. _White robes would be a bit much,_ he decided, so he wore light grey and a windflower boutonnière, symbolising love and sincerity. Just looking at the flower caused his hands to glow, and he required a moment to collect himself before Apparating to Malfoy Manor.

Nitta greeted him at the door and led him to the drawing room. This time Draco didn't keep him waiting—he and Narcissa both stood as soon as Harry appeared. 'I won't keep you in suspense,' said Harry as soon as they were seated. 'I spoke to the Cannons legal team yesterday, and they told me I have two options, both of which involve the Wizengamot. The first is to ask the DMLE to recommend a shorter sentence and then bring it before the Wizengamot for approval.'

'They'll never do it,' said Narcissa. 'Not with Merrick Bode in charge.'

'I know. The second option, interestingly enough, is only available to me because I'm head of House Black and can invoke lordly privilege, but it's complicated. Malfoy, I can bring the question of your release to the Wizengamot next Wednesday, but I'd have to personally guarantee you wouldn't break the law before your original release date.'

Draco and Narcissa looked at each other uncertainly. 'What does that mean exactly?' asked Narcissa.

'It means that if Draco commits and is convicted of a crime before next July, I would be punished along with him. The only exceptions are minor infractions or crimes committed at Malfoy Manor.'

Narcissa sighed heavily, and Draco's shoulders slumped. 'So why did you even come here?' he grumbled. 'Was it to see the look on my face just now? I hope you enjoyed it.'

'No, I came to propose a solution that could free you next week. Are you interested or shall I just leave?'

'You mean you'll do it?' said Narcissa.

'Yes, but I have certain requirements, which you mightn't agree to.'

'Fine, but make it quick,' said Draco. 'We all know how this will turn out.'

Harry ignored him and said, 'I'm willing to risk my freedom under the following conditions. One: You sign a binding magical contract stating that if Draco commits a crime resulting in my being punished, all the Malfoy assets would be transferred to me, or to my designated recipients.'

'Absolutely not!' cried Draco. 'This is obviously a trick! All you'd have to do is tell Shacklebolt to frame me for something minor, spend six months in Azkaban, and then walk off with the entire Malfoy fortune! Wasn't House Black enough for you?'

'That's not my intention at all. For one thing, they'd eat me alive in Azkaban, unless I were kept in solitary confinement, which I don't fancy. Secondly, I don't even want Malfoy Manor, and I have more than enough gold already. I'll bring a goblin if you like and state under Veritaserum that this isn't a trick.'

Draco relaxed slightly. 'All right, I'll consider it. What's your second condition?'

'It involves your wand,' began Harry.

'The wand you ruined?'

'How exactly did I ruin it? It was working fine on Sunday.'

'Yes, because I didn't try any Dark magic in front of you, for fear of the Light Lord smiting me with his mighty bolt of self-righteousness, But I tried Dark magic afterwards, and the wand was useless. I'll need a new one.'

'Right, that's my second requirement. No new wand until next July.'

'That's perfect!' said Narcissa.

'Mother! Whose side are you on?'

'Yours, of course. But you have to admit it's a good solution. With your current wand there's no risk you'll get into trouble.'

'What makes you think I'd get into trouble?' said Draco.

Narcissa looked at him meaningfully. 'In the current Light climate, certain behaviour is less tolerated than at other times.'

Harry didn't want to think about what Narcissa might be referring to, and he was beginning to regret offering to help at all. _But what's the difference?_ he thought. _Either way, he'll have to wait until July before tormenting Muggles, and if he's released early he'll have less pent-up hostility._

After a silence, Draco said, 'Fine, I'll keep using my useless wand until the end of my original sentence. Mother, how do you feel about the binding magical contract?'

'I hate it. But he'd be a fool not to require it. Harry, are you actually willing to take Veritaserum to confirm this isn't a trick?'

'Yes, but I'll require a goblin witness to ensure I'm given the antidote promptly.'

'Of course. We can do that at Gringotts—until the end of Draco's sentence, I'm the trustee for the family assets, so he won't need to sign the contract. But I'll ask our solicitor to review it.'

'Naturally. And how do we enforce the wand agreement?'

'I'll give you my word,' said Draco.

'A blood oath,' said Narcissa. 'Draco, don't look at me like that. A blood oath will prevent you from using any other wand until July. It's an ideal protection.'

Draco shrugged. 'Shall I take it now, Potter, or can I wait until after the Wizengamot hearing? Speaking of which, how do you expect to handle the Wizengamot? They humiliated you last time.'

'As of yesterday I'm officially a member of Pratt's,' said Harry. 'I'm going there next.'

'You were invited to join Pratt's?' said Draco. 'At our age?'

'Yes, I assume they think it's the best way to control me.'

Narcissa chuckled. 'They don't know you're a Light wizard. You're clever to join now, while they'll still have you.'

'Potter's not clever,' said Draco.

'Then he's doing a good impression of it,' said Narcissa. 'Harry, I'll make sure the Dark families vote with you, but you have to at least be civil to them between now and then.'

'Understood. As for the blood oath, that needs to happen before the Wizengamot vote. And I confess I know little about them, so I'll ask for Andromeda's presence as well.'

Draco was silent while Harry and Narcissa worked out potential dates and times for the blood oath, and Narcissa agreed to tell Andromeda. When they finished, Draco asked, 'Potter, why are you doing this? You have nothing to gain, unless you're lying and it's actually a trick.'

'I'm not lying, and I'm doing it to get you out of the bloody house. When was the last time you went flying?'

'More than a year ago. I'm permitted outside as long as I stay on the Manor grounds, but I can't ride a broom.'

'I suspected as much. Flying every day has done me a world of good. Until I joined the Cannons, I'd barely flown since sixth year.'

'I thought Firebolt gave you a free broomstick after the war,' said Draco.

'They did, and I couldn't stand it. Although I tried it again recently, and I may be warming up to it.'

'Really? How does it compare with the Silver Arrow?'

'The short answer is that the Firebolt has slightly better acceleration and the Silver Arrow is much smoother. But I can bring them over next week, assuming the Wizengamot votes in your favour.'

Draco looked as if he were unsure whether to roll his eyes or extract a promise from Harry to come over immediately after the vote. 'Yes, I'd appreciate that. And thanks for rejecting Silver Arrow's offer, because I'd refuse on general principle to fly on a broomstick named after you.'

'At least you can avoid my florist and root against the Cannons.'

'Believe me, I already do. But don't let me keep you. Now that you're a Pratt's member I'm surprised you even turned up for practice this morning.'

'Very funny,' said Harry, rising from his chair. 'Narcissa, I'll write to you as soon as the contract is ready.'

'Yes, of course. By the way, you won't mention this on the radio tonight, will you?' she asked, accompanying Harry to the fireplace.

'No, I won't be on the radio tonight, although I'll probably turn up next Tuesday to answer questions about Light magic.'

'You won't be on the radio?' said Draco. 'Why not?'

'I thought everyone deserved a break. Are you disappointed?'

'Well, it's a part of my schedule, and I have friends coming over.'

'You can listen to Lee and George at least,' said Harry.

'Yes, I suppose we'll have to. But you should really take other people's plans into account.'

After polite goodbyes with Narcissa, Harry Flooed directly to Pratt's for his first visit as an official member. The reception hall was no longer decorated in Gryffindor colours but was instead tastefully painted in grey and white, to match the rest of the club. 'Good evening, Mr Potter,' said the wizard at the reception desk. 'Welcome to Pratt's, and please sign the register.'

Harry looked for familiar names and was disappointed to see that Zacharias Smith had arrived minutes earlier. _I hope that's not a bad omen,_ he thought. _Although maybe he's in France by now, and I won't run into him._

He felt oddly nervous entering the dining room, and he was reminded of primary school, when his classmates had avoided sitting with him for fear of attracting abuse from Dudley's gang. But he hadn't walked five feet before wizards from several different tables waved him over. Not recognising anyone, Harry selected a table of older wizards, hoping some of them might be Wizengamot members.

'Potter, welcome!' said one of the wizards. 'We haven't met, but I'm Silas Yawton, from the membership committee.'

'Yes, of course,' said Harry, recalling the name from his invitation letter. 'It's nice to meet you.'

Yawton introduced him to the other wizards: Reginald Baxter and Xanthus Fawley, whose name Harry recognised from the lords' letter to the _Prophet._ 'I can't tell you how pleased we were you accepted our offer of membership,' continued Yawton. 'And I can't even recall the last time we had to wait that long for a decision.'

'I didn't want to make it lightly,' said Harry. 'I'm frequently accused of Gryffindor impulsiveness, with good reason.'

'Every house has its vices,' said Fawley. 'I was in Ravenclaw, and we're notoriously cold-blooded. Fortunately I married a Gryffindor, and she's impetuous enough for the both of us.'

They chatted about Hogwarts for a while, interrupted only by an elf who took their order for dinner. As on Thursday, Harry was astonished by the convivial atmosphere, even though he was by no means certain his companions hadn't collaborated with the Death Eaters during the war. He also suspected they were all pure-bloods, which prompted him to ask about club demographics.

'Yawton, do you have any idea what percentage of members are half-bloods and Muggle-born?'

'Let me think,' replied Yawton. 'I believe half-bloods make up about a quarter of the club. Mostly wizards like yourself, with a long family history on one side. Although obviously you're a special case, as the head of two houses.'

'There's no such thing as House Potter,' said Harry.

'There is now,' said Fawley. 'You're the sole bearer of the name, which means every Potter from now on will be your descendant. And something tells me you won't have trouble fathering children,' he added with a wink.

'Fawley's right,' said Baxter. 'Potter is an old name, and you're the closest thing left to a Peverell. Just commission a ring and pick up a Wizengamot seat the next time one's for sale, and voilà—House Potter.'

'One ring is plenty,' said Harry. 'And I don't need two seats on the Wizengamot.'

'You don't, but your sons will,' said Baxter. 'How do you suppose they'll feel, with one of them inheriting House Black, and the other remaining strictly middle class?'

'If I raise them correctly they won't mind at all. I'm certainly not ashamed to be middle class.'

'No offence, Potter, but everyone knows about your upbringing,' said Fawley. 'Your sons, on the other hand, will be raised within wizarding society with plenty of gold. Although you could stand to increase that as well, between the Blacks' profligacy and your grandfather bankrolling Dumbledore.'

'My grandfather?'

'Monty Potter,' said Fawley. 'Didn't Dumbledore ever tell you about him?'

'Fleamont Potter? No, I don't know anything other than his name and that he died of Dragon Pox.'

The other wizards chuckled. 'Oh right, his given name was Fleamont,' said Baxter. 'Apparently he arrived at Hogwarts with an arsenal of hexes in case anyone tried calling him that.'

'Monty came of age with a full vault of his own,' continued Fawley, 'and I'm certain he visited the Boudoir on his seventeenth birthday. But he never joined—I suspect Dumbledore had his hooks in him already.'

Harry was fascinated, which clearly pleased his dinner companions. Baxter said, 'He made a fortune in potions, but most of it went towards the wars. He turned his house in Yorkshire into a veritable dormitory during Grindelwald's War, and during the First Wizarding War he housed and funded the Order of the Phoenix. And then your father did the same after his parents died—Dumbledore had won him over completely.'

'Are you implying Dumbledore deliberately cultivated them?' asked Harry.

'Gods yes!' said Fawley. 'Why else do you think your father was named Head Boy when he wasn't even a Prefect? I was on the Board of Governors back then, and several parents filed a complaint. But the Board wasn't going to challenge Dumbledore over something so trivial.'

'Is that why my grandparents' house was destroyed, because it housed the Order of the Phoenix?'

'Yes. Dumbledore had warded it thoroughly, or so he thought, but the Death Eaters were able to conceal a Dark artefact within the food delivery,' explained Baxter. 'They didn't succeed in killing anyone, because everyone was outside for some reason, but apparently two house-elves were lost.'

Harry noticed that Baxter had referred to house-elves as property rather than as people, but he knew this wasn't the time to make a stink. 'Was that before or after my grandparents died?'

'After. And then your parents moved to Godric's Hollow, and you know the rest.'

Harry nodded. 'Thank you, and forgive me for pressing you for details. I never heard any of this before today.'

'It's our pleasure,' said Yawton. 'Pratt's may not retain records about members—although your father and grandfather never joined—but you'll find a wealth of what might be called "living archives."'

Fawley and Baxter chuckled. 'Thank you for not calling us relics, Yawton,' said Fawley. 'And Potter, I'm sure people here will be delighted to tell you about your forbears. You've had shockingly little exposure to wizarding traditions, and we'll be only too happy to remedy that.'

_I'm certain you will be_, _if that gets me under control_, thought Harry_. _He wondered whether they'd urge him to visit the Boudoir after dinner.

'Will we see more of you at the Wizengamot?' asked Fawley.

'Not normally, because it interferes with Quidditch practice, but on certain occasions, yes.' He was about to raise the subject of Draco's early release, but Baxter interrupted him.

'Of course, Quidditch comes first. Not even the most traditional wizard would argue with that. But you say you'll make exceptions?'

'Yes, next Wednesday. I've just been to visit Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, and I agreed to advocate for Draco's early release.'

All three wizards looked shocked. 'Don't tell me you're invoking lordly privilege!' said Fawley.

'I am, and I'm aware of the risk. But we're taking precautions, and I'm convinced justice has already been served. In my opinion, Draco should go free.'

Yawton narrowed his eyes. 'Is this so he and Narcissa won't make a fuss when you change your name?'

'They'd look foolish if they tried,' said Baxter. 'There's no question he's Head of House. Potter, when are you making the switch, and what name are you using?'

'You sound like Ludo Bagman,' said Harry, and the three wizards laughed.

'Well spotted,' said Yawton. 'Baxter's an inveterate wagerer. Small stakes, but he's hooked on the thrill.'

'I made five Galleons on your last match,' Baxter told Harry. 'I only wish I'd taken odds when you joined the league—they were offering a thousand to one that you'd win ten in a row.'

'Owen and Gemma won two of those matches, so they wouldn't have paid you,' said Harry. 'And furthermore, I suspect the Cannons' streak will end this Saturday in Holyhead.'

'The boy's right,' said Fawley. 'He'll never survive the Harpyheads. But back to Malfoy ... you know you'll need a two-thirds vote, right?'

'Yes. Do you think I'll have trouble getting it? Narcissa is planning to rally the Dark families.'

'No, I don't suppose you will,' said Fawley. 'But behave yourself this time.'

'I'll wear the hat, but I won't wear traditional robes.'

'Of course not. You won that battle,' said Baxter. 'But sit with the lords and treat them with respect. The Wizengamot's all they have left, you know.'

'I beg to differ!' cried Fawley.

'Let it go, 1707,' said Baxter. 'Potter, you made a handful of enemies with that letter and won dozens of allies. You should have been here when it was published; every one of us who'd been forced to kowtow to lords all our lives had a huge laugh at their expense.'

'And Fawley made it worse by signing that letter,' said Yawton. 'Did you owe Wynter a favour or something?'

'Yes, a large one. But between signing the letter and voting against Potter last month, I'm finally clear of it. And believe me, I'll never make that mistake again.'

'Does that mean I'll have your support next week regarding Malfoy?' asked Harry.

'You will. What about you, Baxter?'

'Yes, but don't tell Narcissa, because I'll enjoy having her cultivate me.'

'What are you implying?' exclaimed Harry.

'Not what you're thinking, young man,' said Baxter with a chuckle. 'At my age, it's pleasant just to spend time with a beautiful young woman like Narcissa Malfoy, particularly when she turns on the charm. How do you think she won over Abraxas?'

'Lucius's father?' asked Harry, puzzled.

'Of course. Lucius was mad for her—the Blacks were good-looking after all—but they were terribly unstable, and Abraxas wasn't at all keen on the match. Although Narcissa turned out better than her sisters.'

'That's only half-true,' said Harry. 'Andromeda turned out just fine. Her only crime was marrying a Muggle-born, which obviously I don't object to.'

'My apologies, you're right,' said Baxter. 'Times are changing.'

'Potter, you asked earlier how many Muggle-borns belong to Pratt's,' said Yawton, 'and the answer is "none." Are you proposing we remedy that?'

'What do you think? Of course I am.'

'All right, then suggest someone. Bear in mind that, out of sensitivity, we don't invite wizards who can't afford the dues.'

Harry thought for a moment. 'My classmate, Justin Finch-Fletchley. He's from the Muggle upper class, and I suspect his father belongs to the non-magical equivalent of Pratt's.'

'And he's nineteen, correct? You were an exception,' said Yawton. 'Furthermore, what career has he chosen?'

'I don't know. But he was clever and hard-working, so I'm sure it'll be respectable.'

'Ask us in five years. Who else?'

'Phil Routledge. He's the league's leading Seeker.'

'Other than you,' said Fawley. 'But we don't normally invite Quidditch players until after they retire, since there's no knowing how they'll manage the rest of their career. Again, you were an exception.'

Harry was silent for a moment, unable to think of anyone else. But then inspiration struck. 'You should ask Horace Slughorn for recommendations. He's exceptionally good at identifying talent.'

'Potter, you can ask him,' said Yawton. 'I can't go within ten yards of Horace Slughorn without him embarrassing himself by asking for discounted membership.'

'And that's out of the question?'

'Of course it is. We're not running a charity.'

Their meals had arrived by then, and Harry was impressed by how good the food was. But he disappointed his companions by turning down wine. 'Not a drinker?' asked Baxter.

'Only occasionally, and not tonight.'

'Yes, it's a radio night and you only drink Veritaserum. I suppose you'll be leaving soon for tonight's broadcast.'

'No, I won't be on the radio tonight. Next week, perhaps.'

'Why ever not?' asked Fawley. 'Everyone will be terribly disappointed.'

'Even you?' said Harry, astonished.

'Certainly. At seven o'clock, we all head into the library to listen together, and that's only because radios aren't permitted in the lounge. I daresay they even listen at the Boudoir, although probably not upstairs,' he added with a chuckle.

'What do you think of the broadcasts?' asked Harry nervously.

'You certainly have a lot of cheek,' said Baxter. 'Sending your Patronus to Malfoy Manor ... that's probably why you're advocating for Draco's early release, just to keep him from cursing you once he's free.'

Harry ignored the comment. 'The Veritaserum was a stroke of genius,' said Yawton. 'Although you're fortunate we'd already offered you membership, because we'd never normally invite someone who would expose us like that. We're an exceptionally private club.'

'So I shouldn't send you my Patronus next week?' joked Harry, and the wizards laughed.

'Indeed no,' said Baxter. 'But tell me, what did they have to censor? It'll never leave these walls, and of course no one will care if it's about buggery. Hogwarts, you know.'

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he managed to keep a straight face. 'It wasn't about "buggery," but it was a private detail from my trip to France. You'll probably have more fun speculating about it than hearing what it was.'

'Speaking of France, will you be visiting the Boudoir tonight?' asked Fawley. 'And is that why you won't be on the radio?'

'No, I'm not going to France. I have plenty of domestic options.'

'I'm certain you do,' said Fawley. 'But are they discreet?'

'What does it matter? Between Lydia and the _Sorceress_ article my reputation is a smoking ruin. And frankly, the only way it could get worse would be if I announced to the world that I'd fallen in love with a _fille de joie_.'

All three wizards guffawed. 'Potter, you're a breath of fresh air,' said Baxter. 'I don't know how you earned a reputation for being thick, because you're remarkably clever.'

'It's all Hermione's influence. She's the only reason I have a decent vocabulary.'

'Nonsense!' said Yawton. 'You attended the best wizarding school in the world.'

'And had six different Defence professors, several of whom tried to kill me. And a ghost for a History professor, and Snape, who kept me alive but certainly didn't teach me anything.'

'Yes, I'll admit you had an unusual Hogwarts experience. And you're right that Binns was useless,' said Yawton. 'But your overall magical education was superb.'

'No it wasn't,' said Harry. 'I discover gaps in my knowledge of magical culture all the time.'

'Dumbledore,' said Baxter with contempt. 'He always undervalued wizarding traditions. He claimed it was more important for wizards to learn about Muggles. But I maintain that Muggle-borns need to learn about our culture.'

'Both are valuable,' said Harry. 'I've recently engaged a tutor to learn more about culture, and the best of Muggle art and literature is tremendous.'

'The best of it, perhaps,' said Baxter. 'But so much of it is abysmal. It's hardly worth the effort to find the bit that's worthwhile.'

'Yes it is worth the effort,' said Harry. 'Please don't tell me you went to Paris without visiting Notre Dame.'

'I've seen it, and you're right,' said Fawley. 'Baxter is a bit extreme in that regard, to his own detriment.'

'Cultural output isn't automatically better because it's magical,' continued Harry. 'Compare wizarding plays with Muggle theatre.'

There was a collective groan. 'Even I won't argue with you there, Potter,' said Baxter. 'I saw a play last month about the treaty negotiations after one of the goblin wars. At least the negotiations were done in person, unlike that ghastly play about the DOM, but they were entirely in Gobbledegook. Even worse, it was a musical.' After a silence, he added, 'The goblin language is rather guttural. Those of us seated in the front row required frequent Drying Charms.'

Harry told them about the Oscar Wilde play he'd attended, and his companions seemed interested. 'But what would I even wear?' asked Fawley. 'Not robes, certainly.'

'I wore a Muggle jacket and tie, but any shirt and trousers will do. I can't understand why wizards have so much trouble blending in with Muggles. Just pop your head outside the Leaky Cauldron for two minutes and you'll work it out. Or ask any wizarding tailor.'

'Quite so,' said Yawton. 'And Potter, I'll reveal that your new wardrobe was a major factor in your early invitation to join Pratt's.'

'Really?' said Harry dryly. 'I thought I was invited because it's your best chance to control me.'

His companions burst out laughing again. 'Well spotted!' said Baxter. 'You're absolutely right. Between making Fawley and his fellow lords look like fools and what you did to the Travers girl, nobody wants you as an enemy. If only the Dark Lord had figured that out sooner.'

'Er, maybe before killing my parents and scores of other people?'

'Yes, of course,' said Baxter. 'I was only speaking figuratively.'

The ensuing awkward silence gave way to a normal silence as they ate. 'This meal is superb,' said Harry. 'It's as good as some of what I ate in France.'

'Yes, at Pratt's we know what wizards like,' said Yawton. 'Are you certain you won't visit the Boudoir this evening? You needn't go upstairs right away, if you're still digesting.'

'No, I have another engagement,' said Harry, and the wizards chuckled knowingly.

'Will we read about it in the _Prophet_?' asked Fawley.

'Almost certainly, but probably not until Sunday.'

'Fascinating! I look forward to it.'

'Potter, what are you doing here?' came a voice, and Harry turned to see Zacharias Smith.

'He's just become a member,' said Yawton. 'And you are?'

'Zacharias Smith. My father is Junius Smith.'

'Of course, you're Potter's year. I recommend staying on his good side, since he's our youngest full member in nearly a century.'

Harry was impressed by how well Zacharias concealed his irritation. 'Then you won't mind if I borrow him,' said Zacharias. 'You seem to have finished eating, and Potter and I could stand to renew our friendship.'

'Of course, we've monopolised him long enough,' said Yawton. 'Potter, it's been a pleasure talking to you. I'm delighted we had the good sense to offer you membership, and that you accepted it.'

After politely excusing himself, Harry joined Zacharias at an empty table. 'I must say, I never expected to see you here,' said Zacharias. 'I considered you too much of an iconoclast.'

'What's an iconoclast?'

'It's someone who rejects tradition. You can see why I made the assumption.'

'I suppose I do. But no, I've been persuaded that joining Pratt's is my best hope for influencing wizarding politics, and so here I am.'

'And the Boudoir had nothing to do with it?'

'Frankly, it was an argument against joining, but I was able to overlook it.'

'You must be joking!'

'No, I'm not. I don't need the temptation, and I have options right here in England.'

'I imagine you do, between that vow of yours and not having parents who expect you to marry a pure-blood,' said Zacharias. 'I've been courting a girl who's driving me perfectly mad. I had to go to the Boudoir just now to blow off steam.'

_You weren't there long_, thought Harry. 'She's a determined virgin, I gather?'

'Yes, but I'm convinced she's worth the wait. Her family's Dark, but she doesn't seem inclined in that direction, and of course my family's neutral.'

Harry nodded, recalling how Zacharias had knocked over first-years to escape from Hogwarts prior to the Battle. 'What's her name? Do I know her?'

'Unlikely—I believe she was educated privately. Her name's Waite. Vanessa Waite. Gorgeous figure ... it's maddening not getting my hands on her.'

Harry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing as he recalled his birthday threesome. 'How long have you been seeing each other?'

'Several weeks now. She finally kissed me on Saturday, and it's clear she has potential, if I can just train her up.'

'I wish you luck,' said Harry. 'Obviously I'm not in the matrimonial market, but I can certainly understand the wish to settle down.'

'I find that hard to believe. I doubt your wife would approve of your pulling witches from the stands at a Quidditch match.'

'I didn't go through with it. I told my secretary to owl them my apologies, and to say it was nothing personal.'

'You made your secretary do that? What else does she handle?'

'All my correspondence through the team. Although I reply personally to children.'

'Ensuring a lifetime of loyalty,' said Zacharias. 'I'll give you credit—you're far more Slytherin than I ever realised. Were you always like this, or was it only when you became Harry Black?'

'I haven't changed my name,' said Harry calmly.

'You will. You're just waiting for a lull in your press coverage. But silly me, I shouldn't antagonise you, otherwise you mightn't recommend me for Pratt's membership next year.'

'I assume you'd like to become a member?'

'Of course I would. And obviously you did, if you joined.'

'It was a hard decision, actually. But yes, I can see the advantages, particularly where the Wizengamot is concerned.' Harry decided to get to the point and asked, 'Is your father a member?'

'Yes, but he votes independently and not with a faction.'

'Right ... I'm actually bringing something to the floor next week, and I'm curious how an independent might feel about it.'

'Not another motion against Rita Skeeter? I'd have thought you'd learnt your lesson.'

'No, I'm recommending early release for Draco Malfoy.'

Zacharias's eyes shot open. 'Is he blackmailing you?'

'What would he possibly have on me?' asked Harry. 'I haven't any secrets left, except for information about Voldemort, which wouldn't get me into trouble. No, I'm doing this because house arrest isn't helping him, and it's better for everyone if he's released.'

'And you're trying to make peace with him, particularly after the Patronus incident.'

'Wouldn't you agree it's beneficial for wizarding society if Malfoy and I learn to get along?'

Zacharias rolled his eyes. 'That's a remarkably grandiose statement even for you. But I can't argue with it.'

'Do you have any sense of how your father would vote on the motion? Or should I talk to him directly?'

'I can't speak for my father, but I don't see why he'd object. If you and the Dark faction can agree on it, surely a neutral wizard like my father would.'

'I'm glad to hear it. Have you been in touch with Malfoy this past year?'

'No, we never ran in the same circles. He scorned Hufflepuffs, you know.' Zacharias summoned an elf and asked Harry whether he wanted anything. 'One last drink before your broadcast, perhaps?'

'Actually, I'm not doing a broadcast tonight.'

'That's a relief,' said Zacharias. 'Do you have a scheduling conflict, or did you realise you're overexposed?'

'The latter. But I'll probably be back next week.'

'Yes, you mustn't disappoint your fans. Will it be to announce your name change?'

'No, nothing like that.'

'Well, I salute you for out-Lockharting Lockhart. And congratulations on being invited to join Pratt's. Perhaps we'll learn to tolerate each other by the time I turn twenty-one.'

'I hope we do,' said Harry, rising. As he left the dining room he noticed a tea trolley loaded with sweets, and he momentarily regretted his promise to Kreacher to eat pudding later at home. _But no, I've already cheated on Lydia at Pratt's_, he thought. _I mustn't cheat on Kreacher as well._

He went to the library to pass the time quietly before his meeting with Rita, but he was unsuccessful. 'Shouldn't you be at Weasley's by now?' asked multiple wizards.

'No, I won't be on the programme tonight.'

Most of the wizards expressed disappointment, but several seemed to appreciate the unanticipated free time, and Harry saw them hasten towards the Boudoir. He knew that Pratt's emphasised privacy, but he was glad he'd never be observed entering that corridor again. _I'm all about upending expectations, _he mused. A_nd what could be more surprising than a known sex addict avoiding a brothel?_

He travelled by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and followed Rita's instruction to ask for 'Mr Berenger's room.' The proprietor told him the room number, and Harry went upstairs and knocked on the door.

'Yes, who is it?' said a male voice.

'I'm looking for Mr Berenger,' said Harry, and moments later the door opened. Two men Harry didn't recognise were in the room, but one of them spoke with Rita's voice and said, 'Close the door, dearie.'

As soon as Harry closed the door, Rita touched her wand to her cufflink, and her appearance changed to match her voice. The other man did the same, and he became the photographer who had accompanied Rita to the Wizengamot the previous month. 'I can't tell you how tempted we were to disguise ourselves as a pair of buxom blondes, and to arrive only minutes before you did,' said Rita. 'But in the spirit of our agreement I chose something more discreet.'

'Cheers,' said Harry. 'Lately I've been saying my reputation can't get any worse, but I'm afraid you might take that as a challenge.'

'Believe me, dearie, it could get a thousand times worse, but neither of us wants that. And really, there's no need when we're getting on so well! You've turned into an absolute delight, and I wouldn't dream of crossing you.'

The photographer pulled a camera and tripod from bags that were previously shrunk and began setting them up. 'I'd like to take some photographs, if that's all right,' he said.

'Yes, that's fine,' said Harry. 'Do you just want a portrait, or are you hoping for something more interesting?'

Rita looked at Harry appraisingly. 'What are you proposing? I thought you couldn't control it.'

'I can't always prevent it, but I can easily make it happen.'

The photographer, who had begun setting up lights, chuckled and said, 'Maybe I needn't have brought these.'

'No,' said Rita. 'I'd like to show the transition from normal to glowing. I've never witnessed it myself, but I've heard it's rather provocative.'

'That's what I'm told as well,' said Harry. 'Where do you want to photograph me?'

The photographer directed him to a chair, and Rita sat opposite him, out of view of the camera. 'We'll just start talking, to get comfortable. And please, have some water if you like—I'm certain you won't trust me to provide it, but you can conjure yourself a glass.'

He did so and they began talking. 'Rita, how did you learn about Light magic?' he asked. He noticed her Quick-Quotes Quill was transcribing their conversation on a long parchment, but unlike previous occasions it was recording his words verbatim.

'I came across it while researching Dumbledore. He was hailed as the Leader of the Light, and old Bathilda Bagshot said he'd studied Light magic at one point. But it was a dead end—he dabbled with it in the early forties, thinking it might help him against Grindelwald, but he gave it up after a few weeks and never bothered with it again.'

'I'm not surprised,' said Harry, doing his best to ignore the camera snaps. 'I've heard it's hard for extremely powerful wizards to master, since it doesn't rely on magical strength.'

'Are you saying you're not an extremely powerful wizard?'

_Ugh, I walked right into that,_ thought Harry. _But what's the harm, now that I have Light magic? _'I have no reason to believe I'm exceptionally powerful, outside the realm of Light magic. I didn't defeat Voldemort using raw strength, after all.'

'But people have cited your Patronus as evidence you're a powerful wizard.'

'True, but that's Light magic, which depends on the power of the positive emotion rather than magical strength.'

'So you've been a Light wizard all along?'

'No, I only began experiencing accidental Light magic last month, in Paris.' He told her what had happened at the Sainte Chapelle, and how his companions had been required to Confund a Muggle to preserve secrecy. 'Could you run a colour photograph of the Sainte Chapelle?' he asked. 'It was built entirely without magic, and I'd love for people to visit.'

'Yes, I'm sure we can find one. Do you think you can start glowing now? You seemed to relax while talking about Paris.'

'I'd be delighted to,' said Harry, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath and allowed feelings of love to arise in his body. Not yet glowing, he opened his eyes and looked affectionately at both Rita and the photographer. _Thanks to her I no longer have secrets, _he thought fondly. _Celia and a dozen others are no longer being abused. _

For a moment only his hands glowed, but then the Light magic ripped through him and he knew he was unusually bright. 'Oh my!' exclaimed Rita. 'This belongs in _Sorceress!'_

'This is better than _Sorceress,_' said Harry, sighing with pleasure. 'Everyone should experience this, right now. That's the main reason I'm going public, so people realise it's possible.'

'Darling, I hate to disappoint you, especially when you look so happy, but you're a bit of a special case. Just because you can do it, that doesn't mean the rest of us can.'

'Oh, bugger that,' he exhaled. 'This has nothing to do with how I survived the Killing Curse, except that my mother's sacrifice might have predisposed me towards the Light Arts. But Davina can tell you about that.'

The photographer took a series of photographs as Harry was glowing, and at one point Harry looked straight at the camera and set the intention to express love primarily through his eyes. _I want to look like Mum did when she was looking at me,_ he thought.

As he gazed at the camera, he was overwhelmed with love for everyone he imagined would see his photograph. _I wish Muggles could see it,_ he thought. _After all, they can experience this too._

'Is there anything you'd like to share while you're in this state?' asked Rita.

'Just that I love you. Yes, you've printed lies about me, and you Polyjuiced your way into my party and caused Helena to break up with me several weeks early. But it's all perfect. And then what you did with the Dursleys ... you were absolutely right when you said you did me a favour. I haven't any secrets left, and it's incredibly freeing. I could never have taken Veritaserum on the radio if you hadn't knocked all my walls down first. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart.'

Rita looked taken aback. 'I can't say I've ever had an interview like this one. And nobody has ever thanked me for printing what I call "enhancements." Someone else might think you were daft for talking this way, only you're clearly happier than you've ever been, and by all measures you're on top the wizarding world. It'll be my pleasure to write about this accurately.'

'No enhancements required?'

'What could I possibly add?'

'I'm sure you could make it tawdry,' he said.

'Yes, about that ... Would you care to comment on the claim that Light magic affects the libido?'

He smiled and said, 'It's a good excuse, isn't it?'

Rita laughed out loud. 'Oh darling, never change! But seriously, do you know if it's played a role in your recent behaviour?'

'I couldn't even say, because everything's connected. Ginny and I shagged like bunnies, but then she dumped me and I left the Ministry and joined the Cannons. And I couldn't even pinpoint when the Light magic really started,' said Harry, still glowing brightly.

'Yes, why did Ginny break up with you?'

'Nice try, Skeeter. I'm glowing, not drunk. And honestly, it's not that interesting—she mostly said we'd grown apart. But returning to your question about whether Light magic is affecting my behaviour ... People say I'm promiscuous, and I probably am, but it's because I simply love women. That's why Helena made me take that vow—leave her name out of this, by the way. It's because I fall madly in love with whoever I'm with, at least while we're together.'

'Even the witch from _Sorceress_?'

'No, we had nothing in common—that's why we shagged all night. Please don't mention that either. It's why I daren't go to brothels, because I'll just fall in love with the prostitute_._ And yeah, it has to be the Light magic, because I wasn't this way before. But it's absolutely brilliant.'

'I have to say, I'm a little worried someone might take advantage of you,' said Rita.

'Yes, Tuttle told me not to let anyone take me to Gringotts when I'm like this. And I'm grateful for my vow against proposing marriage until I'm twenty-one, since I'll surely have this under control by then. But I hope I never lose my capacity for love, because it's pure heaven.'

'Is there anything else you want to say while you're in this state?'

'Yes, and it borders on being classified, but it's worth sharing. Light magic is infinitely more gratifying than Dark magic. I successfully cast Dark magic twice during the war, and the second time in particular was very satisfying. But it doesn't even compare with this—not even close. I know that Dark Arts practitioners will scoff and say my experiences don't count, because I never mastered the Dark Arts, which is true.' Harry paused before revealing what he knew he had to share. 'But the same link that gave me the ability to defeat Voldemort, and allowed me to speak to snakes and all the rest ... it gave me direct insight into his experience while practising Dark magic. He enjoyed it tremendously, and so did I, by extension, even though it was abhorrent. But that pleasure was a faint shadow of what even immature Light magic is like.'

Harry's glow had finally dimmed, and he mentally reviewed what he'd just said. 'You could argue that my experience of Voldemort's pleasure while torturing was undermined by my personal revulsion towards what he was doing, and you may be right. But Light magic is impossibly satisfying, and it doesn't require hurting anyone. And yes, I know that emotions like love and compassion are more difficult to harness than anger and hatred. But it's unquestionably worth the effort.'

'I must say, you're rather convincing,' said Rita. 'Do you consider it your mission now to promote the Light Arts?'

'One of them. That's the funny thing about being alive when I always assumed I'd be dead by now—there's no reason not to do something. Why not fly for the Cannons? Why not open my house up to hundreds of strangers? Why not chat up a Muggle and go home with her? So yeah, why not make it a mission to promote the Light Arts, or advocate for werewolves, or anything else I believe in? If I change my mind I can just stop doing it.'

'But you'll be criticised,' she said.

'Do you know what it's like to be a league Seeker? I'm taunted six days a week, sometimes viciously. And before that, people were trying to kill me—for years—and they called me a liar or an attention-seeker. I can't say I enjoy being criticised, but it's hardly the end of the world.'

'I notice you haven't even mentioned using this in combat. Do you ever see that happening?'

'Personally I hope never to engage in combat again. Obviously that's what I'm known for, but I never chose it—it was forced on me by prophecy. That said, it's a relief to know I'll be safe should anyone choose to attack me with Dark magic. And the only reason I'm announcing this publicly is because I'm impervious to Legilimency and other mind arts, which are apparently the best way to fight a Light wizard.'

'That's a bold claim,' said Rita. 'Aren't you worried you'll attract Dark wizards who want to prove you wrong?'

'By the end of the war I could withstand Voldemort. I've recently been tested by several first-rate Legilimens, and they couldn't make a dent. I know this sounds arrogant, but really, don't bother. You'd be risking your own life, and it's not worth it.'

'Are you concerned you might hurt someone by accident?'

'From what I understand, Light magic is only harmful if someone uses Dark magic against me. And the most likely outcome is that I'd snap their wands or otherwise incapacitate them. But I've been glowing for weeks around people with a range of feelings towards me, and I haven't hurt anyone. So I'm not at all concerned about accidentally causing harm.'

'Do you wish you'd had this available to you during the war?'

'If it could have saved lives, absolutely. But Light magic alone wouldn't have been enough to defeat Voldemort. Numerous things needed to happen, which is also why I never could have defeated him alone.'

'Are Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger experiencing Light magic as well?'

'That's not for me to answer,' said Harry. 'But I'm certain they'd both be capable of it.'

She nodded. 'What about your Glowpox episode several weeks ago? Will you now confirm that was a deliberate lie?'

'Yes, and I'm genuinely sorry about that. But I hadn't yet found a teacher and wasn't prepared to go public, so the team had to cover up what happened.'

'Do you see Light magic affecting your ability to play league Quidditch?'

'I don't think it'll affect my performance, or at least I hope it won't. I'm not convinced I'll beat the Harpies on Saturday, since Allie Hobbs is a tough opponent and we'll be playing in Holyhead, but otherwise I've won several matches since this started. Probably the biggest change is that I've largely given up taunting.'

'But I'm told Seeker taunting is central to league Quidditch,' said Rita.

'It is, and you've given my rivals plenty of material,' said Harry without anger. 'But I like to think my flying and spotting are good enough to win matches, and that I needn't be cruel or self-aggrandising in the process.'

'Actually, I'm glad you brought that up. You've been accused of having a shockingly large ego.'

'Technically, you were the one who started that rumour, but I'll admit there's some truth to it. I've received a good deal of hero-worship, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it.'

'Yes, particularly after Dumbledore kept you down for so many years. Although he flattered your ego as well, by giving you so much personal attention.'

'Yes, but to some extent it was inevitable because of the prophecy.'

'Would you be willing to reveal that prophecy?' asked Rita.

'No. I've already said all I plan to on that subject.'

'Are you sure? For example, did it refer to Light magic?'

Harry paused, recalling _'The power the Dark Lord knows not.' _He took a sip of water and said, 'The prophecy was extremely vague, as you can imagine. Dumbledore never identified a reference to Light magic, and he never taught me about it beyond describing the power of my mother's sacrifice.'

'Was that Light magic?'

'You'd have to ask Davina, but my guess is that it was. A book I read on Light magic, written long before I was born, theorised that someone could survive the Killing Curse just as I did the first time.' He told her what Jacobus Filch had described, and how it perfectly matched Voldemort's first attempt on his life.

'Do you know whether your mother experienced accidental Light magic?'

'No. I honestly know very little about my parents, and most of their friends are dead. Which suggests my mother wasn't a Light witch, otherwise she might have protected them better.'

'Do you expect the Ministry to ask you to help train Aurors in Light magic?'

'I'm not qualified to train anyone, since what I'm experiencing is largely accidental. It would be like asking a six-year-old to teach people how to Summon biscuits from a high shelf. But I don't know if it's easy to learn Light magic if your primary goal is combat. That's probably why Dumbledore didn't succeed at it.'

'Could you say more about that?'

'Yes, it's very hard to engage in combat without getting angry or wanting to hurt someone, or even wanting to defend yourself. My greatest successes in battle have been when I wanted to protect people, even at the cost of my own life, and I think that's the only motivation that would work for using the Light Arts in combat. But again, you should ask Davina.'

'On a different subject, has this affected your ability to serve as head of House Black?'

Harry frowned. 'No, not at all. Why would it?'

'The Blacks were known for Dark magic, but here you are practising its opposite. Honestly, I'm surprised the family magic didn't reject you.'

'It accepted me even though I'm not a pure-blood, so I don't see why this would be any different.'

'Would you be willing to reveal the Black family ring, just to prove it hasn't rejected you?'

'Yes, but only if you don't take a photograph. The thing is ghastly.'

Rita nodded, and the photographer stepped away from his camera. Harry revealed the ring and Rita cackled with delight. 'Oh, darling, not even you could make that thing fashionable. Speaking of which, do you know whether your new style of dress is related to Light magic?'

'That would be be ironic, being compelled by Light magic to wear Death Eater robes,' said Harry.

'Dearie, they're called Harry Potter robes now. Do try to keep up.'

'I don't need to keep up,' he retorted, and Rita laughed when he turned red. 'And now you've seen my obnoxious Seeker persona. It still flares up occasionally, even though I've stopped encouraging it.'

'How disappointing. Frankly I was hoping to encourage it when I wrote that article about your party. We'd had more than enough of Downtrodden Harry, and I wanted to show the world Harry Triumphant.'

'Please don't print that phrase, or I'll never hear the end of it.'

'It's either that or I'm trotting out "The Light Lord" again,' replied Rita. 'That was my idea, you know. But you still haven't answered my question about your wardrobe.'

'I can't say for certain, but I don't think it's related to the Light magic. The fact is I'd never worn clothes that were properly tailored until I got my Cannons robes, and I was astonished by the difference.'

'Yes, but that doesn't necessarily result in immediately buying dozens of sets of robes and becoming a fashion icon.'

'I didn't buy all those robes right away,' said Harry. 'And the tailors are giving me a huge discount now, in spite of what you printed about my supposed net worth.'

'Admit it, that was fun! And you got the truth out eventually.' Harry scowled, and she said, 'I was at that party and people were already speculating about your assets. This way it's all out in the open.'

'Yes, and now everyone calls me "Harry Toffer."'

'Oh right, your name! That was positively careless of me not to ask you about it earlier. Clearly I'm under your thrall.'

'I don't have a thrall.'

'Yes you do, darling. You've always had one—when I first met you during the Triwizard Tournament, I'd never encountered a young boy with so much charisma.'

'You clearly never saw any Pensieve memories of Tom Riddle.'

'Are you comparing yourself to You-Know-Who?'

'No, you're the one who said I have charisma, not me.'

'But surely people have remarked on it,' said Rita.

'They have done, but I think it's because I've always been famous. And that was only because of my mother's sacrifice.'

'But now it's more than that,' said Rita.

'Well, yes. I'm a league Seeker now, and I've done more than just survive the Killing Curse as a baby.'

'Darling, only you could make surviving the Killing Curse sound insignificant. But yes, you're famous for all sorts of things now. And on top of that, I've heard Light magic can make a person extremely charismatic.'

'Can it? Then that's another reason to watch my behaviour, since I don't want to manipulate anyone.'

'Interesting. How then do you hope to prevent the next war? That's your stated ambition, right?'

'It is, to the extent that one person can make a difference. But I don't see why manipulation is necessary.'

'Then let's replace the word "manipulate" with "influence,"' said Rita. 'Do you want to influence people?'

'If it saves lives and makes wizarding society more egalitarian, yes.'

'And wouldn't charisma be a powerful tool for making that happen?'

'It would be.'

'And what about personal gain?' asked Rita.

'I'm sorry?'

'Surely you'd like to get something for yourself in the process.'

'If you're asking how I intend to personally profit from living in a peaceful, egalitarian society, I don't really think in those terms. But I certainly want to keep playing Quidditch for a long time and then find a satisfying career afterwards. And after I'm twenty-one I'll very likely marry and start a family.'

'Don't you want to rebuild the Black fortune?'

'I'm told that's one of my responsibilities as Head of House, and I'd like for House Black to thrive long after I'm gone—as a Light family of course. But I don't have a desperate desire to amass gold for its own sake.'

'In other words, you don't want me to print that you're looking for investment opportunities, because you'll be flooded?'

Harry chuckled. 'I've already identified several opportunities, none of which involve importing French pastries into Britain.'

Rita took a moment to replace the parchment underneath her Quick-Quotes Quill. 'Would you like to inspect it for accuracy?' she asked, holding up the first parchment.

'I've had my eye on it the entire time,' said Harry. 'I should really thank my Optimancer for fixing my eyesight so thoroughly.'

'We should all thank him for ridding us of your eyeglasses—your eyes are undoubtedly your best feature. Otherwise you're the image of your father, who really married out of his league. Although he was certainly better-looking than Severus Snape.'

'If you're trying to trick me into talking about Snape, it's not going to work.'

'You can't blame a witch for trying,' said Rita breezily. 'We may be allies, but I'm still a journalist.'

'Yes, although you never asked me what Light magic feels like. You claimed that as a writer you were best qualified to put it into words.'

'You're absolutely right, dearie. All I can say in my defence is that I was distracted by visions of glowing young Seekers. Speaking of which, perhaps you should start glowing again, so you can describe it. All I learnt the first time around is that it's intensely pleasurable and you become positively stupid with love and gratitude.'

'That sums it up,' said Harry. 'The rest of it is too subtle for words, or perhaps inappropriate for publication anywhere but _Sorceress_.'

'Yes, about that ...' began Rita, and Harry laughed. 'Really, darling, you should have known I wasn't done asking about sex. My question is whether you've glowed with any of your partners. I know you've had several since you were in France, when all of this started.'

'I have had, but I won't answer out of respect for their privacy.'

'But shouldn't your partners be warned that Light magic is sexually transmissible?'

'Is it?' he asked. 'I'd describe it more as emotionally transmissible. Which probably explains why it didn't happen with the witch from _Sorceress._'

'So they didn't omit that from the article?'

'No.'

'During your radio broadcast last week, did they have to censor anything about Light magic?'

'No, the bit they censored was unrelated.'

'But you were talking about the weekend you started glowing,' persisted Rita.

'True, and it probably played a role in why Eric and I kissed, although it was mainly alcohol and because we'd been dared to do it. Sophie and I snogged afterwards, and I started glowing and we had to rush back to her apartment.' Harry closed his eyes, remembering it, and Rita started laughing again.

'And to think you might have died before experiencing all this, and sharing it with the world. That would have been a terrible waste!'

Harry's expression turned serious, and the photographer took his picture again. 'It breaks my heart that people die without experiencing this. I'm not talking about sex, although obviously I'm a fan—I'm talking about this kind of love. It's more powerful than magic ... I reckon it's why Light wizards can defeat almost anyone. And it's what we were born to do. Every day we're alive is an opportunity to experience love and beauty.'

He slid the windflower from his lapel and looked at it, prompting another snap of the camera. 'There's beauty in every moment. There's perfection in every moment. My childhood was ghastly, as you well know, but during summers I at least had flowers.' He put the boutonnière back into place and said, 'It's absurd that wizards fight when we have everything we need to pursue happiness. It's hard to starve as a wizard, and you can live in a tent and use Warming Charms to stay alive. So why do we bother hurting each other, when it's infinitely more pleasant to cultivate love?'

There was actually a tear falling down Rita's cheek. 'Harry, that was beautiful. And I'm grateful you've wrapped it in a sexy little package so I can sell it to the masses. Because they're all going to want a piece when they read my article.'

'A piece of what exactly?' he asked nervously.

'A piece of you, of course. And Light magic. Although most people will have to settle for the latter.'

'Er, I'd rather you didn't turn the article into a sales pitch for a night with Harry Potter.'

'Darling, do you want to get people excited about the Light Arts or not? I thought you wanted to prevent the next war.'

'I do. And I understand that sex sells, but it doesn't have to be all about me.'

'There's a new saying at the _Prophet_: "Sex sells, Harry Potter sells, and Harry Potter having sex sells better than anything." Just ask the publishers of _Sorceress_.'

'What about overexposure?' he asked. 'Surely people are getting tired of me.'

'Oddly, they're not. If the _Prophet _published this often about anyone else, we'd get complaints. But the only complaints we get about you are of the _Mothers Against Harry Potter_ variety, which are really just a demand for more.'

'Bloody Anglo-Saxons,' he scowled.

'Lovely Anglo-Saxons,' she said admiringly. 'They're so easy to pander to!'

Harry looked at his wristwatch. 'Are we done here?'

'Almost. When are you changing your name?'

He looked her in the eye. 'No comment.'

'So you're still working it out with the Malfoys. That's prudent of you.'

'I've been told I've become more Slytherin lately, which I realise is a strange combination with the Light magic.'

'It's a perfectly brilliant combination, and it's exactly what's needed. So much better than the fumbling, holier-than-thou wizards who normally refer to themselves as Light.' She plucked her quill from the parchment and cast a quick Drying Charm on the ink. 'Thank you, Harry. I'm sure you'll be delighted with the completed article. And personally I'd love it if you light up like a torch on Saturday, so keep that in mind.'

'My goal is to catch the Snitch. Everything else is secondary.'

Harry rose and shook hands with the photographer, and Rita air-kissed him extravagantly. 'I'll send you a draft by Friday, for your review. I definitely want to keep you happy!'

'Cheers, I look forward to it. And thanks again.'

He walked downstairs and deliberately interacted with the bar patrons, to dispel any rumours he was spending the night at the Leaky Cauldron. 'No, it was just a business meeting. But if anything interesting comes of it, you'll hear about it.'

'I'm glad that's all it was,' said an elderly witch. 'I reckon your bed at home is more comfortable than what they have upstairs.'

'I'm sure it is,' said Harry warmly, before leaving through the fireplace. Kreacher immediately ambushed him with a message in Harry's own handwriting that said, _'There are wizarding schools in Britain other than Hogwarts,'_ along with a large serving of pudding, which he enjoyed thoroughly.

Harry spent the rest of the evening replying to fan mail. _What kind of letters will I receive after my Light magic becomes public? _he wondered idly, before calling it a night.


	76. Chapter 76

_Author's note:_

_I find myself planning elaborate Author's notes during the week, when I'm making lunch, etc., but whenever it comes time to publish I can't be bothered to write one. So all I'll share right now is a recommendation. It's a one-shot called "On My Life and Magic" by the legendary White Squirrel, and it lampoons the overused trope of magical vows. I also recommend White Squirrel's longer fics, but be warned that they have tons of Mortal Peril, unlike my fic which only depicts social anxiety. Which, based on some of your reviews, you fear more than Mortal Peril._

_Because there's enough peril and anxiety in the world right now, I'll reveal that Harry will not lose his spot on the Cannons. Some reviewers expressed worry/anger that Gemma beat him in a practice match, which obviously means he's a mediocre Quidditch player and that I've once again "nerfed" him. To which I say, pffft. My Harry is extremely good at Quidditch—he'll be up there with Krum when he has more experience—but there are other good players as well. _

_If you prefer stories where Harry is more powerful than Merlin and incalculably wealthy (and where lordships aren't bollocks), just read nearly any other fanfic. "Harry Crow" by Robst is a shining example, and I enjoyed it tremendously. But I wanted to write a slightly more relatable Harry, so if you're disappointed that he's only a Light Arts prodigy, a world-class Seeker, "ordinary loaded" (to quote Romilda Vane), preternaturally charismatic, and a sex god, then you should probably look elsewhere. _

_Hmm, it looks like I wrote a longish Author's note after all! Stay safe :)_

-––—––—––-

Harry ate lunch on Wednesday with Victor and Sandra—the Cannons legal team—to go over the details of the contract with Narcissa Malfoy. He told them what he'd learnt about Draco's wand, that it was no longer capable of Dark magic, and Victor answered Harry's questions about blood oaths.

'They're less useful than you'd think, because they only work for preventing future physical actions. So you can't take a blood oath guaranteeing you'll do something—that requires an Unbreakable Vow. You also can't take a blood oath attesting to something you've already done—that requires Veritaserum. Furthermore, the Ministry can't force anyone take a blood oath because it's blood magic, which is only permitted with uncoerced consent.'

Harry said, 'I only recently learnt about blood oaths, from someone whose wife demanded on his wedding night that he take an oath never to sleep with a prostitute. By the sound of it, his consent wasn't exactly "uncoerced."'

Victor and Sandra both gasped. 'That qualifies as Dark magic, for multiple reasons,' explained Victor. 'First, they'd probably just established a marriage bond, which is extremely compelling for the first several days.'

'Yes, he said the bond was still fresh.'

'Second, it sounds like he was already in what might be called a vulnerable state,' continued Victor.

'I think so. The bride was a traditional pure-blood, which meant she was a virgin. So I reckon he was out of his mind by that point.'

'Exactly, which unfortunately explains how she was able to make the oath lifelong. You see, blood oaths seldom last more than a year—there's simply not enough magic in a normal drop of blood. And I apologise for the mental image, but there's only one source of wizard's blood that would have sufficient magical potency.'

Harry blanched. 'Not ...' He trailed off.

'Oh yes,' said Sandra, her eyes gleaming. 'I can scarcely imagine blood more powerful than a drop taken from a newlywed hard-on, with the scantily-clad, virginal bride holding the wand. Her husband could live to be two hundred and never touch a prostitute—she definitely knew what she was doing.'

'Right, I have no intention of doing that to Draco Malfoy.'

'No, of course not,' said Victor. 'His oath only needs to last ten months. Ordinary fingertip blood will be fine.'

Harry caught the Snitch during the practice match that afternoon, and when he flew to the benches Rita Skeeter was there, along with the Cannons publicity director, Susanna. Rita briefly interviewed Tuttle and Harry's teammates for their perspective on his Light magic. She seemed particularly interested in Ryan, who by contrast seemed particularly inclined to avoid her, but she eventually got a quote out of him.

After showering, Harry ran into Gemma outside the locker room. 'Nice robes, Toffer!' she exclaimed. 'And you don't usually wear flowers right after practice. Does this mean you're going where I think you're going?'

'Yes, my plan is to visit Pratt's regularly until the Wizengamot session next week. I need to win over the voting members—particularly the lords. And yes, I already owled my tailor for a hat.'

'Not your hatter?'

'I don't have a hatter,' said Harry. 'And besides, it turns out the hatters' guild refuses to make Wizengamot lords' hats, in protest against how ghastly they are.'

'Are you serious? I've looked inside some of those hat shops, and the hats ranged from mildly naff to completely revolting.'

'I know,' said Harry, recalling the hat Neville's grandmother always wore, which featured a stuffed vulture. 'But Sandra did some research and discovered there was a pitched battle over the lords' hat in 1707, because the lords designed it themselves, and the hatters' guild passed a by-law against ever making them. There's nothing to prevent them from changing the by-laws, but by now it's a point of pride. And hardly anyone needs to purchase the hat, since they're usually passed down within families.'

'That's fascinating!' exclaimed Gemma, smirking. 'Someone really needs to write a play about it.'

When Harry arrived at Pratt's, he looked at the register and saw two names he'd been dreading: Romulus Wynter and Magnus Travers. _Brilliant_, he thought. _Davina's father and Lydia's grandfather._ He hoped he could at least speak with them separately, since he didn't fancy being outnumbered. But he was almost relieved to see Charles Selwyn's name in the register, since Selwyn had been more than civil during Harry's last visit, and he might have information about Lydia.

Harry didn't see any of them in the dining room or library, so he proceeded to the lounge. _I'm not looking for them in France_, he thought. _Although at least they'd be in a good mood afterwards._

He entered the lounge and saw Selwyn conversing with another young wizard, whom Harry vaguely recognised from Hogwarts. 'Potter,' called Selwyn, waving him over. 'Do you know Higgs?'

'Yes, of course,' said Harry, joining them. 'You played Seeker for Slytherin during my first year. It's good to see you again.'

'Likewise, Potter,' said Higgs, shaking Harry's hand. 'Welcome to Pratt's, and congratulations on making the membership committee squirm. I understand you waited three whole days before saying you'd join.'

'I didn't realise I was making a statement. Honestly, I was just busy.'

'Not with Lydia,' said Selwyn. 'I understand she sent you packing after I saw you on Thursday.'

Harry sighed. 'Yes, I'm afraid so. That certainly wasn't how I wanted things to end. I feel terrible about hurting her.'

'Don't worry, you did her an enormous favour,' said Selwyn. 'She came crying to Esme that very night—looking like a perfect angel in her dressing gown, I might add—and she slept in our spare bedroom. Desmond was there by morning, and Lydia was completely forgiven.'

'Does that mean she's moved back in with her parents?' said Harry, alarmed.

'Oh no,' said Selwyn reassuringly. 'Daddy's little girl gets to keep her flat, only now she has an allowance and doesn't need to touch her own vault. I get the impression that as long as she's discreet, she's free to do whatever she likes. Salazar Slytherin himself couldn't have manipulated anyone more thoroughly.'

'What about her mother?' asked Harry.

'Isobel is still furious, but she doesn't control the purse-strings, so it hardly matters.'

'And her grandfather?'

Selwyn craned his head. 'He's in here somewhere. I'm sure he's relieved you're out of the picture. Desmond tried negotiating your marriage, as you may recall, but you and Lydia refused with impressive aplomb, and Magnus called it a victory. For himself, that is—he deliberately offered you unacceptable terms, knowing you'd refuse.'

'Did he object to something specific about me, or was it a generalised loathing?'

'All of the above. But worst of all, he knew he'd never be able to control you.'

'Does he control you?' asked Harry.

Selwyn shrugged. 'He doesn't need to. I have no reason to defy the family, since we're in perfect accord on all the things that matter.'

'Politics, you mean?' Harry deliberately avoided saying 'blood purity.'

'Yes, amongst other things.'

'I was actually hoping to talk to him this afternoon. Do you think he'll be willing?'

'Of course he'll be willing—this is Pratt's. I don't think you fully realise what that means.'

'You're probably right, but I'm learning.' Harry turned to Higgs and said, 'Forgive me for ignoring you this whole time!'

'There's no need,' said Higgs. 'That was perfectly fascinating. Although I should be cross with you for removing Lydia Travers from the list of suitable brides.'

'Oh dear, were you courting her?'

'No, thank Merlin, but I was considering it. I'd previously counted myself out, since I'm not Sacred Twenty-Eight, but she refused Nigel Fawley so I thought I had a chance. But then she took up with you, and I had to go back to the drawing board. Not that I'm complaining ... I've started dating a luscious young witch who's more my type. So do me a favour and try not to ruin Vanessa Waite.'

'You have my word,' said Harry. 'But why aren't you married already? Aren't you several years older than I am?'

'Yes, I'm nearly twenty-two. But I was working abroad for the last few years—my family's neutral and they wanted me to stay clean during the war. The good news is that I was successful enough in business that I was offered Pratt's membership, and I'm in a good position for courting.'

'Higgs is a younger son,' said Selwyn. 'Although his brother hasn't yet been invited to join. He was in Hufflepuff, if you can imagine.'

'Come now, Selwyn,' said Higgs. 'We're supposed to look past our differences within these walls.'

'Yes, but there are limits,' scoffed Selwyn.

Higgs rolled his eyes. 'Selwyn has always been a colossal snob, in part because he's an eldest son. Potter, he probably only talks to you because you're the head of two houses.'

'There's no such thing as House Potter,' said Harry.

'There is if you want it,' said Selwyn. 'This is how houses start. Don't waste the opportunity.'

'Do you really want me to have two seats on the Wizengamot?'

'Potter raises a good point,' said Higgs. 'Speaking of which, is it true you're advocating for Draco Malfoy next week?'

'It is. What do you think of my chances?'

'You won't have my father's vote. He still hasn't forgiven Draco for taking my spot as house Seeker.'

'I always wondered what happened,' said Harry. 'All I know is that Draco was suddenly named Seeker for Slytherin, and that Lucius bought racing brooms for the entire team.'

'What else is there to know?' asked Higgs. 'Draco was in, and I was out. They claimed it was because you'd beaten me the previous year, but we all knew the real reason. I admit I took satisfaction when you consistently beat him as well.'

'He was a decent flyer,' said Selwyn. 'More than decent, really. But how was he to compete with the wizard who'd eventually lead the Chudley Cannons to win eight in a row?'

'Higgs,' said Harry, 'is your father really going to vote to keep Draco under house arrest because of what happened with the Quidditch team?'

'He also dislikes Lucius.'

'So do I,' said Harry. 'Intensely. But the longer Draco is trapped at home, the more likely he is to turn out like his father. This is really the best option.'

'I'll mention that to him. He was as amused as anyone by how you handled the lords, so he might be persuaded.'

'Do I need to speak to him directly?'

'Probably not, but I'll leave you a note at the front desk if I'm wrong.'

'Cheers. And Selwyn, what about your family? Is it your father or grandfather?'

'My grandfather. Selwyns are good at staying alive, remember? And yes, he'll vote with you, or with Malfoy, rather.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said Harry. 'Let's hope it's this easy when I talk to Romulus Wynter.'

Selwyn chuckled. 'You know he's the ringleader, right?'

'I do. Will he at least be pleased I've ordered a hat?'

'No. But he'll be polite regardless, and he'll respect that you approached him. The worst thing you could do is not even bother courting him.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'No time like the present,' he said, rising from his chair. 'It was good seeing you again—and Higgs, I wish you luck with Miss Waite.'

'Cheers. I wish you luck with everyone but Miss Waite.'

Standing, Harry looked around the lounge in search of the two senior lords. 'Er, Selwyn ... what does Magnus Travers look like?' he asked.

'Like his brother, only haughtier,' replied Selwyn.

Harry spotted him and walked over. _Am I really supposed to address him as Travers? _he wondered. _Surely that would be insolent. _Travers was talking to a middle-aged wizard but waved him away when he saw Harry approaching. And before Harry even arrived, Travers snapped his fingers and said, 'Elf!'

An elf appeared and began introducing himself, but Travers interrupted him and said, 'Potter, I see your hand is empty. What will you have?'

Suspecting that Travers wanted him to order alcohol, he asked, 'What do you recommend?' _Besides Draught of Living Death_, he added mentally.

'I'm partial to a dry sherry,' replied Travers.

'That sounds good,' said Harry, and Travers instructed the elf accordingly.

'Have a seat, Potter. It's time we met. You know who I am, of course.'

'Yes. And I'm pleased we're meeting in such a friendly setting. I'd never heard of Pratt's until a week ago, and I hadn't imagined I'd be able to interact with my so-called adversaries this way.'

The house-elf returned with their drinks, and Travers and Harry both took a long sip. 'Pratt's is extraordinary,' said Travers. 'And I'm relieved you had the good sense to join. Although perhaps I shouldn't be surprised—you've proven more clever than I anticipated.'

'I'm almost offended by how often I've heard that recently. Obviously Hermione was the brains of the outfit, but my marks at Hogwarts weren't that bad, excepting Potions of course.'

'I was referring to the rules of the game. Clearly Dumbledore never taught you them, nor any of the other short-lived adults in your life.'

Harry knew he once would have been upset by Travers's callous words, but months of taunting had made him unflappable. 'No, they never did,' he said. 'But I have some unexpected new teachers ... Narcissa Malfoy, for example.'

'Yes, I spoke with her this afternoon. She said you're proving more tractable than she anticipated, but that you're nobody's puppet.'

'Did Narcissa win your support for next week?'

'She's always had my support. I know what it's like to have my name dragged through the mud by a relation, and it's happened to her twice—first by Sirius Black and then by Lucius. Narcissa is a survivor, and with any luck Draco will be as well. Although I'm astonished you're putting your neck on the line for him.'

'I'm taking precautions.'

'Yes, that's what Narcissa said. You've earned her respect.'

'That's even more surprising than the goblins,' said Harry. 'Can Dolores Umbridge be next?'

Travers sneered. 'What an odious being. I daresay my brother would have reconsidered his life choices if he'd known he'd be trapped with her. And this time he doesn't even have Dementors to distract him.'

'Do you visit him?' asked Harry.

'No, and I shan't. Not after what he did to me. And yes, I was surprised to learn about your role in his mysterious failure to seize his inheritance. Under different circumstances I might say I owed you a debt, but perhaps we should call it even.'

'That's more than generous. I heard that Lydia's father has forgiven her.'

Travers rolled his eyes. 'Yes, he's a fool for his daughters, but I suppose every father is. And thank Merlin you refused to marry her! Isobel insisted it was Lydia's only hope, and that no one would ever have her, but even a soiled dove can still fly. And having you in the family would have been an unending trial.'

'For both of us,' said Harry, sipping his wine. 'I need to talk to Romulus Wynter next. Do you have any advice?'

'Don't ask after his children. His son is a disappointment and his daughter ran off decades ago.'

'Does he have grandchildren?' asked Harry, knowing Wynter had never acknowledged Davina's children.

'No, and he's the last of his line. Which is why he's obsessed with his ancestors, whom you called thieves.'

'Weren't they?'

'It was a different era,' said Travers dismissively. 'As a Gryffindor, you should appreciate boldness.'

'I do,' replied Harry, thinking of the condom scheme. 'But I'll never agree that stealing from Muggles is acceptable.'

'After everything Muggles did to you?'

'That was three Muggles. Consider how I've been treated by wizards,' said Harry. 'It was wizards who killed my parents and godfather, and so many of my friends—not Muggles.'

'They would have done if they'd been capable. You can't argue that Muggles are less violent than wizards.'

'No, they aren't, because we're all humans, and humans are vile. And brilliant.'

'You're young,' said Travers. 'Talk to me again in a decade.'

'I hope we'll talk before then. But thank you for the advice.' He nodded as he would to a goblin and rose from his chair. Travers nodded in response, and Harry scanned the room for Wynter. _One lord down, one to go_, he thought, walking towards Davina's father.

'Potter,' said Wynter cordially. 'Welcome to Pratt's, and please sit down.'

_That's already an improvement over Travers_, thought Harry. 'Cheers,' he said. 'I've been very impressed by what I've seen so far.'

'In France, you mean.'

'No, here in the club. I would never have believed wizards from opposing sides could get on so well.'

'I don't imagine you would—not with what you've seen. But you came of age during an unusual era. Historically wizards have emphasised what we have in common with one another.'

'Why do you think that changed?' asked Harry, genuinely curious.

'We no longer have a common enemy. Dark wizards will tell you that Muggles are the enemy, and Light wizards will tell you Dark wizards are the enemy.'

'And what about neutral wizards?' asked Harry, recalling that Davina had described her family as Dark-leaning neutral.

'Neutral wizards such as myself will say that disunity is the problem. That's why we look for common ground, although it was much easier when we were still at war with the goblins.'

Harry was aghast. 'You can't be advocating a return to goblin warfare! I didn't learn much in History of Magic, but I know it was a bloodbath.'

'Relax, young man. I wasn't suggesting we wage war against goblins. I was merely providing an example of when wizards got on better.'

'Fair enough, I apologise. What would you propose now as a uniting element?'

'Wizarding culture. And before you shout at me again, I don't advocate abusing Muggles or rejecting Muggle-borns. I simply yearn for a time when wizarding traditions were held sacred.'

'I might object to the word "sacred," but otherwise I agree with you about the value of wizarding traditions.'

Wynter raised a fluffy eyebrow. 'Really? I'm astonished.'

'I can't imagine why,' said Harry. 'I play Quidditch, after all.'

'True, but that's just one aspect of wizarding culture.'

'Perhaps, but if you think about it, the essence of wizarding culture is magic, and I simply love magic. Perhaps the problem is that people who've spent their entire lives in magical society take it for granted.' Nodding to himself, Harry said, 'I'm starting to wonder if pure-bloods shouldn't be required to spend a day in a Muggle household just to appreciate how different day-to-day life is and, by extension, how deeply entrenched any practising witch or wizard is in wizarding culture.'

'Interesting. Can you provide an example?'

'Yes ... I remember the first time I saw my friend Ron Weasley's house. His family is the biggest lot of blood traitors you'll ever meet, but their house is full to bursting with magic. I'd never seen anything like it, and I thought it was brilliant. Or my teammate Ryan's parents' house. His dad is a Muggle, and Ryan is fluent in Muggle culture, but their house is the most clever blend of Muggle and magical you could imagine, and they don't violate secrecy at all.'

Wynter frowned when Harry mentioned Ryan's father. 'Fraternising with Muggles is all well and good until children come along. Obviously your friend turned out all right, but what about his siblings?'

Harry realised his error too late, and he attempted to change course. 'That's a different question—I was talking about how we live as wizards, and that it's entirely different to how Muggles live.'

'But unless we as wizards stay pure of Muggle culture, our youth will be tempted away, and then magic is lost.'

_Bugger, I fucked this up completely_, thought Harry. 'I think we've waded into dangerous waters. Would you mind if I change the topic?'

Wynter relaxed slightly. 'I would welcome that.'

'Next Wednesday, I plan to attend the Wizengamot session to advocate for Draco Malfoy's early release from house arrest.'

'So I hear. I hope you've been informed about the risk you're taking.'

'I have been, and I'm taking appropriate precautions.'

'You'll need to invoke lordly privilege,' said Wynter.

'Yes, I know. May I count on your support?'

'Naturally. If you and the Malfoys agree, who am I to argue?'

'Thank you. Is there anyone else you recommend I speak to in advance?'

Wynter thought for a moment. 'No. As long as you don't misbehave between now and then, you shouldn't have trouble getting two-thirds of the vote.'

_Does announcing I'm a Light wizard count as misbehaviour? _Harry wondered. 'I'll do my best,' he said, rising from his chair. 'And thank you again.'

Wynter nodded, and Harry did his best not to run out of the lounge. When he passed the doorway leading to the Boudoir, a wizard who was exiting held the door open for him, but Harry just smiled and walked by. _No, I'm a shameless libertine who goes on dates before having sex_.

After returning home, Harry removed the large sign opposite the fireplace that said, '_There are wizarding schools in Britain other than Hogwarts_,' and then he practised the Light magic exercises Davina had taught him. Afterwards he revisited his memories of Alex, whom he was having trouble picturing. She was unusual-looking, he recalled, and he looked forward to their evening alone.

Before she arrived, Kreacher appeared before him with a loud _crack._ 'Master has received a letter,' he announced.

Harry took the letter and saw that it was from Blaise Zabini. He read:

_Dear Harry,_

_Sorry about the slow reply, but you've caught me on holiday. I've been in Rome since Friday and won't be back until this coming weekend. But I'd love to talk to you about the business, which I'm certain you'll find intriguing. Owl me on Sunday with some dates and times, and I'll be glad to accommodate your schedule._

_Best regards,_

_Blaise_

Harry sighed. _So that's Ginny's mysterious companion in Rome, and the source of her 'love bite.'_ Had they been dating in secret for a while, or had their romance only begun that weekend?

_I can't possibly invest in his company_, he thought bitterly. Harry knew it would drive him mad sitting across from Blaise, picturing him and Ginny together. He recalled Blaise's easy manner at the Boudoir, and how he'd strode upstairs with two _filles de joie_ as confidently as Harry might have done.

_When will I ever get over Ginny? _he wondered. Harry knew he'd grown just as attached to Helena in the short time they were together, but losing Ginny was harder somehow, perhaps because he'd believed the entire time that they'd eventually marry. _Yes, that's it_, he realised. _When Ginny left me, I lost an entire future._

And now Blaise had her. Harry's throat was tight, and his hands clenched in frustration. _Why didn't she want me?_ he thought despairingly. _I was her first love, but then she didn't want me any longer. Did we really grow apart, or did she discover I wasn't what she wanted after all?_

He recalled his conversation with George months earlier: _She wanted the Boy Who Lived, but instead she got the Man Who Survived. _Ginny had been endlessly patient with his nightmares, and she'd soothed his frazzled nerves during Auror training, when he'd been so unhappy. _If only I'd joined the Cannons before we broke up_, he thought. _She'd have seen how much happier I am, and she'd still want me._

And yet it was hard even to imagine that version of himself. He'd become accustomed to his notoriety, and to the thrill of encountering a new witch and making her his. _If Ginny had never dumped me, I'd still be famous for the wrong reason_, _and Rita Skeeter would think I was boring._

Why couldn't he have both? He longed for some impossible world in which he got to marry Ginny but still went with Helena to a Muggle nightclub and had a threesome a week later. And where he spent a mad day and night with Penelope, who believed he was a faerie, and rode on a flying carpet with Sophie and allowed her to paint him with Muggle makeup before going out. _And Lydia_, he thought, unable to pinpoint an iconic moment. _If only I could have them all._

But Ginny had dumped him, and apparently she preferred Blaise. _But this isn't so bad_, he thought. _Maybe Helena will still be available when I turn twenty-one. _Furthermore, Alex was about to arrive, and even though he couldn't picture her he knew he'd found her attractive.

She appeared in the reception hall at the appointed hour. _Oh right_, he thought, and Ginny vanished from his mind. 'Welcome,' he said. 'I'm glad you could come over.'

'It's my pleasure,' said Alex. 'I was hoping to get to know you better.'

Harry looked at her through lowered eyelids and said, 'I'd forgotten how beautiful you are. But now I remember why I couldn't take my eyes off you when we met. And you're clearly brilliant as well.'

'And you're still shameless. But I'll take the compliment.'

He had a dim recollection they were supposed to do something, but he couldn't recall what it was. 'Are you hungry?' he blurted. 'I wasn't sure what you'd like to eat, so I haven't yet asked my house-elf to prepare anything.'

'What does he make?' she asked, and he listed the options. Alex made a selection, and after ordering it wordlessly he led her to the drawing room. 'I see you followed Stephen's advice.'

'I'm sorry?' he said, lost.

'Stephen, the interior decorator. From when we met.'

'Yes, of course!' _Why am I in such a fog? _he wondered. _Oh right, I'm experiencing accidental Light magic and I've been celibate for nearly a week. _'I'm very pleased with his recommendations, and the changes you made. I was honestly happy with the house as it was, but my house-elf went overboard with the wallpaper and you know the rest. Fortunately, the house is still what my former girlfriend called dreary, so clearly we preserved the character of it.'

'Former girlfriend?'

'Yes, we're not seeing each other any longer. But I thought that would be obvious, since I invited you here.'

'Not necessarily,' said Alex. 'I have a fiancé.'

'I beg your pardon! I'm sorry—I thought this was a date. Obviously you're welcome to stay to dinner,' he stammered.

Alex laughed and said, 'Don't look so frightened! He's in America, and we're seeing other people until we're together again.' Harry relaxed, and she added, 'I was certainly counting on this being a date.'

Relieved, he said, 'Clearly I don't know much about you. But I'd love to learn more.'

'All right. My parents are English, and I was born here, but they moved to America when I was a baby because of the war. They could have moved back after Voldemort died the first time, but they'd made friends there and found jobs they liked, so they stayed put. I spent the holidays with my grandparents here in England, but during the last war they moved to America as well.'

'Then what brings you back?'

'My studies. My Transfiguration tutor, Nancy, is American, but she enjoys living abroad from time to time. Previously she's lived in Spain, Australia, and Singapore. She decided this was a good time to come to England, since the politics are less abominable than usual, and I've accompanied her.'

'But what about your fiancé? Wasn't it hard to leave him behind?'

'It was, but we decided it was an opportunity to see other people before entering a marriage bond. We'll only be apart for six months, and then we're getting married early next summer.'

'Isn't that strange, preparing to marry someone but also dating other people?' he asked, even though he'd longed for something similar with Ginny only minutes earlier.

'It mightn't work for everyone, but so far it's been all right. The only problem is that in Britain there's a tendency to marry young, so it's hard to date anyone without his mum asking a lot of questions. But that's not a problem with you.'

'Because I don't have a mum?'

She looked mortified. 'I'm sorry! What I meant to say is that you're not planning to marry right away, so there's no pressure.'

He smiled to relieve her embarrassment. 'Have you encountered a lot of impatient mums?'

'I was speaking figuratively. I've only gone on a few dates, but the wizards lost interest when they learned I had a fiancé.'

'And they weren't willing to run around with you anyway? I'm ashamed of my countrymen right now.'

'Clearly you have more work to do, when it comes to influencing your peers.'

'No, I get into enough trouble already. But I'd be happy to introduce you to some Quidditch players who are in no rush to marry.'

'Yes, I heard about your parties,' she said. 'But I'm not looking for a one-night stand either. More of a pocket romance.'

'Do you mean a fling?'

'I suppose you could call it that. A wee love affair one remembers fondly, years later.'

'I don't know about the "years later" part, but I've had several of those. And yes, they're lovely.' His face clouded and he said, 'Unless they end poorly, as it did with Lydia. It was never meant to be serious, but I ended up hurting her. My bad reputation isn't entirely unearned.'

'May I ask what happened?'

Harry sighed. 'I cheated on her. We'd already agreed to see other people, but not right away. I turned up at her flat more than an hour late, and there was no hiding where I'd been.'

She mock-glared at him. 'I'd have been cross as well if I'd been kept waiting an hour. But I have no illusion I'd be the only one you're seeing, so as long as you're punctual, I don't anticipate a problem.'

He leaned towards her again. 'How do you feel about publicity? Would you be willing to be seen with me in public?'

'I would be. But aren't we getting ahead of ourselves? We haven't even kissed yet.'

'You're right. That was very irresponsible of me,' said Harry, and their lips met. A series of kisses turned into a snog, and a short while later they were somewhat less clothed and horizontal on the sofa.

_Master!_ came the voice in Harry's mind.

Confused, Harry ignored the intruding thought, and he concentrated on the task at hand.

_Master! _repeated the voice. _Kreacher is terribly sorry to interrupt Master!_

'Kreacher?' moaned Harry aloud.

'My name's Alex,' she gasped. 'But don't stop.'

Harry stopped and focussed his attention. _Kreacher, what do you want?_ he thought irritably.

_Dinner is ready! Where would Master like dinner served?_

'Er, it's my house-elf,' said Harry, sitting up. 'Where would you like dinner? In the dining room, or maybe in here?'

'In here. We can have a picnic.'

Harry smiled. 'That would be a first. Hang on.' He closed his eyes and thought, _Kreacher, I'd like dinner served in the drawing room. But give us a minute._

'Dinner will be right up,' said Harry. 'Should we just eat it from the coffee table?'

'I suggested a picnic,' she said archly. Alex buttoned her shirt while Harry did the same, and she pulled out her wand and began to conjure. First came a picnic blanket, and then cushions to sit on. 'Would you like grass?' she asked.

'I'd love it,' said Harry, amazed. 'But not until Kreacher delivers the food, because I can't even predict how he'd react.'

They sat innocently on the sofa until Kreacher arrived with the laden tea trolley, which included a vase of flowers, but as soon as he left she transfigured the room into a miniature park. The floor became grass, and each of the flowers from the vase became the basis for a large flower bed. She and Harry charmed the ceiling much brighter, and they laid their meal on the blanket.

'This is brilliant!' he said, marvelling at her handiwork. 'How long will it last?'

'A few hours at most. I wish I knew how to conjure sunlight, but that's very arcane magic.'

Harry recalled how Lydia had used family magic to conjure bright sunlight through the window, but he saw no point in mentioning it. They began eating, and he asked her more questions. 'Why don't you have an American accent?'

'Because I've already been in the UK for nearly a month. My normal accent is what's sometimes described as "Mid-Atlantic," because it's halfway between the two. Which means I sound British to Americans, but American to Britons, unless I've been here for several weeks.'

'And where do you live in America?'

'Chicago.'

Harry sat up excitedly. 'I once tried to convince a Muggle I lived in Chicago, and I failed completely!'

'I can see why,' replied Alex. 'You don't sound or even look American.'

'Obviously I don't sound American—I told her my parents had moved there several years prior—but why don't I look American? Should I have worn a baseball cap or something?'

'That might have helped, but I was referring to your facial expression. It's a subtle thing, but I've found I can identify Americans in Britain even if their clothes are unremarkable and they don't say anything. Americans have a very open facial expression, particularly around the eyes. I think it's connected to their willingness to share intimate secrets with strangers.'

'I suppose I do that on the radio most weeks,' said Harry. 'But otherwise I've been accused of looking very aloof.'

'That's not how you were when I met you. Quite the opposite, in fact.'

'Because we were in my house and not in public. And besides, I was attracted to you. I still am, in fact.'.

'Thank you, I'm very flattered. I'm not everyone's type, after all.'

'You're my type. Although that's arguably a broad category.'

'It is!' she said, laughing. 'You really have an appalling reputation, even in America.'

'I have a reputation in America?'

'Of course you do. American magicals aren't quite as obsessed with England as No-Majes are, since they don't care about the royal family. But they followed the British wizarding wars and were concerned Voldemort might eventually come to America. So naturally they're fascinated with you, same as here.'

Harry frowned. 'If they were so worried about Voldemort, why didn't anyone come to help?'

'American magicals are similar to their No-Maj counterparts and seldom bother interfering abroad unless they've something to gain from it. And besides, we have our own Dark wizards to contend with. But during the war they saw you as a folk hero, and nearly everyone was rooting for you.'

'That's touching, but seriously, we could have used some help,' said Harry irritably, but then he corrected himself. 'I'm sorry, it's a bad habit. I'm slowly learning to accept how things occurred, but it's occasionally frustrating to learn how many well-wishers we had when we felt so desperately alone.'

'Harry, I'm sorry. And I suppose I'm part of the problem, or my family is. The reason my parents left was because my aunt was killed in an attack on Diagon Alley. My mum had planned to accompany her that afternoon, with me as well, only I had an earache and she decided not to go. And frankly, we never even considered returning to England during the latest war—we were more concerned with getting my grandparents out.'

Harry's expression softened. 'I'm glad you survived, and your parents and grandparents as well. Everything turned out as it was meant to.'

'Really? Are you that fatalistic?'

'If you're asking if I think everything is predestined, no, not at all. But I've learnt to stop brooding quite so much over the past.' He smiled and added, 'I much prefer the present.'

'I'm certain you do,' she said, and they continued eating.

Harry enjoyed their picnic tremendously, and not wanting to feel constrained he asked, 'Are you familiar with Light magic?'

'Do you mean like the Patronus Charm?'

'Yes, but there's far more to Light magic than that.'

'Then no, I'm not. Why do you ask?'

He explained the basics to her and confessed he'd been glowing recently and was preparing to go public. 'There's a rumour that it's sexually transmissible, but I think it's emotionally transmissible instead. So I should warn you, at the very least.'

'What happens if I "catch" it?' she asked, smirking.

'As far as I know, only good things. But it might impair your ability to practice Dark magic, if you're into that.'

'I'm not. But do you suppose there's such a thing as Light Transfiguration?'

'I have no idea—I'd have to ask Davina.'

'Yes, please do. And I'll ask Nancy, although she's never mentioned it. Would you mind showing me?'

'I'd love to,' said Harry, and within seconds he began to glow.

'You've conjured sunlight! Can you make it brighter?'

'Yes, but I could use some help.' He leaned towards her and they kissed, and he felt Light magic flow through him more strongly.

'Oh, this is lovely! Can you cast your Patronus like this?'

'I've never tried ... let's see.' Harry raised his wand, but instead of selecting a happy memory, he ran his other hand over the soft grass and drew upon the present moment. '_Expecto Patronum!'_

Prongs burst from Harry's wand and turned to face him. Without thinking, Harry stood and reached for the glowing stag, and although he couldn't feel him, he sensed the resonance between the stag's bright aura and his own.

'You're getting brighter!' exclaimed Alex, who was on her feet as well.

'It's the same,' said Harry, surprised. 'Prongs's glow and my own ... it's the same substance. Can you feel it?'

Alex placed her hand over Harry's, where he was touching the stag. 'No, I only feel you. But you're warm and incredibly alive.' She began kissing him again, and they withdrew their hands from Prongs and touched only each other.

On a whim, Harry pulled away from her and said, 'Prongs, let's go say hi to Padfoot.' The glowing stag stepped gracefully from the room, and Harry and Alex descended the stairs behind him. They watched him poke his muzzle into the painting, and Padfoot leapt to his feet and began barking and wagging his tail.

'He almost never barks,' said Harry, and they both gasped when Prongs leapt into the painting. Padfoot and Prongs immediately began playing, as Harry knew his father and Sirius had done in real life in their Animagus forms. 'They were best friends,' he said tearfully. 'I can't believe I never thought to reunite them.'

They watched in awe as the two animals played together. 'Normally a stag and a dog would never interact like that,' said Alex. 'But they're wrestling like puppies.'

'I reckon my father and godfather were overgrown kids together. Although this isn't really them at all. Padfoot isn't sentient, and Prongs is more symbolic of my father than anything.'

'It's still lovely,' she said, and he agreed. After watching in silence a little longer, they returned to their picnic in drawing room. Harry's glow gradually dimmed, and he asked her about America.

'Are you just gathering information for the next time you hit on Muggles?' she said suspiciously.

'No, I'm genuinely curious. All I know about America is from films and television.'

She told him about Chicago's wizarding district, which was called the Zero Block and was at the very centre of the downtown commercial area. 'To understand the Zero Block, you need to understand how the Chicago streets are numbered,' she began. 'The entire city is built along a numbered grid, and all street addresses adhere to the numbering system, which extends in four directions from the corner of State and Madison Streets. A mile equals eight hundred within the numbering system, so if you walk one mile north from the centre, you'll be at 800 North. And if you walk half a mile west, you'll be at 800 North and 400 West. And so forth, in all directions, although there's not very much to the east because of the lake.'

'And it's all perfectly consistent?' asked Harry.

'Not entirely, because there's a river, and also some diagonal streets, but for the most part it is.'

'Interesting. But what does this have to do with the Zero Block?' he asked. 'Wait, hang on! Is the Zero Block right in the middle, at the corner of those two streets you mentioned?'

'Exactly—it's at State and Madison. You enter by grasping any one of the four lampposts at that intersection and walking counter-clockwise. Anti-clockwise, that is.'

'Do you see a storefront, like the Leaky Cauldron?'

'No, it's an entire city block, only it looks much older than the surrounding district. Much older by American standards, that is, which is a hundred and fifty years at most.' Harry looked incredulous, and she said, 'There's a reason they call it the New World.'

'Of course, you're right. Please go on.'

'Chicago was devastated by a fire in 1871, but the Zero Block survived. That was before the numbering system was established, and I think the magical district was just called "The District" or something equally unimaginative. So when the No-Maj government imposed the numbering system in the early 1900s, wizards influenced them to make State and Madison the centre, because that would be cool.'

'It is,' said Harry. 'Very cool. But how do addresses work within the Zero Block?'

'They're based on the four sides of the block, and they don't have directional prefixes. So the wandmaker is at 20 East, and the pigeon shop is at 31 South.'

'Pigeon shop?'

'Yes. Owls would be far too conspicuous in the city, and American wizards are more careful about secrecy than the British are. But pigeons blend in perfectly.'

'Are there any skyscrapers in the Zero Block?'

'There's the Colossus, which is twenty-five storeys high, but nobody considers that a skyscraper anymore.'

'Twenty-five storeys isn't bad.'

'The Sears Tower is more than a hundred storeys, and the Hancock Center is nearly as tall.'

'A hundred storeys!' he exclaimed. 'Without magic?'

'No, just glass, steel, and concrete.'

'Blimey! I don't think I'd be willing go up without a broomstick handy. Do you live in a building like that?'

'No, I live in a four-storey building in a residential neighbourhood, several miles from the Zero Block. It's not very big from the outside, but all the tenants are magical, so we have plenty of space.'

'Is there a Floo network, or some other kind of public transport?'

'No, because America is obsessed with cars. We have Apparition, of course, and most houses and apartments have a dedicated Apparition point. But otherwise people use magically-enhanced cars, which travel quickly and can bypass traffic.'

'Like the Knight Bus?' said Harry dubiously.

'Yes, but less nauseating.'

Harry told Alex what he'd said when he'd claimed to live in Chicago. 'I don't think I made any grave factual errors, but I'm not a very convincing liar, which I suppose is fortunate.'

'I would give anything to watch a Pensieve memory of you pretending you knew who Michael Jordan was. He's famous even among magicals in America.'

'Do they follow basketball?'

'No, but there were repeated concerns that Michael Jordan was either a covert wizard or that he was receiving magical assistance, because he appeared to be flying.'

'While playing basketball?'

'Yes. There was an uproar among magicals, because people feared he was a threat to secrecy. And even though repeated investigations proved he wasn't using magic, people still didn't trust the findings. Eventually the goblins were called in to settle the matter.'

'And?'

'It wasn't magic. He's just really talented.'

Eventually they stopped talking and lay down together on the grass, which was free from rocks, twigs, and insects. They darkened the ceiling and took turns charming constellations onto it. 'I think you've put Orion too close to Perseus,' he said. 'There's no room for Taurus.'

'But if I put Orion any lower, he'll be too close to Canus Major.'

'That's all right. Sirius's middle name was Orion, so his constellations can be mashed together a bit.'

They shared a pillow, and as much as Harry desired her, he was enjoying the anticipation before the next step. 'What's your fiancé's name?' he asked.

'Rocky.'

'You're joking, right?'

'No. His real name is Richard, but everyone calls him Rocky.'

'Is he a boxer?'

'No, and the nickname's ironic, because he's so bookish. But when he started school, there were three boys in his grade called Ricky, so someone proposed calling him Rocky, and it stuck.'

'How do you keep in touch with him? Can pigeons fly that far?'

'They can, but portkey post is faster.'

'What's that?'

'It's a bit like air mail, but instead of sending letters on an airplane they're sent by transatlantic portkey, and then the rest of the way by pigeon. It costs more, but letters take less than a day to arrive. And we also use the telephone.'

'Muggle telephone?'

'Yes. Overseas calls are much cheaper than they used to be. So we talk several times a week.'

'Did you tell him about me?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'What did he say?'

'That you have good taste.'

'And he doesn't mind?'

'He's not overjoyed, and he doesn't want the details, but at least he's not worried you'll try to steal me away. In fact, he'd probably prefer if you and I don't date exclusively.'

Harry recalled what he'd wished for earlier, regarding Ginny. 'So you feel safe about your future together, but in the meantime you get to have adventures?'

'That's the idea. As long as neither of us falls in love with someone else.'

He turned to face her. 'But what about the present moment? Can you experience love temporarily? I don't know if it's the Light magic, but I fall in love at the drop of a hat—as long as I'm with her, anyway.'

'And then you forget about her when you're apart, and even cheat on her?'

'That particular scenario won't happen again, and I never drink enough to forget about someone like that. But I can easily imagine falling in love with you by tomorrow morning, and then feeling the same way about someone else in a few days. And then back again, the next time I see you.'

She looked at him, and for a moment she was silent. 'That sounds like a perfect pocket romance,' she said, and they embraced on the soft grass.


	77. Chapter 77

_Author's Note:_

_You may not be aware that FFnet no longer sends email notifications for private messages (bug? feature? it's anyone's guess!). Anyway, the reason I'm sharing this is because I sent PM replies to various reviewers and never heard back. That's fine, if you're not into that, but the following users might want to check their PMs (desktop site, not mobile app) to see what I had to say: OnaJB72, Gabznz, , Otspock, zdra8351, Joe103, Marcus Rowland, Berkeley Jake, __ . .Squared, Mona Ogg, Lipasnape, chuyswife, Sora'sOtherForm, Stormageddon93._

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They relocated to Harry's room an hour later, when the grass turned back into floorboards, and by morning he was completely smitten, as predicted.

'When can I see you again?' he asked. 'Are you free tonight? What about this weekend?'

Alex laughed. 'I'm free tonight, but this weekend I'm accompanying Nancy to Ireland.'

'You won't be able to attend my match?'

'I'm afraid not. Which means you'll be free to pick up witches from the stands.'

'Are you talking literally or figuratively? It might be a bit much if I literally invite her onto my broom and fly off.'

'I was talking figuratively, but I must say, I like the sound of that. Perhaps next weekend?'

'Yes, and it's probably for the best. We're playing the Holyhead Harpies this weekend, and the fans are likely to tear me to shreds.'

'I'm sorry I won't be there to support you.'

Harry shrugged. 'You'll have to make it up to me tonight. Where do you want to go? Or do you want to stay in and have another picnic?' he asked suggestively.

'You'll laugh, but there's something very specific I want to do.'

'Oh?'

'Would you take me to Hogwarts? I've heard about it all my life, because my parents and grandparents went there, and I've always wanted to see it.'

'I'd love to show you Hogwarts. But I should ask Minerva for permission—she's the headmistress.'

'Yes, the students are likely to go nuts when you turn up. Although I could disguise you if you like.'

'Really? Could you make me taller?'

'Are you upset that I'm taller than you are?'

'No. I just think it would be fun to see what it's like. But then my robes wouldn't fit, unless you transfigure them too.'

'I could do that, but I'd hate to mess with such beautifully tailored clothes. You're really quite dashing.'

'Can you make my hair behave?' he asked eagerly. 'Or make me look like Sirius before he went to Azkaban? He was terribly good-looking.'

'Yes, I can spruce you up for a few hours if you can find me a photograph, but I'll miss your green eyes.'

Harry wrote a brief note to Minerva and had Kreacher deliver it. After washing up, Harry made them breakfast and Alex confessed how much she enjoyed an English fry-up. 'My friends all ate sugared cereal—you wouldn't believe what they have in America—but I grew up on an English breakfast.'

'My cousin Dudley ate a lot of sugared cereal, usually as a mid-morning snack, but I almost never had any.'

'I'm not talking about No-Maj cereal, I'm talking about wizarding cereal. The colours and shapes change while you eat it, or the alphabet cereal tells a story—that sort of thing.'

'That's brilliant! I'm sure Dudley would love to see that, although I think he eats more sensibly now.'

'Are you still in touch with your cousin? I can't imagine you would be, after the way they all treated you.'

'My cousin turned out all right, surprisingly enough. I should probably visit him sometime, although I have no idea when.'

Kreacher returned with a note from Minerva: _'By all means, come to Hogwarts and bring your friend. But don't enter my office looking like Sirius, lest Severus fall off the wall in horror. Although he might be equally horrified to see you.'_

Minerva instructed Harry to arrive at the main gate at six, and she said they were welcome to dine in the Great Hall or simply explore the castle on their own. 'I'd rather not eat in the Great Hall,' he said, 'But I could show you around without having so many students underfoot, and then we could get dinner in Hogsmeade.'

'At the Three Broomsticks? Yes, please!'

Harry had another idea. 'Are you fond of sweets? Last time I was there, I promised to return to a ghastly tea shop called Madam Puddifoot's.'

'Madam Puddifoot's!' she exclaimed. 'My parents went there on dates! Mum said it was terribly romantic, but she's also fond of trashy romance novels, so I don't entirely trust her judgment.'

They agreed to meet at Grimmauld Place at half past five and travel together to Hogwarts. _I know I should go to Pratt's and court votes, but Wynter said I'd be fine and I'd much rather spend the time with Alex,_ he thought.

After a long kiss goodbye in front of the fireplace, she went home and Harry left for practice. Janet caught up with him during laps. 'Did you shock the portraits?' she asked.

'Yes, Padfoot in particular,' he replied, and he told her what had happened.

'Harry, that's lovely!' she exclaimed. 'Do you reckon Prongs will stick around?'

'He wasn't there this morning, but Padfoot was still sleeping, which is unusual. Normally he's awake by seven unless he had a late night.'

'And did you have a late night?' she asked, waggling her eyebrows.

'No, we were asleep before midnight. I'll see her again tonight, but unfortunately she'll be in Ireland this weekend.'

'You make that sound like a bad thing,' said Janet. 'Aren't you free to see other people?'

'Yes, in fact I'm encouraged to.'

'Then that decides it. What better way to announce your Light magic to the world than with a shameless display of debauchery?'

He considered her suggestion. 'That's not a bad idea, actually. Rita Skeeter plans to play up the libido angle, to help draw more people to the Light Arts. So this is probably my best chance to enjoy it. And besides, I'll probably need consoling after the Harpies match.' He told her what he'd learnt about Ginny and Blaise.

'That black wizard with the slanting eyes? He was tasty all right—I don't blame her.'

'Whose side are you on?'

'Whichever side makes prettier babies. I'm not a blood purist, but I'm all for producing better-looking offspring. That's why I like Ron ... I'm reasonably attractive, but my colouring is ordinary. So if we were to produce tall, red-headed babies, but with a splash of Lindhurst to offset the Weasley, we'd really have something. And I'll admit that you and Ginny would have had nice-looking babies, particularly if they got her red hair and your green eyes. But the risk of getting bright red hair that behaved like yours was too dangerous. She made the right call.'

Harry was floored. 'I'm not sure where to begin. Are you suggesting she dumped me because she was afraid to have a child with my hair?'

'Perhaps unconsciously. But it was probably also because of how fucked up you are.'

'Oi!'

'There, there, Snitchbottom—we all are. What's your next question?'

Harry was still reeling from her accusation, but he set his emotions aside. 'Are you seriously considering having children with Ron? Obviously you were taking the piss at Sunday dinner.'

'I was, but Molly insisted on showing me baby pictures after you left, and little gingers are simply adorable. Furthermore, Ron is more entertaining than anyone I've ever dated, so it's not out of the question I'll keep him around. But that's a long way off—we haven't even dated two months, and I'm in no hurry to give up my career.'

'Does he know you feel this way?'

'Merlin, no! He'd run for his life! And besides, there's nothing worse than a complacent Ron Weasley—I'd much rather keep him guessing.'

'How's that going to work when you're carrying his children?'

'That's a good question. I may have to drop hints that they mightn't be his. Until they're born with red hair, of course.'

Tuttle instructed Harry's teammates to prepare him for Allie Hobbs by increasing their taunts, which caused his hands to glow. He'd previously observed that emotionally challenging situations triggered his Light magic, which matched what Jacobus Filch had written about Light wizards glowing uncontrollably from grief. _I doubt I'll feel grief if we lose the match on Saturday, _he thought, _but I could easily feel overwhelmed._

After morning practice, he showered and changed into robes rather than his usual Muggle clothes, and then travelled by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. 'What brings you to London this time of day?' asked one of the patrons. 'Is everything all right with the Cannons?'

'Yes, I just have business over lunch.'

'How do you feel about Saturday's match against the Harpies?'

'I'll do my best, but this winning streak can't last forever. Not with Allie Hobbs and the Harpyheads after me.'

'Don't say that,' admonished a wizard. 'You'll bring back the curse.'

'There was never a curse,' said another wizard. 'They just had shit Seekers for a century.'

'Not Barrowmaker,' said Harry.

'No, they had shit Beaters then,' said the wizard. 'But don't worry about Hobbs or the Harpyheads. It's your ex you need to worry about.'

'I'm sorry?'

'You haven't heard? They're starting Weasley on Saturday, specifically to rattle you.'

Harry tried to hide his alarm, but he didn't succeed. 'Take it easy, Potter. You've handled worse.'

'I suppose I have. Thanks for the warning.' He left through the back of the tavern, and minutes later he was inside Gringotts.

'Welcome, Mr Potter,' said the liveried goblin. 'I assume you're here for your private meeting?'

'Yes, thank you.' Another goblin led Harry to a small office, where Narcissa Malfoy and Dirk were seated with a goblin and wizard Harry didn't recognise. There were two small bottles on the table.

'Good afternoon, Mr Potter,' said the goblin. 'My name is Lightsabre, and I'll be overseeing your contract proceedings.'

_Lightsabre?_ thought Harry incredulously. It was hard to tell how old goblins were, but Harry suspected he was born before Star Wars came out. 'It's nice to meet you, Lightsabre,' he said. 'Narcissa, good to see you. And you as well, Dirk.'

Dirk nodded, and Narcissa said, 'Harry, this is my solicitor, Algernon Tort. Tort, this is Harry Potter.'

'Yes, of course,' replied Tort, shaking Harry's hand. 'I reviewed the contract provided by Victor Squabble, and everything seems to be in order. All we need is for you to confirm under Veritaserum that you have no designs on the Malfoy fortune.'

'Yes, gladly. But may I see the questions in advance?'

'You may,' replied Lightsabre, and he showed Harry the list.

Harry gave his approval, and Lightsabre motioned to Dirk, who opened the red bottle and released three drops of liquid into a teaspoon. Harry swallowed the potion and felt himself relax.

'Please state your name,' said Lightsabre.

'Which one?' asked Harry.

'Not this again,' said Narcissa. 'Your birth name.'

'The client will not speak!' ordered Lightsabre. 'Mr Potter, what is your birth name.'

'Harry James Potter.'

'Do you have any intention to frame Draco Malfoy?'

'No.'

'Do you have any intention to entrap Draco Malfoy into committing a crime?'

'No.'

'Do you have any designs on the Malfoy fortune.'

'No.'

'Do you have any ulterior motive in securing early release for Draco Malfoy.'

'I want to be on good terms with the Malfoys. I also believe he's not benefitting from house arrest, and that we'll all be better off if he's released.'

Lightsabre turned to Narcissa. 'Mrs Malfoy, has Mr Potter addressed your concerns?'

'How did you heal his Dark Mark?' she blurted.

'Light magic,' replied Harry.

Tort immediately raised his wand and cast a Silencing Charm on Narcissa. Then he turned to Lightsabre and said, 'Yes, Mr Potter has satisfied our concerns. Please administer the antidote.'

Dirk measured three drops of the antidote and gave it to Harry. 'Narcissa, you could have just asked me about Draco's Dark Mark.'

Tort cancelled the Silencing Charm, and Narcissa muttered, 'I should have asked why.'

'Don't you trust me to answer truthfully?'

'Honestly, I don't know what to think. But I'll ask you anyway: Are you trying to recruit Draco?'

'Recruit him? For what?'

'To your inner circle. To whatever the Light equivalent of Death Eaters is.'

'I haven't any inner circle,' he said truthfully.

'What about the Order of the Phoenix?'

'That was Dumbledore's group, not mine. It's disbanded now.'

'But when you go public with Light magic ... surely you'll have a following.'

'Perhaps I will, but I have no plans to gather adherents like Voldemort did.'

'Draco disagrees,' she said. 'He's convinced you're courting him.'

'I want him as an ally, not a follower.'

'An ally for your Light agenda!'

'An ally to stop wizards from killing each other! I don't expect him to support my agenda.'

Narcissa relaxed slightly. 'Tort, give me a quill,' she said to the solicitor, and she signed the contract. She passed the quill to Harry, and with a nod from Lightsabre he signed it as well.

'My next stop is Pratt's,' he said. 'I've been trying to gather votes.'

'How are things looking?' she asked.

'So far so good. The only pushback I've had is from a neutral family that doesn't like Lucius, but I think I've won them over. Next I'll talk to the Light wizards, to make sure they're on board and don't think I've been Imperiused.'

Before leaving, he thanked the goblins and the solicitor. 'Do you require a discreet Floo port?' asked Lightsabre.

'Yes, please,' replied Harry, and Lightsabre instructed Dirk to show him the way. When Harry arrived at Pratt's, he felt himself relax. _It's already starting to feel like home_, he realised with mild alarm.

He signed the register and saw Ernest Prewett had recently arrived. _Hopefully he's here for lunch and not a nooner at the Boudoir_, he thought as he walked to the dining room. 'Prewett,' he said, approaching the red-haired wizard he'd met the week before. 'May I join you?'

'Please do!' He snapped his fingers and said, 'Elf!' A house-elf appeared, and Prewett instructed him to add a place setting for Harry and bring another chair. 'Potter, let me introduce Oscar Abbott.'

Harry exchanged greetings with the grey-haired wizard and sat down. 'Welcome to Pratt's,' said Abbott. 'I was delighted to hear that you joined, in spite of what you may have heard from Dumbledore.'

'Dumbledore never said a word about Pratt's,' said Harry. 'I'd never even heard of it until I received my invitation last week.'

'You're joking! I'd have thought he'd indoctrinated you like he did your father and grandfather.'

'Did you know them?'

'I never met your father, except perhaps when he was a baby, but I knew old Monty Potter. He gave me my first job, in fact.'

'Really? What was he like? I know very little about him, except that he was successful in Potions and didn't like his given name.'

Abbott laughed. 'He certainly didn't. As I recall, your grandmother wanted to name your father Balthazar, after her grandfather, but Monty insisted he have an ordinary name instead. So he got his hands on a Muggle telephone directory and devised a charm to find the most common names. Then he gave your grandmother a list and said, "Pick one."'

'James Balthazar Potter,' recited Harry. 'Thank you, I'd never heard that story.'

'My pleasure,' said Abbott. 'As for Potions, Monty wasn't actually much of a brewer, but he was brilliant at marketing. His first success was Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, which was actually a failed attempt to tame his own hair. It didn't work at all, so he thought it was worthless, but then some of his mates tried it and it worked brilliantly.'

'Was his hair like mine then? Mine won't lie flat no matter what I do.'

'Yes, just like yours, and dark like his mother's. She was a Black, you know.'

'So my hair colour is a Black trait?' asked Harry, surprised.

'I should think so. Most of the Potter portraits I saw had sandy-coloured hair. But those were lost in the fire.'

They paused to place their lunch order, and Harry said, 'I could listen to you all day, but the reason I came here was to talk about the upcoming Wizengamot session.'

'Yes, I was wondering about that,' said Prewett. 'I don't get the impression you've been Imperiused, but why on earth are you advocating for young Malfoy?'

'Firstly, his mother is a Black, and I've been trying to reestablish ties with the remaining family members. Her sister Andromeda has been very helpful in that regard. I also have a very bad history with Draco, and this seems like an opportunity to make amends.'

'But to risk your own freedom!' said Abbott.

'I've taken precautions, and I'm confident Draco won't break the law during the early release period. There are both magical and civil safeguards in place.'

'I'm relieved to hear it,' said Prewett. 'Dumbledore was always blindly trusting.'

Harry didn't argue the point. 'But the main reason I'm doing it is because house arrest is making Draco bitter, and the longer he's in there, the more likely he is to turn out like his father. I can't let that happen.'

'That may be out of your control,' said Prewett. 'I realise you've already accomplished more than most wizards, between You-Know-Who and the Chudley Cannons, but you can't stop a Malfoy from turning out Dark.'

'Perhaps not, but were all of them as bad as Lucius?'

'No,' said Abbott. 'Abraxas promoted blood purity and all the rest, but he wasn't a criminal extremist like Lucius.'

'I'll settle for having Draco as a political adversary if it means we aren't on opposite sides of a war again. And confidentially, I don't think it's out of the question Draco and I could become friends. We already have plans to go flying together if he's released next Wednesday.'

'That would be extraordinary,' said Abbott. 'But don't let the Malfoys seduce you. Light wizards won't always be on top, so you're clever to cultivate them, but that's no reason to capitulate prematurely.'

'There's no risk of that,' said Harry confidently.

Prewett and Abbott exchanged glances. 'You say that now, but over time they may gain leverage over you. Keep your guard up around them,' said Prewett.

'What are you implying exactly?'

'Business dealings,' said Prewett. 'It's no secret how to make money as a wizard, but choose your partners carefully.'

_In other words, don't let Draco in on the condom scheme_. 'Understood.'

Their food arrived, and Harry asked, 'Are both of you voting members of the Wizengamot?'

'I am,' replied Abbott. 'Prewett is proxy for his father.'

'May I count on your support this coming Wednesday?'

The two wizards exchanged glances again. 'In principle, yes,' said Abbott. 'But I'd like assurances you're not going to be a wild card.'

'What do you mean?'

There was silence for a moment as Abbott ate. 'The Wizengamot has always had a Light faction,' he said. 'I'm one of the leaders, along with a handful of other wizards you may have met, mostly my age. We earned the role through experience. However, you're in a unique position, which we hadn't anticipated since there's no Potter seat.'

Harry understood where Abbott was going. _They think I'm going to take over the Light faction. _'Before you continue,' said Harry, 'I don't even plan to attend the Wizengamot regularly, since it interferes with Quidditch practice.'

'Will you appoint a proxy?' asked Prewett.

'Do you mean someone to vote in my place?' Prewett nodded, and Harry said, 'Yes, but I'd like to discuss the questions in advance, and not have decisions made for me.'

'Of course. But I hope you'll accept advice.'

'Yes, naturally. As for my unique role, I don't deny I plan to use it. I want to promote werewolf rights, for example.' Both wizards nodded in agreement. 'And revisit the goblin treaties,' he added.

'You can't be serious,' exclaimed Abbott.

'I am serious. Britain lags behind other countries as far as goblin rights are concerned, and I suspect it's hurting wizards just as much as it hurts the goblins.'

'I don't disagree, but you'll need to prove it,' said Prewett.

'Naturally.'

'You also need to stay out of the goblins' pocket,' said Abbott.

'Are you implying they'd be bribing me to advocate on their behalf?'

'Not bribing per se, but giving you favourable terms in business.'

'And why shouldn't they?' asked Harry. 'I'm only asking theoretically, because I'm not currently doing business with them. But wouldn't it be more convincing if I demonstrated what we had to gain from improved relations with Gringotts?'

'It's a fair point,' said Prewett. 'But you'd be taking the same risk you said you wouldn't take with Malfoy.'

'Are you really afraid the goblins would blackmail me?'

'He's right, they wouldn't,' said Abbott. 'Potter, you're more shrewd than I expected, and you're using it to push the Light agenda. Old Monty would be proud.'

They ate for a while longer in silence, and then Harry said, 'There's something else I should warn you about.'

'Oh?'

Harry discreetly raised a privacy ward. 'This coming Sunday, or possibly sooner, I'm announcing I'm a Light wizard.'

'Of course you are,' said Prewett, but Abbott just stared.

'Are you certain?' asked the older wizard.

'Yes, completely. I've found a teacher, and we agree the time is ripe to go public. She anticipates a huge spike in interest in the Light Arts.'

'That could change everything,' said Abbott.

'What are you talking about?' asked Prewett.

'Real Light magic—not just the Patronus Charm,' said Abbott. 'Dark magic can't touch it.' Abbott's eyes suddenly shot open. 'Merlin's beard! Does this explain your behaviour?'

'In part, yes. But not entirely.'

'Anyone who criticises you is just jealous,' said Abbott. 'Prewett, I'll explain later.'

Harry finished eating and set down his cutlery. 'Getting back to my earlier question, do I have your votes on Wednesday?'

Both wizards nodded. 'I'm relieved you've joined Pratt's,' said Prewett. 'Working together, we can push the Light agenda farther than I'd dared hope, even now.'

'Percy Weasley also suggested I'll be able to redefine the centre.'

'He's a bright young man,' said Prewett. 'But he's made mistakes, no doubt about it.' Harry assumed Prewett was referring to how Percy had missed all the signs that his boss, Bartemius Crouch, was under the Imperius Curse, and how he'd collaborated during the war.

'He has done,' said Harry. 'But he fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. And I've come to trust him completely.'

'Well, then, there may be hope for him after all,' said Prewett.

Harry turned to Abbott. 'What about the rest of the Light faction? Should I talk to them?'

'I'll get the word out for Wednesday. But do get to know them, when you have the time.' He fixed his gaze on Harry and said, 'War heroes don't always make good politicians—Dumbledore, for example. But if you play your cards right, you'll make a real difference.'

'Have you cultivated the lords?' asked Prewett.

'Yes. Wynter and Travers.'

'Travers!' exclaimed Abbott. 'You really are a Gryffindor!'

'The hat wanted to put me into Slytherin,' Harry confessed.

'A Slytherin Light wizard. These are interesting times. Were you successful with them?'

'More or less—for this vote, anyway.' Harry looked at his pocket watch and said, 'I need to get back to practice. Wish me luck against the Harpies.'

'I'll do no such thing!' said Prewett. 'Have you heard they're starting Ginny?'

'I did hear that, which is why you should wish me luck,' said Harry, standing.

He bade them goodbye and travelled by Floo back to the training grounds. _Why can't I just be a Seeker?_ he wondered again.

'Snitchbottom!' cried Suresh. 'I have bad news for you.'

'You mean about Ginny? Yes, I heard.'

'It's just a stunt. They're crazy to mess with their starting lineup.'

'No, they aren't,' said Darren. 'Seekers win matches, not Chasers. Harry, do you reckon you can handle it?'

Harry shrugged. 'I suppose I'll have to.' He went into the locker room, where he saw a sign that said, _'There are wizarding schools in Britain other than Hogwarts.'_ He rolled his eyes, changed into practice robes, and joined his teammates on the pitch.

'Have you heard about Ginny?' said Owen.

'Yes, at the Leaky Cauldron, before lunch. And yes, I'll expand into awareness.'

'Will this make you more likely to glow?'

'It might.'

'What do you think will happen if he goes full bug-light during the match?' asked Gemma. 'Will they eject him?'

'Bruce says it's not officially a violation,' said Owen. 'But there's no predicting what the referees will decide.'

'In other words, keep it in your gloves, Toffer.'

Before the practice match that afternoon, Tuttle gave one of the reserve Chasers, a witch named Elspeth, a long red wig to wear. 'Be sure to fly near Potter and stick out your chest from time to time,' she said.

'That's not how Ginny flies,' said Harry. 'She's compact and determined, like Gemma. Only taller.' Sighing, he added, 'But yeah, her ponytail always trails behind her. It's beautiful.'

'You poor bugger,' said Gemma. 'You still have it bad, after all this time.'

'Yeah, I know.'

She whispered, 'Do you reckon a prostitute might help? I'm sure you could find a redhead.'

'I already did,' he admitted.

Gemma laughed out loud. 'You're a real headcase, aren't you?'

'Are you trying to prepare me for Hobbs?' he asked acidly.

'Guilty as charged. But just do the glowy hand thing again, and you'll be fine.'

Unfortunately, Harry was distracted that afternoon. Elspeth's red ponytail rattled his nerves, and for the first time Gemma spotted the Snitch before he did. After the match, Owen asked, 'Did you experience Light magic at all?'

'No. I was afraid of losing control, so I clamped down hard.'

Owen nodded. 'I have some ideas for tomorrow, but in the meantime just try to relax and enjoy yourself. Do you have plans tonight?'

'Yeah, a date. It'll be good.'

'I'm tempted to suggest you see her again tomorrow night, before the match,' said Owen.

'Not possible—she's leaving town for the weekend.'

'What about a trip to France?' he asked quietly.

'No, never again.'

Owen raised a single eyebrow but didn't comment, and they walked to the benches for Tuttle's notes. 'Potter, do you reckon you can keep your head in the game tomorrow?'

'I'll try.'

'No, you won't,' she barked. 'You'll fucking succeed. Don't forget who you are.'

_Harry Potter-Black_, he thought defiantly.

After showering, he returned to Grimmauld Place and asked Kreacher for a shave, even though he suspected Alex's transfiguration would render it unnecessary. Then he chose a Muggle outfit, knowing that Sirius never wore robes if he could help it. _And a bloody foulard_, he decided, even though he'd undoubtedly draw stares at Hogwarts. _But it'll be Sirius, not me_, he thought with satisfaction as he tied the scarf around his neck.

When he greeted Alex downstairs, she was shocked by his outfit. 'No robes? I thought they were your trademark.'

'They're my trademark, not Sirius's. He'd probably wear motorcycle leathers, given the choice.'

After leaning in for a long kiss, she said, 'The scarf is fantastic. You have to make them fashionable.' Taking out her wand, she added, 'Now show me a picture of your godfather.'

He handed her a pair of photographs, both taken before Harry was born. One was from his parents' wedding, where Sirius had been the best man, and the other showed Sirius with James in front of their first apartment.

Alex let out a low whistle. 'You weren't kidding when you said he was good looking! This'll be fun.' She had Harry sit down and she sat opposite him, carefully tweaking his features and proportions. 'Normally I'd never take this much time at it,' she said after ten minutes, 'but you'll be a work of art when I'm done.'

His hair was the hardest. 'I'm tempted just to cut it short and extend it outwards,' she said. 'Would that be all right?'

'Of course, go ahead.'

Using a simple cutting charm she trimmed away most of his hair, which Harry Vanished, and then with gentle wand motions she lengthened what remained. She drew it all the way past his ears, and it flopped in front of one of his eyes. 'Oh, yes,' she murmured. 'Have a look.'

They walked back to the fireplace, which had a gilt-framed mirror above it, and Harry's jaw dropped when he saw his reflection. He had two competing thoughts: One was, _'That's not me, that's Sirius,' _and the other was, _'Sweet Merlin, I'm gorgeous!'_

Marvelling at his appearance, Harry asked, 'How did he even leave the bathroom in the morning, and not just stare at himself all day?'

'I couldn't tell you,' replied Alex, gaping at him. 'Is it wrong that I desperately want to kiss you right now?'

'I desperately want to kiss me right now,' said Harry, still looking at the mirror. But he turned to face her, and together they tried out his Transfigured lips. Within moments his back was against the wall and they were vertically entwined, but they were interrupted by a loud _crack._

'Master has a letter,' announced Kreacher before shrieking loudly. 'Cruel Master Sirius!' he cried, and he flung himself to the floor in terror.

'No, Kreacher, it's just me! I'm so sorry to frighten you.'

Kreacher lay face-down, with his arms in front of his head, and he craned his neck and carefully opened one eye. But it bulged and snapped shut, and he curled into a tight ball.

_Kreacher,_ called Harry silently. _Can you hear me?_

_Master, where are you?_ replied the terrified elf. _Cruel Master Sirius is here with Master's witch._

_I'm so sorry! I should have thought to warn you—that's me in disguise. Look, I'll wave my right hand._

Harry waved his hand, and Kreacher looked carefully at him again. 'But why?' wailed the traumatised house-elf. 'Why would Master choose to look like cruel Master Sirius?'

'To go incognito,' said Harry, feeling awful. 'I thought it would be fun to go as Sirius, and Alex Transfigured me. I'm so sorry to scare you like that.'

'Kreacher prefers Master's appearance,' said the elf quietly.

'I'm sorry Sirius was cruel to you,' said Harry sadly. 'I don't know why he treated you that way. But I'll look normal by morning.'

'Before midnight, actually,' said Alex.

Kreacher was standing again, but he kept his distance. 'Yes, Master. Thank you, Master,' he said, handing Harry the envelope and vanishing.

Harry looked at the letter, which was written in acid-green ink. It said:

_Darling, what's this I hear about the Wizengamot next Wednesday? Shouldn't you have mentioned it the other night? _

_Yours always,  
__Rita_

'Oh, bugger,' blurted Harry. 'Hang on, I need to send a reply, and then we can leave for Hogwarts.'

He grabbed a piece of note paper and wrote:

_Dear Rita,_

_My sincere apologies—it genuinely slipped my mind on Tuesday. I'd rather not publicise it until after the vote, or at least after the Light magic announcement. Furthermore, it's not my story to tell, since it mainly involves Draco. But I'll discuss it with him and Narcissa and get back to you._

_Yours sincerely,  
__Harry _

He and Alex went upstairs to the owlery, and he dispatched the letter with Orsino. 'Sorry about the delay, but we can Apparate from here. Can you get to Hogsmeade Station yourself, or would you prefer Side-Along?'

'I can get there myself,' she said, and since the owlery was outside the wards they were able to leave directly. A minute later they found each other on the platform, and Harry pulled a broomstick from his pouch.

'If you were a first year, you'd arrive on the Hogwarts Express and Hagrid would herd you into a small boat. But we'll travel by broom instead.'

He let her sit in front, and he slowly skimmed the surface of the lake, only inches from the water. 'We were all nervous,' he said, 'because we didn't know how the Sorting worked. Hermione was afraid it was some kind of test, and Ron's brothers told him he'd have to wrestle a troll. But it was actually a talking hat.'

'I know, my parents told me. They said it's traditional not to give away the surprise, but obviously I was never going to Hogwarts.'

'Which houses were they in?'

'Ravenclaw, both of them. Although my dad's parents were in Hufflepuff, so there's no predicting where I'd have gone.'

'You strike me as a Ravenclaw, but the Hat can surprise you. In fact, I wonder if Minerva would let you try it out.'

'That would be awesome! But aren't you supposed to avoid her office, in order not to upset your old professor?'

'Yeah, but he can't have a worse reaction than Kreacher did. I'll see what Minerva thinks.'

Alex gasped when the castle came into view. 'It's so big! I had no idea!'

Harry only nodded, which Alex couldn't see but surely felt, since he was right behind her. He flew all the way to the castle gate, and he grinned when he saw who was standing there.

'Harry!' shouted Hagrid. 'Good ter see yeh!'

They landed, but when Alex stepped away from the broom, Hagrid cried, 'Gallopin' Gorgons, it's Sirius Black!'

'No, it's me, Harry. I'm in disguise—didn't Minerva warn you?'

'Bless me, she did. Sorry 'bout tha'.' He stooped for a closer look and said, 'I'll be jiggered, you look jus' like him.'

'I'm sorry, you're the second person I've alarmed tonight. Hagrid, this is Alex Barrington. And Alex, this is Rubeus Hagrid. He's the one who gave me my Hogwarts letter and told me I was a wizard.'

'It's grand ter meet yeh, Alex. Any friend o' Harry's is a friend o' mine. But don' let me keep yeh,' he said, ushering them through the gate. 'How are yeh, Harry? Are yeh ready for the Harpies on Sa'urday?'

'Not at all,' he said, returning the broomstick to his pouch. 'Did you hear they're playing Ginny?'

'I did. But yeh'll be all righ'.'

Alex was looking in every direction, taking in the Hogwarts grounds. 'Alex's parents and grandparents attended Hogwarts, but she grew up in America and always wanted to see it.'

'Did they now? Wha' were their names?'

'My parents are Peter Barrington and Diana Harris. And my grandparents are George Barrington and Miranda Woodley.'

'George Barrington!' exclaimed Hagrid. 'I remember him! Skinny feller with a mop o' hair.'

'That no longer describes him at all,' she laughed, 'but it matches photographs I've seen.'

'He were a good lad. Fond o' frogs—always collectin' 'em aroun' the lake.'

'That's right, he still is. When he moved to America he discovered there were heaps more species to seek out.'

They were climbing the front steps, and Hagrid asked, 'Will yeh have dinner wi' us? It's jus' startin'.'

'No, but is Minerva there? I'd like to say hello before showing Alex around the castle.'

'She is, but let me warn th' other professors firs'. None of 'em are expectin' ter see Sirius Black livin' an' breathin' again.'

Harry and Alex waited in the entrance hall, and he pointed out the moving staircases, which deposited students on the ground floor. Quite a few witches and several wizards stared at Harry as they passed, and Alex laughed.

'I'm sure you're used to drawing attention, but does this feel different?' she asked.

'It does, but mostly because I feel different. I thought I knew what arrogance felt like, from my obnoxious Seeker persona, but now I understand why Sirius looked so haughty in the Pensieve memories I saw.'

Alex pulled out her wand. 'Maybe I did too good a job. Do you want me to tone things down a bit?'

'After all that effort? No, I want to shock the portraits.'

They turned towards the Great Hall and saw that Hagrid was waving them to the high table. Harry took Alex's hand and they walked in together, drawing stares from all directions.

'Your outfit probably doesn't help,' she observed. 'Those are impressively tight trousers.'

Minerva dropped her fork when she saw them. 'Great Godric! Did you do this?' she asked Alex.

'Yes, ma'am,' said Alex, and Harry nodded enthusiastically.

'Minerva, this is Alex Barrington. She's currently working on a Mastery in Transfiguration.'

'She most certainly is! Remarkable. Will you join us for dinner?'

'No, we thought we'd tour the castle and then have dinner in Hogsmeade.'

'Yeh'll shock Rosmerta as well,' said Hagrid. 'But she can always pour herself a pick-me-up.'

Harry leaned towards Minerva and asked, 'Is there any chance Alex can try on the Sorting Hat? Her parents and grandparents attended Hogwarts and she's curious which house she would have been assigned.'

'You're welcome to try it on,' Minerva told her, 'but whether you get an answer is up to the Hat. Just find me in my office after dinner. But Harry, hide yourself!'

'I have my Cloak. What's the password?'

'Thistledown. And see you later.'

Harry led Alex from the Great Hall and pulled the Marauder's Map from his pouch. 'My dad and his mates created this map as students,' he said, unrolling it. 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,' he declared, with a tap of his wand.

'Oh!' she exclaimed, as the map introduced itself. 'Padfoot and Prongs! But who are Moony and Wormtail?'

'Moony was Remus Lupin. They called him Moony because he was a werewolf.'

'Was?'

'Yeah, he died in the Battle of Hogwarts, and his wife too. Their son is my godson.'

'And Wormtail?'

'He betrayed my parents and revealed their location to Voldemort. And then he killed twelve Muggles and faked his death when Sirius confronted him. That's why Sirius went to Azkaban—he was wrongly convicted. But Wormtail is dead now too. They all are.'

'Oh, Harry,' she said, putting her hand over his. 'It was thoughtless of me, asking you to come back to Hogwarts. I'd forgotten about the final battle, and that so many people died here.'

He avoided her eyes by looking at the map. 'That's all right. I was here all the time last year, and in July I even managed to eat in the Great Hall. And it's always good to see Hogwarts full of students again.' Harry found their names on the map. 'Bloody hell!' he cried.

She looked at his name. 'Harry Black?'

'It's Harry Potter-Black!' he insisted, and Alex looked at him in surprise. 'Not officially. But eventually.' He sighed and asked, 'Why does the map say Black?'

'Maybe because I've Transfigured you to look like Sirius?'

'No, that shouldn't make a difference. It's not fooled by Polyjuice Potion or Animagi.' He shook his head and shrugged. 'Anyway, that's the Marauder's Map, which was incredibly useful when we were students.'

'I can see that. Where should we go?'

Harry led her on a rambling tour. They checked the map to confirm that the girls' second-floor bathroom was unoccupied, and he showed her the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. 'I don't speak Parseltongue anymore, so I can't open it, but believe me, you don't want to see it. Admittedly the statues are cool, but otherwise it's completely foul.'

Next they climbed the stairs to the seventh floor, and he showed her the Room of Requirement. 'This is extraordinary!' she said. 'My parents never mentioned it.'

'No, it used to be secret, but now everyone knows about it. We used it for illegal Defence classes when Dolores Umbridge was running the school, and this is where Ron, Hermione, and I arrived before the final battle. A lot of my classmates were living here, including Neville Longbottom, who you'll probably meet.'

He showed her the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower, and the portrait asked them a riddle, which Alex easily solved. 'It's not a very good security system,' she said. 'Anyone can get through.'

'Perhaps, but you figured out the riddle right away and I mightn't have done.'

'Really? I thought you were more clever than that.'

'Apparently not,' said Harry, laughing. Lowering his eyes, he drawled, 'Fortunately, I'm terribly good-looking,' and they had a brief snog in the empty common room. Afterwards, they explored the tower until a Prefect returned and started scolding them.

'What are you doing here!' she cried. 'You're not even students! How did you get in?'

'Minerva invited me,' began Harry. 'Er, Professor McGonagall.'

'A likely story! What's your name?'

'You probably won't believe me, but I'm Harry Potter.'

'No, you aren't. Your eyes aren't green, and he's nowhere near as han–' She stopped herself short. 'Just leave, and don't come back!'

Harry and Alex left the tower together and laughed as soon as they were in the corridor. 'Should we try our luck in Gryffindor Tower?' he asked.

'Sure, why not?' she said, and he led her there. More students were about, and Harry noticed that a lot of the boys were wearing fitted robes, and some even wore flowers. 'Did boys wear flowers when you were a student here?'

'No, that's new. Do you reckon I can make foulards popular?'

'I'd love to see that happen. Next week let's go somewhere wizarding and you can wear one.'

'Done. And here's the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.' Harry looked at the portrait and saw that the Fat Lady was busy gossiping with a friend. Without looking at him, she said, 'Password?'

'Er, I don't know it, but I was hoping you'd let us in anyway.'

The Fat Lady turned towards Harry and screamed, causing her companion to dash from the frame. 'Don't hurt me!' she cried.

Harry suddenly recalled that Sirius had attacked the Fat Lady in Harry's third year, when he was trying to find Wormtail. 'I'm so sorry to frighten you,' he said. 'I'm not Sirius Black—this is Harry Potter in disguise. Do you recognise my voice?'

The Fat Lady had stopped cowering but she was looking at him carefully. 'You look just like him. Only you're young and still handsome. You looked frightful when you attacked me.'

'That wasn't me, it was Sirius, and he was trying to catch a murderer. I'm so sorry he attacked you like that. But do you recognise my voice yet?'

She narrowed her eyes. 'I don't know. Say something Harry Potter might have said.'

'Er ...' he began, trying to think of what he'd have said to her besides the password. 'Please, let me in! It's past curfew and Filch is coming! The reason I'm so late is because I was in detention with Umbridge, but Filch doesn't care.'

The Fat Lady's eyes lit in recognition. 'It is you! Why are you here?'

'My friend Alex is visiting from America, and she wanted to see Hogwarts. Her parents and grandparents were students here.'

'That's wonderful, and yes, of course you can come in,' said the Fat Lady. 'But I have a bone to pick with you, young man. Why weren't you on the radio this week?'

Harry was astonished. 'I thought people needed a break. I don't want to become overexposed.'

'Nonsense! Everyone was so disappointed! I hope you'll be back soon.'

'Yes, next week.'

'That's good. And for future reference, the password is "Veritaserum,"' she said, swinging out of the way and allowing them to enter.

They climbed through the portrait hole into the common room, which was noisy with students. 'Excuse me, can I help you?' said a young wizard.

Harry's heart leapt. _Colin!_ he thought, until he realised who he was looking at. 'Dennis,' he said. 'I'm disguised, but this is Harry Potter. Do you recognise my voice?'

'Yes, of course! Harry, it's great to see you, although you look nothing like yourself. And what on earth are you wearing?'

'I'm disguised as Sirius Black, and he'd never have worn robes if he could help it, so I'm wearing Muggle clothes instead. I got this scarf in France.'

'Scarves are the next big thing,' said Alex. 'I've made him promise to wear one in public next week.'

Dennis's eyes widened. 'Thanks for the tip!' he said, and Harry noticed that he was wearing fitted robes and flowers. 'What brings you back to Hogwarts?'

'My friend Alex wanted to see it. Her parents and grandparents were students here, but she grew up in America. She's a Transfiguration expert, hence my altered appearance.'

'Brilliant! Welcome, and have a look around!'

While Alex explored the common room, Harry chatted with Dennis, who was a Prefect. 'You wouldn't believe how different Hogwarts is now,' said Dennis. 'History of Magic is actually interesting, and we've had the same Defence professor two years running. The Slytherins are still pillocks, but not as bad as they once were. Why weren't you on the radio this week?'

Harry repeated what he'd told the Fat Lady. 'No,' said Dennis, 'people can't get enough. Everyone on the Hogwarts Express was talking about your Veritaserum stunt, and we all gathered in the common room this Tuesday to listen, but it was just Lee and George. Which was fine, I guess, but definitely not the same.'

'I'll be back next Tuesday, and it should be interesting,' said Harry, thinking of his Light magic.

'I'm sure it will be,' said Dennis enthusiastically, when they were interrupted by a new arrival through the portrait hole.

'Oh. My. God. Who areyou?' gasped Romilda. 'I'm Romilda Vane, and clearly you're not a student here. But I wish you were!' She put one hand on Harry's bicep, and with her other hand she reached for his foulard. 'And what are you wearing? I love it!'

'Romilda,' interjected Dennis, a little embarrassed. 'It's Harry. He's in disguise as Sirius Black.'

'This is what Sirius Black looked like?' she exclaimed. 'How did I never notice that when his poster was plastered everywhere? I suppose I was only eleven, but still!'

'He looked a lot worse after Azkaban,' explained Harry, who was deeply regretting his choice of disguise. 'My girlfriend Alex is a Transfiguration expert, and I showed her some old photographs of Sirius, when he was my age.'

'You have a new girlfriend already?' she asked, not removing her hands from him.

'Yes, she's right over there. I should go join her.' He shook Romilda loose and walked towards Alex, but Romilda followed him.

'How's Darren? Does he talk about me?'

'Er, yes,' he replied, not specifying that Darren had asked him not to invite her to his next party. 'He misses you, but he thinks a clean break is for the best. To keep from dragging things out and making it harder.'

She nodded sagely. 'I understand.' Turning to Alex, she asked, 'And how did you meet Harry?'

'Alex, this is Romilda,' he said.

'We met through my job,' said Alex. 'I'm working on a Mastery in Transfiguration, and I have a part-time job assisting an interior designer.'

'Are you redecorating your house?' asked Romilda. 'I'm so glad! It was far too shabby for someone of your station.'

'Actually, we're keeping the shabbiness. The only change is that it's a little less creepy.'

Romilda ignored him and said, 'Alex, if the Mastery doesn't pan out, I'm certain you could make good money repeating whatever you did to Harry. Speaking of which, could you make my nose a little smaller? I can't get the hang of it myself, but maybe if I watch you do it I'll catch on. And you have to show me how you did your eyelashes.'

'I haven't done anything to my eyelashes. They're naturally like this.'

'I can't believe it! Although I suppose if you had charmed them, you'd have tidied up your features as well.'

'Romilda, stop insulting my girlfriend!' scolded Harry. 'I think she's beautiful!'

'Really? After Lydia and Helena? And what about the French model?'

'We need to go now,' said Harry, taking Alex's hand. 'We have a meeting with Professor McGonagall.'

'I hope you'll come back,' Romilda told Harry. 'Even if you don't look like this. But wear the scarf.'

Harry dragged Alex from the common room, and when they were in the corridor he said, 'I'm sorry about Romilda. She has no filter and not much sense.'

'Don't worry, I wasn't hurt. I know I'm not everyone's type.'

'I don't see why not,' he said in a low voice. 'You still take my breath away.'

For a moment Alex looked as if she might melt, but then she straightened and said, 'Don't look at me like that in public. It's bad enough when you look like yourself, but as your godfather you're positively deadly.'

'Then we'll have to go somewhere private,' he murmured.

'No, I want to try on the Sorting Hat and eat dinner in Hogsmeade, and go to Madam Puddifoot's.'

'Fine,' he said with mock exasperation. 'Minerva's office is right this way.'

They arrived at the gargoyle, and Harry donned his Invisibility Cloak. 'Thistledown,' he said, and the gargoyle hopped aside and the wall opened to reveal the spiral staircase. They stepped on it and rose together until they were facing the door to Minerva's office. Harry was about to knock, but the door opened to welcome them.

'Do come in,' said Minerva, who was behind her desk. 'And Harry, feel free to take off your cloak—Severus is currently missing from his frame.' Harry removed the cloak and looked around the office, noticing that Dumbledore's portrait was asleep.

'By Salazar! It's my great-great-grandson! What are you doing here? I thought you were dead.'

'You bloody bastard!' cried Harry, seeing the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. 'I'm not Sirius, I'm Harry in disguise. And I should throw turpentine at you for those bloody wards!' He turned to Minerva and said, 'That bastard warded Pratt's!'

'You've been to Pratt's?' said Phineas and Minerva simultaneously.

'Yes, and I've joined, in the hopes of undoing some of the damage you've done to wizarding society!'

'Wizarding society needed a strong hand,' insisted Phineas.

'A strong hand that got my parents killed!' snapped Harry. 'Which, if you think about it, is the only reason I'm head of House Black. Regulus would probably still be alive if it weren't for you.'

Phineas was already pale, but he turned grey when Harry said it. 'I shan't listen to your insults,' replied the portrait stiffly. 'You can't control me at Hogwarts.'

'Fine, then leave! I'm here to visit Minerva, and to introduce my friend.' He turned again to Minerva and said, 'I'm so sorry. I've had a lot of time to brood about the harm Phineas caused, and this is the first time I've seen him in ages.'

Minerva looked uneasy. 'Harry, I can see you're no longer even slightly downtrodden. But is everything all right?'

'Yes, really. Other than having to play against Ginny on Saturday, things are going brilliantly.'

'You're certainly keeping busy,' she said, frowning. After a silence, she turned to Alex and said, 'Could you at least change his eyes back to normal? It's unnerving talking to a teenaged Sirius Black.'

'Of course, just a moment,' said Alex, pulling out her wand. She performed a brief incantation to restore Harry's own eyes, and both witches gasped.

'Good lord, I'm looking at the child of Sirius Black and Lily Potter!' said Minerva. 'Evans, rather.'

'Harry, I'm definitely keeping you like this for the rest of the evening,' said Alex admiringly. 'It turns out your godfather had room for improvement.'

Harry was blushing, which, judging from the women's expressions, made him even more attractive. 'We're never doing this again,' he muttered. 'But Minerva, how are you?'

'I'm well, and the school year is off to a good start. Did you talk to any students?'

'Yes, I got in trouble with a Ravenclaw prefect, and I saw Dennis Creevey and Romilda Vane.'

'Romilda Vane! I'm surprised you escaped in one piece! But Alex, I'd love to hear about your studies. Clearly you're extremely gifted in Transfiguration.'

Alex and Minerva began talking about their craft, and Harry took the opportunity to wander around the office. Most of Dumbledore's strange magical devices were gone, and there were far more framed photographs, including several of Harry. He also noticed the black cabinet that had contained the Pensieve, and the silvery light inside told him it was still there.

'Minerva, may I use the Pensieve for a moment? Alex is from Chicago, and I want to show her the time I tried convincing a Muggle I lived there.'

Minerva chuckled and said, 'Yes, but only if I can watch as well.'

Using his wand, Harry pulled the brief memory from his mind, starting with the part where he claimed his parents had moved to America several years prior, and ending with his confused response to Penelope's question about living in Hyde Park. He lowered the silvery strands into the Pensieve and invited the women to watch.

All three of them plunged inside, and they stood together in the Muggle pub and watched Harry chatting up Penelope. Alex laughed hysterically as he pretended to know who Michael Jordan was, and Minerva was amused as well. 'Even I know who that is,' she chided.

Harry was embarrassed by his fumbling attempts to lie but impressed by his own cheek. _No wonder Penelope didn't throw her drink at me,_ he thought. _And look at how the Muggle blokes are all dressed—what were they thinking?_

When the memory was over, Alex laughed at him again, and Minerva led her to the Sorting Hat. 'There's not much to it,' she said. 'Just put it on, and see if it says anything.'

Alex pulled on the hat, and after about thirty seconds it shouted, 'RAVENCLAW!'

'I told you so,' said Harry, after she'd removed it.

'We had a bit of a debate, actually. Once it agreed to do a theoretical Sorting, I suggested Hufflepuff, since I believe hard work is every bit as important as brains are. But the hat proposed Slytherin, because I'm so keen to make original discoveries in Transfiguration, so we compromised on Ravenclaw. And by the way, it wants to talk to you.'

'The Hat wants to talk to me?' said Harry, surprised.

'Yes, as long as you're here. It said it didn't get a proper look at you last time.'

Harry thought that was odd, considering he'd interacted with the Hat twice—once during his original Sorting, and then the following year when he was afraid he might be the Heir of Slytherin. 'All right,' he said nervously, putting it on.

It slid below his eyes, and Harry heard the familiar voice in his ear. 'Oho, very different. Your chunk of Tom Riddle is gone now. I can't believe I didn't recognise it for what it was, but I suppose you were my first living Horcrux. Presumably I'll recognise them from now on.'

'Am I still a Gryffindor?' asked Harry silently.

'That's the wrong way to look at it,' said the Hat. 'The question isn't which house you are, it's which house you belong in. And there's no doubt at all—better be SLYTHERIN!'

'Bloody hell!' cried Harry, removing the Hat in disgust. 'I'm a sodding Light wizard!'

All the portraits snapped to attention, including Dumbledore's. 'Are you certain?' said the former headmaster. Squinting, he briefly took off his glasses and polished them. 'And who are you?'

'Harry Potter,' he replied. 'I'm partly in disguise as Sirius Black, but it's more conspicuous than I intended it to be.'

'Harry!' said Dumbledore affectionately. 'It's a pleasure to see you, even if you're not quite yourself. Congratulations on turning the Chudley Cannons around! I'd never have thought it possible, but of course you've surprised us before.'

'Er, thanks,' mumbled Harry, who hadn't anticipated talking with Dumbledore. 'Things have changed a lot since you died.'

'Indeed they have,' said Dumbledore, tenting his fingers in front of him. 'And none of us anticipated your second act. But tell me more about the Light magic.'

'I've found a teacher, and I'm going public this weekend. I granted Rita Skeeter a long interview about it on Tuesday.'

'Rita Skeeter!' cried Minerva. 'Have you gone mad?'

'No, we have an agreement that as long as I give her stories, she won't write anything negative about me.'

Minerva shook her head in astonishment. 'No wonder you're in Slytherin!'

'Are you certain it's Light magic?' persisted Dumbledore. 'It's incredibly rare, and I never got anywhere with it.'

'Yes, I'm certain. The reason I'm making an announcement is because I've been glowing, and it's very likely to happen in public.'

'That wasn't Glowpox?' said Minerva.

Harry shook his head, and Alex said, 'I saw him glow last night—he looked like a human Patronus.'

Several of the former headmasters started sniggering. 'I daresay this explains a thing or two,' said Dilys Derwent.

'Or six,' said Armando Dippet.

'Indeed,' said Dumbledore. 'But are you safe? You weren't any good at Occlumency.'

'No, Snape wasn't any good at teaching Occlumency,' said Harry. 'But I've mastered it now.'

'Fascinating. But I suppose I'll have to wait for Rita Skeeter's article to learn more.'

'Yes, Alex and I need to leave—we haven't had dinner yet,' replied Harry, who was feeling increasingly impatient. Addressing all the portraits, he said, 'Could you keep this amongst yourselves for the next few days?'

'If I tell them to,' said Minerva. 'Past headmasters,' she announced, 'you are to keep Harry Potter's Light magic secret until after it's made public.'

They all nodded obediently, including Dumbledore, but then they launched into a flurry of gossip and speculation. 'Minerva, please excuse me for not telling you sooner. I've just had so much going on,' began Harry, but she stopped him.

'I understand. And you say you've found a teacher?'

'Yes, and she's terrific.' In a whisper he added, 'And Hermione is studying with me as well.'

Minerva relaxed. 'Then I'm certain you're in good hands.'

There was a burst of noise from the chattering portraits, 'What in the name of Salazar Slytherin am I seeing?' cried Snape, aghast. Harry, Alex, and Minerva all turned to face him, and Snape blanched. 'Oh god no ...' rasped the former Potions Master.

'It's Harry,' explained Minerva. 'He's incognito, but hardly inconspicuous.'

Snape looked like he was was going to be sick. 'Get out of my sight, Potter! Or Black, or whatever your damnable name is!'

'You should go,' insisted Minerva, rushing them to the door. 'I'll take care of Severus. Alex, it was a pleasure to meet you, and please keep me apprised of your progress.'

Alex thanked her and Harry apologised again, and soon they were back in the corridor walking towards the main staircase. 'Welcome to my life,' said Harry. 'I'm sorry it's completely mental.'

'I hope that wasn't too trying for you. And you must be famished.'

'I am, actually. It's tempting just to fly out of the castle from here, like Fred and George Weasley did, but Minerva would never forgive me.'

They hurried down the stairs, and soon they were outside and Harry pulled out his broomstick. This time he sat in front of Alex, since he could fly much faster that way, and within a minute they were outside the Three Broomsticks.

'I need to kiss you again,' said Alex when they dismounted. 'You're completely irresistible right now.'

After they kissed, Harry asked, 'Do you reckon you should just change me back to normal? I seem to be attracting more attention this way.'

'Are you kidding? I'm not turning down a visit to Madam Puddifoot's with a green-eyed Adonis. But let's have dinner first.'

They entered the Three Broomsticks, which fortunately wasn't too crowded, and they slid into a booth near the back. For several minutes Alex and Harry just sat and admired each other, but then Madam Rosmerta turned up and did a double-take. 'Do I know you?' she asked Harry. 'I'm certain I do,' she began, then she blushed and said, 'But you must hear that a lot. What's your name, love?'

'It's Harry Potter,' said Alex quietly, 'and I've done an extremely poor job disguising him.'

Madam Rosmerta looked astonished. 'So you are! Only you look as if your mother had married Sirius Black instead of your father. Which I'm almost disappointed didn't happen,' she said with a flutter. 'But what can I get you?'

They chose from the menu board, and each of them ordered a glass of ale. 'Our next stop is Madam Puddifoot's,' explained Harry, 'and we'll need fortification to survive it.'

'You certainly will,' said Rosmerta. 'Her shop has become extremely popular since you took that ghost there last month. People are coming from all over Britain.'

Harry grimaced. 'Are you serious? I didn't even eat the food there, and I ended up sharing most of what my house-elf brought, because nobody wanted all those sweets.'

'Believe me, I know. But you have the golden touch these days. Would you like me to send someone over to put your name down? That way you won't have to wait later on.'

He looked dubiously at Alex, but she was insistent. 'I've come all the way from America for this. We're definitely going.'

'There's our answer,' Harry told Rosmerta. 'And cheers.'

'What name should I give them?'

'Oh, bugger—I have no idea anymore. Probably Harry Black, since that's who I look like right now.'

While they waited for their order, Alex told Harry stories she'd heard about Hogwarts growing up, and he shared some of his own experiences. She also told him about her education in America. 'There are, in fact, wizarding schools in North America other than Ilvermorny,' she explained. 'I attended one in Upper Michigan called Westwind.'

'So it's a boarding school, not a day school?'

'That's right. Secrecy is much more strictly enforced in America, so they require students to be educated away from No-Maj populations.'

As Harry sipped his ale and listened to Alex, he was overwhelmed with affection, and at one point he had to conceal his hands, which had begun to glow. _I'll be in heaven when my Light magic is public, and I can glow wherever I bloody well please,_ he thought impatiently.

Madam Rosmerta brought their meals, and she took the opportunity to ask Harry about his outfit. 'Why aren't you wearing robes? I'd have loved to see them.'

'Because I was disguised as Sirius when I left the house. It was Minerva who insisted Alex return my eyes to normal, since it was giving her the creeps to talk to someone who was dead. In a non-ghost, non-portrait sense, that is.'

'But Harry's going to make scarves fashionable,' said Alex. 'He'll wear one in public next week, and I'm certain all the students will want them.'

'You don't say!' replied Rosmerta. 'There's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up—not this Saturday, but the next. Do you reckon I should give the other shopkeepers a heads up?'

'That seems excessive,' said Harry. 'One of these days I'm bound to wear something nobody likes.'

'But it's not just you,' said Alex. 'Pre-Azkaban Sirius Black just paraded through the Great Hall wearing a scarf and tight trousers, and every head in the room turned to watch. I suspect you sped up puberty for a number of students tonight.'

'That's it, I'm ordering scarves,' said Rosmerta. 'I remember one year Sirius came back from the holidays wearing a dog collar, and within a week at least a dozen students had copied him—male and female.'

'Not my dad, I hope!' said Harry.

'No—he was the one selling them.'

Alex and Harry enjoyed their meal, and then it was time to head to Madam Puddifoot's. Harry still couldn't believe it was popular among more than just students on awkward or overly-demonstrative dates, but Rosmerta was right—there was a small crowd of couples in front waiting for tables. Harry walked past them, drawing stares from most of the women, and stood at the podium.

After a minute, Madam Puddifoot appeared. 'My goodness, who is this?' she exclaimed when she saw him. She leaned forwards to examine his face and asked, 'Are you Harry Black?'

'Harry Potter, actually,' he whispered. 'My friend here is a Transfiguration expert, and she initially made me look like my godfather, but things went awry.'

'Well done,' she leered, and Harry felt uncomfortable under the matron's predatory gaze. _Is this what Fleur feels like?_ he wondered. 'Mr Potter—or Mr Black, rather—will you be eating our food tonight, or bringing your own?'

'That was only because I had a Quidditch match the next day. So yes, we'll order from the menu.'

Madam Puddifoot led them to their table, which was unfortunately very close to its neighbours. 'The shop is ever so popular now,' she said proudly. 'And not just with students anymore—with everyone. It's like this every day, starting around four o'clock.'

'Congratulations,' said Harry, as he held Alex's chair for her. When Harry sat down, Madam Puddifoot handed them menus and promised to return promptly.

'This is the tackiest place I've ever seen!' whispered Alex excitedly. 'It's like someone ate a ribbon shop and threw up! I wish I'd brought a camera.'

'I don't think you need one. It looks like there's a photographer coming round, offering to take pictures.'

'You're right! I have to have one, if only to show off my handiwork.'

'Oh my god, I'm going to be photographed like this,' said Harry, horrified. 'Do you think anyone will recognise me?'

'Maybe from your eyes, but certainly not your hair. And at least you're not wearing robes.'

He took a deep breath. 'That's true, you're right. Shall we look at the menu?'

They opened their menus, and Harry realised it had changed since his last visit. Now there were several ghost-themed cakes, which made no sense, since actual ghosts preferred food that had gone off. Even worse, several of the sweets were clear references to himself, including a pistachio sundae called the 'Green-Eyed Seeker,' a compote called 'Veritasyrup,' and an extremely large pudding called 'Sweet Exhaustion.'

Alex leaned towards him and said, 'I know it's very American of me to point this out, but you definitely have grounds for a lawsuit, or at least a cease-and-desist order.'

Harry sighed. 'You're probably right. But that would be far more embarrassing than this is, and I'd rather not think about it.'

'Fair enough. What should we get?'

'Let's see, there's the Golden Treacle, although that might be a reference to the Golden Trio. Alternatively, I could go for the Sorting Hattenburg Cake, but I'm not sure I could order it with a straight face. What do you want?'

'I must say, the Green-Eyed Seeker looks good, but that might be because I can't stop thinking about last night.'

'Neither can I. Do you reckon we could take our food to go?'

'That depends on how long it takes for them to process our photograph,' she said. 'Because I'm not leaving here without one.'

'As long as you don't make me sign it,' he grumbled.

Madam Puddifoot returned to take their order, and moments later the photographer arrived. 'Would you like a souvenir?' he asked Harry. 'Something for the lovely lady?'

'That's very sweet of you,' said Alex, 'but we both know which of us is lovelier tonight. And yes, I want a souvenir.'

The photographer had them move their chairs together, and Harry put his arm around her. After their picture was taken they left their chairs together, and before long they succumbed to the ambiance and began kissing. Harry was reluctant to go overboard in public, for fear of glowing, so they punctuated their kisses with conversation.

Alex said, 'The best thing about kissing here is that when I close my eyes I get a break from the decor.'

'And I can only smell your hair and not the vast quantities of sugar,' said Harry.

'Look at this place,' she said, indicating all the snogging couples. 'This is what I imagine your parties are like.'

'I've been to brothels with less public display of affection,' he countered.

'I'm surprised they don't have private stalls you can rent by the hour.'

'Something tells me this whole place is an excuse for uptight Anglo-Saxons to act like they're French. Only the pastries aren't as good.'

'Do you think they have an adults-only menu for hen parties?' mused Alex.

'With obscenely-shaped novelty sweets?'

'Exactly. And maybe even insertables.'

'Miss Barrington!' exclaimed Harry. 'Your low American humour is not welcome here!'

Their next kisses were interrupted by the arrival of their food, which they were forced to eat on the premises, since their photograph wasn't yet ready. 'Did they really need to make the pistachio ice cream as green as your eyes?' she asked. 'And I think these Golden Snitches are pure corn syrup, only with little flapping wings.'

'I like treacle tart as much as anyone,' said Harry, 'but this is bigger than my head. Nobody needs this much treacle.'

'Do you want some of my ice cream to cut the sweetness?'

'Can you Transfigure this into a normal-size piece of treacle tart and a gallon jug of golden syrup?' he asked.

'I can't Transfigure anything right now because I'm in a diabetic coma.'

People were staring at them, partly because Harry was so striking, but mostly because they were laughing so hard. Fortunately the photographer arrived with their picture, and they immediately asked for takeaway boxes and the bill.

Harry, who hadn't yet seen the latest iteration of his face, was momentarily stunned. 'I need to find a long-range Time Turner to tell my mum to marry Sirius instead. Or at least let him father me on the sly.'

'No, you'd never have defeated Voldemort if you looked like this.'

'What makes you say that? Perhaps Voldemort would have been rendered speechless by my uncanny beauty. Or all the original closet-case Death Eaters would have rallied around me instead.'

'Weren't you underage?'

'Oh right. I'm certain psychopathic mass-murderers would draw the line at perving over a fifteen-year-old.'

'Actually, you'd have just chucked the prophecy and gone to Milan to be a model.'

'At my height? Not bloody likely.'

'Maybe you'd have been taller if Sirius had been your dad.'

'No, James Potter was tall. Mum's the one to blame.'

'Why haven't they brought the bill yet?' whinged Alex. 'My teeth hurt.'

'At least you can move your jaw. Someone's going to need to Vanish the treacle from mine.'

'I don't care about your jaw, as long as your tongue works.'

'Believe me, I'll be ready for something salty as soon as I digest this brick.'

Finally the bill arrived, along with the takeaway boxes, and Alex attempted to pay. 'You paid for dinner!' she argued.

'Don't get all American on me. And besides, I'm richer than the Queen. Not really.'

'You should really upgrade your townhouse to match your station,' she scolded.

'I tried, but I got distracted by the interior designer's breathtakingly beautiful assistant.'

'Light magic isn't like beer goggles, is it?' she asked suspiciously. 'I'd be mortified if you saw me in six months, once you're past this phase, and thought, "What on earth did I see in her?"'

'Not going to happen. From what I can tell, Light magic makes me more impulsive around women I'm attracted to, and insatiably randy. But I don't think my standards have changed.'

'That's a relief. It'll be bad enough when we're photographed together in earnest and the _Prophet _expresses concern that I've Love Potioned you.'

'No, they won't. And besides, I'm a Slytherin now, so I can just tell Rita Skeeter to have them describe you as "stunningly graceful." Which you are, in case I haven't mentioned it.'

'I prefer "gazelle-like," thank you very much. And don't let them accuse me of magically enhancing my eyelashes, because that's a pet peeve of mine.'

'You have to admit it's the most logical explanation,' he said admiringly, 'And they're even more enchanting up close,' he added, leaning in for a kiss.

Afterwards, he stubbornly slid the coins she'd placed on the table back towards her and paid the bill himself. 'Save your Galleons to ring Rocky and tell him about the twee sugar den I brought you to.'

'No, he doesn't want the details.'

'Fair enough. I don't really want the details about him either. But will you invite me to your wedding?'

'Would you come?'

'I don't know, maybe. It would be a good opportunity to gather data about Chicago. But would you be willing to have me there?'

'Sure, why not? Mind you, I might demand you take Polyjuice Potion so you don't overshadow me.'

'But then how would I seduce one or more of your bridesmaids?'

'You'll have a British accent in America. You could lose all your teeth to treacle tart and still get laid over there.'

'Brilliant! Maybe I'll eat these leftovers after all.'

Madam Puddifoot thanked them profusely for coming, and as soon as they were outside and past the couples still waiting for tables, they Vanished their leftovers and Apparated to Harry's back garden. He threw on his Invisibility Cloak before going inside, for fear of alarming Kreacher, and they went up to Harry's bedroom to recover from their enormous dessert.

'Who decided it was a good idea to eat heavy puddings on a date?' she asked as they propped themselves on pillows.

'Your mum's the one who said Madam Puddifoot's was romantic.'

'Probably because she was fifteen and wasn't putting out yet.'

'Is that American slang I'm unfamiliar with?' he asked.

'Apparently. Did you work it out from the context, even though you're too beautiful to be clever?'

'I did, thanks.'

Harry examined the photograph again. 'Poor Sirius. He looked ghastly when he escaped from Azkaban. And even though he put on weight afterwards, his appearance never recovered. I may be more ordinary to start with, but at least I haven't so far to fall.'

'You're lovely,' she said. 'Not just now, but normally as well.'

'I wasn't fishing for compliments.'

'I know you weren't. You've always been cute, from what I've seen, but when you look at me I simply melt.'

'I simply melt when I look at you too,' he replied, and they nuzzled close to each other.

Eventually they were ready for more than conversation, and later he held her as she fell asleep. Harry felt his face become thinner and more angular, and his hair was no longer long and floppy. But Alex's shoulder still felt smooth beneath his lips, and drowsy contentment overtook him.


	78. Chapter 78

Harry's nightmare was hideous, and it was all the worse for having started so pleasurably. It began in a lavish suite at Claridge's, much larger than the room he and Penelope had shared, and in the mirror he saw Sirius in his prime, only with his own green eyes. By his side was a woman who exaggeratedly combined the best features of all his partners: Ginny's shining red hair, Helena's soft curls and wide-set eyes, which were blue with black rims like Penelope's, and also Alex's long eyelashes and exceptional grace. She had Vanessa's voluptuous figure, Lydia's aristocratic features with Sophie's gamine charm, and Elizabeth's full and enticing lips. And to top it off, she had Claire's uncanny allure and Vera's raw sexuality.

They marvelled at their own gorgeousness before tumbling onto the bed and making love. The dream was a riot of carnality, seen both from Harry's perspective and externally, and it was like watching two celestial beings at play. But then they began to decay. First it resembled normal ageing, with wrinkles and sagging, but it quickly became grotesque. Harry's teeth fell out, and his partner's body decomposed and fell apart. Worst of all, he was left alive and forced to don black robes, and a final look in the mirror revealed a Dementor.

He was moaning piteously when Alex woke him, and he had to touch his cheeks to reassure himself he was whole. 'That was ghastly,' he said in a ragged voice. 'Why won't they stop?'

'Do you have nightmares?' she asked with concern.

'Yes, nearly every night—sometimes more than once. But that was far worse than usual.' Tears began to flow, and he repeated, 'Why won't they stop?'

Alex held him soothingly, pressing her body against his to reassure him he was alive and safe. 'I don't know,' she replied. 'I wish I could help.'

'You are helping,' he said. 'I'm so sorry to wake you, and I'm sure I scare women away, but it's so much easier when someone's here with me.'

He fell asleep in her arms but jerked awake soon after. Alex was more groggy this time, and although she offered to comfort him, he decided it was better to get up. It was nearly six o'clock, and he doubted he'd be able to sleep normally.

In his dressing gown, he went downstairs and began replying to fan mail. _It's fortunate I can't sleep,_ he thought, _because I've fallen behind. _The previous afternoon,Mrs Thwip had given him another letter from an abused child—a fourteen-year-old wizard—and in his raw state Harry answered more candidly than usual:

_Dear Paul,_

_I can't tell you how sorry I am to hear about how your family treats you, but I'm grateful you trusted me enough to write. I've taken the liberty of forwarding your letter to an agency who helps people in your situation, and they'll contact you discreetly at school. But it's entirely up to you whether they assist you, so you needn't worry they'll do anything without your consent._

_That said, I urge you to accept their help. You've probably grown accustomed to feeling powerless—I know I did—but that's not ultimately who you are. You have tremendous power, and I'm not talking about magic. I'm talking about the fact that you wrote to a complete stranger and asked for help. And if you think there's anything wrong with asking for help, or you feel ashamed you can't fix your situation on your own, them I'm here to tell you you're wrong. _

_Everything I've done successfully has been because I accepted help. I could never have defeated Voldemort without the help of dozens or even hundreds of individuals—Ron and Hermione in particular. I'd never have learnt to catch the Snitch consistently without Owen Barrowmaker, and I couldn't even pick out clothes properly without my tailor._

_If you're like I was, you probably feel alone and perhaps unworthy. __That isn't true__. You also might think your life can't actually change or improve, but that's not true either. I should add that you're braver than I was, because I never asked for help or told anyone about my home life until it was made public, and I realise now how much better off I would have been if I had done._

_Whatever happens, please stay in touch. Now that I know about your situation, I won't forget it, so I'll be uneasy if you don't write back. I'm also enclosing a signed photograph, in case your family wonders why you're receiving post. Feel free to discard it if you don't like the Cannons, but otherwise keep it as a reminder that you're not alone and that someone cares about you._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry_

He answered fan mail for another hour, and he was about to go upstairs and post a note to the Malfoys about Rita Skeeter when there was a tapping at the window. The owl was clutching a thick envelope, addressed in acid-green ink, and after giving the owl a treat Harry brought the letter inside.

_Dear Harry,_

_Thank you for the prompt reassurances regarding your Wizengamot appearance next week. I'll trust you to discuss the matter with the Malfoys and update me accordingly._

_Enclosed you'll find the final draft of Sunday's article. I hope you find it as delightful as I do, but please indicate any parts that don't meet your approval._

_Yours deliciously,_

_Rita_

Harry pulled out the typewritten article, and his jaw dropped when he read the headline:

_THE SEXIEST MAGIC YOU'VE NEVER HEARD OF: Harry Potter Has It, and You Can Get It._

_Well done, Rita!_ he thought approvingly. That would definitely spark interest in the Light Arts, along with the photograph she'd selected for the front page. It depicted Harry glowing, of course, and he was looking directly at the camera with overwhelming affection. Depending on how you saw it, his expression was either deeply compassionate or incredibly seductive. And occasionally his mouth curled into a mischievous smile.

The article began:

_The first thing you'll notice is the glow. It might start in Harry's hands, but if you're fortunate you'll see it spread to his face, and presumably to the rest of his taut, Seeker's body. But then you'll notice his expression, which the _Daily Prophet's_ editorial standards prevent us from displaying on the front page (see page 8). Although numerous adjectives apply, including 'blissful' and 'ecstatic,' the most accurate word is 'orgasmic.'_

_But according to Harry, even this description falls short. 'This is better than _Sorceress_,' he said, referring to his now-famous night of passion recounted in detail last month by an anonymous and very lucky witch. Because this is no mere sexual experience—it's a manifestation of a largely ignored branch of magic known collectively as the Light Arts._

'_The Light Arts?' you might ask. 'Like the Patronus Charm?' Yes, and Harry is already renowned for his dazzling corporeal Patronus. But Light magic goes far beyond that single, powerful spell. It is a full exploration of the power of positive emotions—namely compassion, gratitude, and love._

Rita provided an overview of Light magic, with numerous quotes from Davina and a particular emphasis on the accidental version. It described Harry's experience in the Sainte Chapelle, with an accompanying photo, and included quotes from Harry's teammates about the first time he glowed during practice.

'_It was literally my first day on the team,' recounted reserve Seeker Gemma Rees. 'We were midway through running laps, and suddenly Harry lights up like a torch and looks at [Chaser Ryan Bellamy] like he's his long-lost brother and tells him how much he loves him. And then he throws his arms around [Head Coach Marjorie] Tuttle and says he loves her too. For all I knew this was a typical morning with the Boy Who Lived, but it was actually his first time doing it in front of the team.'_

Harry laughed out loud when he read Tuttle's quote:

'_I heard about it before seeing it, and if it had been anyone but the Boy Who [expletive] Lived, I would have written it off as pure bollocks. But [Seeker Coach Owen] Barrowmaker vouched for him, and we keep him around for his brains, not his flying, so I knew Potter had to be on the level.'_

He was less than pleased, however, by Rita's accurate speculation about Hermione, which she tacked onto a quote from Ryan:

_Bellamy, who is not only Harry's teammate but also Hermione Granger's boyfriend, said, 'Hermione had warned me about Harry's Light magic, so I knew what was happening, but I wasn't prepared for how affectionate he'd become. That said, it's great that he's found a teacher and is going public, since I'm certain the Light Arts will become much more popular.'_

_Bellamy declined to comment on whether Miss Granger is experiencing Light magic or studying it, but it seems likely that such an intellectually voracious young witch will want to learn as much as she can on the subject._

Rita discussed the effect of Light magic on the libido in exhaustive detail, and she reinforced her point with photographs of Harry passionately kissing both Sophie and Lydia.

_For reasons unknown, some practitioners of Light magic experience a huge boost in sexual desire, particularly during the accidental stage. According to Davina Hampton, Harry's recent headline-making behaviour is entirely consistent with early Light magic. 'Admittedly his age and circumstances play a contributing role, but Harry is otherwise a textbook example of Light magic's effect on the libido,' she said. _

_Light magic clearly isn't the sole factor in his sexual shenanigans. According to Harry, he and former girlfriend Ginevra Weasley 'shagged like bunnies,' presumably prior to the onset of his Light magic. And his status as a war hero, league Seeker, and fashion icon undoubtedly deliver an abundance of eager partners. But his Light magic may have tipped the balance from wizardly discretion to the licentiousness for which Harry has most recently become famous._

_Hampton declined to estimate the degree to which Harry's behaviour has been influenced by Light magic, but books on the topic describe an increase in frequency, urgency, and duration of sexual activity. Which in Harry's case prompts us to consult a calendar, revealing that his 'intensely gratifying night' of 'sweet exhaustion' with the unnamed _Sorceress_ informant began less than twenty-four hours after his return from France. When shown the article and asked about the role of Light magic, Hampton said, 'Yes, almost certainly. That encounter has Light magic written all over it.'_

The article was heavily seasoned with quotes from Harry, and, unsurprisingly, Rita did not omit his reference to brothels:

_In a piquant aside, he added, 'It's why I daren't go to brothels, because I'll just fall in love with the prostitute. And yeah, it has to be the Light magic, because I wasn't this way before. But it's absolutely brilliant.'_

He was pleased that Rita had included a statement from Davina that even Muggles and Squibs could practise the Light Arts:

'_Obviously non-magicals won't be able to glow or perform protective magic,' said Hampton, 'but every human being is equipped to enjoy the bliss and clarity that Harry has only begun to experience. All that's needed is proper instruction, patience, and a functioning conscience.'_

The article also described the role of the Light Arts in battle, with a clear message that Harry was simultaneously dangerous to Dark wizards but also unlikely to hurt anyone. Rita emphasised Harry's warning not to bother practising Legilimency on him or to manipulate his emotions some other way. A quote from Davina summarised it nicely:

'_It's ironic that the witch or wizard most able to withstand Dark curses is largely unwilling to participate in battle. But make no mistake, the Light Arts practitioner is a deadly foe. It would be foolish to attack even an immature Light wizard like Harry—he could snap his assailant's wand, or worse, without even trying.'_

But Davina provided assurances that there was no reason to fear Harry:

'_Dark families teach their children to run or Disapparate if they see a wizard start glowing. But there's really no danger at all, unless you try to perform harmful curses around them. Furthermore, there's no reason for a Dark wizard to avoid Cannons matches or close contact with Harry, so long as they have the good sense not to attempt Dark magic around him.'_

Davina then issued a blanket warning against Dark Magic:

'_The Dark Arts are pure poison, because with each Dark curse the practitioner's soul is fragmented just a little more, or a lot more in the case of a grievous crime. And an intact soul is essential for practising Light magic. It doesn't need to be perfectly intact—healing is always possible—but you'll never make it uphill if you're running at top speed in the opposite direction.'_

Predictably, Rita couldn't resist revealing Davina's maiden name, which bolstered her credentials:

_And what could a Light Arts expert know about Dark magic? Hampton knows more than one might expect—born Davina Wynter, she was Sorted into Slytherin house and exposed to the Dark Arts by her classmates and family alike. 'My birth family, which considers itself neutral, didn't encourage the use of Dark curses except in self-defence. I would argue, however, that practising any Dark magic poses too great a risk of damage to one's capacity to experience Light magic, which is of far greater benefit and, incidentally, much more pleasurable.'_

Rita shared Harry's borderline-classified revelation that he'd experienced Dark magic vicariously through Voldemort, and she even endorsed Harry's assessment of how the two practices compare:

_At risk of offending the committed Dark practitioners amongst our readers, this reporter admits she found Harry's argument for the superiority of Light magic extremely convincing. Its sole disadvantage appears to be its steep learning curve—reportedly Albus Dumbledore gave up on it after several weeks' effort. But Harry's instructor insists the Light Arts are accessible and well worth the effort, and she anticipates a resurgence in their practice._

_Hampton said, 'Harry and a handful of other prominent witches and wizards are beginning to experience Light magic, seemingly independent of one another. But there's no such thing as true independence—on the contrary, we're inextricably linked by interdependence, which ultimately unites us all. It's my honour to assist Harry in his exploration of the Light Arts, and I would strongly encourage anyone who's tempted to follow his lead.'_

Rita concluded with Harry's statement about love and perfection, accompanied by the photo of him holding the flower from his lapel:

_It is clear to this reporter that Harry Potter's greatest power is, quite simply, love. It is his _raison d'être_, and he has come to symbolise not only the physical act of love but also the intense emotional pleasure it provides when fully expressed._

_He said, 'It breaks my heart that people die without experiencing this. I'm not talking about sex, although obviously I'm a fan—I'm talking about this kind of love. It's more powerful than magic ... I reckon it's why Light wizards can defeat almost anyone. And it's what we were born to do. Every day we're alive is an opportunity to experience love and beauty._

'_There's beauty in every moment. There's perfection in every moment. My childhood was ghastly, but during summers I at least had flowers. It's absurd that wizards fight when we have everything we need to pursue happiness. It's hard to starve as a wizard, and you can live in a tent and use warming charms to stay alive. So why do we bother hurting each other, when it's infinitely more pleasant to cultivate love?'_

Harry decided he was satisfied with the article, in spite of how salacious it was. and he was impressed that Rita had identified the power the Dark Lord knew not. His only objection was to the mention of Hermione, but he suspected Rita had included it deliberately so he'd have something to remove. He wrote her a brief note of approval as long as that bit was excised, and he posted it along with the message to the Malfoys before looking in on Alex.

'You poor thing!' she exclaimed when he entered. 'How long have you been awake?'

'Several hours. But it's all right—I caught up on correspondence. Do you want breakfast?'

'Yes, but in bed, if only for your sake.'

There wasn't enough time for him to sleep before practice, but he enjoyed lying next to her until their food arrived. They resolved to see each other the following Tuesday—they would have dinner together in Diagon Alley, and then she'd watch his broadcast from the audience. 'It'll be about Light magic,' he warned her.

'So I'll need to defend myself from witches hoping to unseat me?'

'That's not what I meant,' he replied. 'Simply that there will be a lot of sex talk, and you'll be right there.'

'I've listened to your broadcasts, and they're almost exclusively about sex. I'm sure I'll manage.'

He lowered his eyes and said, 'And you won't mind if I'm with someone else this weekend?'

'Not at all. Strictly speaking, we've only been on two dates and I have a fiancé. So I'm really in no position to demand monogamy.'

Kreacher sent up the _Prophet _with breakfast, and they were relieved to find no photograph or mention of the mysterious Adonis of Hogsmeade. The sport section, however, ran an article about Ginny, entitled _'The Girl Who Dumped the Boy Who Lived.'_

'How long do you suppose they've been waiting to use that?' mused Alex.

'Hours, surely.' He read the article, which recounted the usual details about their relationship and speculated about her current love life. They didn't specifically link her to Blaise or anyone else, but some of her teammates were quoted saying she was 'head over heels' for someone new.

_Head over heels for Blaise Zabini?_ he thought incredulously. Admittedly Blaise was good looking, and charismatic in a laughably pretentious sort of way, but he hardly seemed like Ginny's type. Then again, Harry knew that he himself had changed radically since joining the Cannons, so perhaps joining the Harpies was affecting Ginny similarly.

After breakfast, Harry and Alex parted company at the fireplace, and he went to practice. Owen greeted him and said, 'Harry, we have a change of plans.'

'You're not putting in Gemma instead, are you?' he asked.

'What? No, of course not.'

'Have you considered it? It would certainly throw the Harpies for a loop.'

'I'll admit Tuttle and I talked about it, but I couldn't in good conscience put Gemma up against Hobbs.'

'Good point,' replied Harry. 'So I guess I'm still on the hook.'

'You are. Did you read this morning's article?' Harry nodded, and Owen asked, 'Did you know she was seeing someone?'

'Yes, and I'm not thrilled about it. He's an arrogant tosser we went to school with. I can hardly believe they're together.'

'Yes, because who could have anticipated she'd have a thing for arrogant tossers?' joked Owen. 'But seriously, do you think you can handle it?'

Harry shrugged. 'What choice do I have?'

'Not much. But you've distracted me from my original point about today's change of plans. I looked at the weather forecast, and Tuttle and I decided to have the practice match this morning while the sun is out.'

'Are you suggesting what I think you are?'

'Yes, I want you to play without fear of glowing. See how close to the edge you can get without losing control.'

'Will Elspeth be wearing a wig again?'

'She will indeed.' After a silence, Owen said, 'I know Alex will be out of town, but do you have something else to look forward to this weekend?'

'Other than the Light magic article on Sunday, not specifically.'

'Try to come up with something. Maybe Darren will have some ideas.'

'For Merlin's sake, are you my coach or my procurer?' laughed Harry.

'A little of both, apparently. Although Fiona is still off-limits.'

'Yes, sir,' replied Harry, with only a hint of resentment.

During their laps, Harry found Darren and said, 'Owen wants you to get me into trouble tomorrow night.'

'Really?' exclaimed Darren. 'Just how much trouble?'

'He wasn't specific, but you're supposed to take my mind off the fact that Ginny is "head over heels" for a pretentious twat we knew at Hogwarts.'

Darren thought for a moment. 'I reckon a lot of trouble will be required. "Enormous bed" proportions, even. Would you object to my presence? I'd be clear on the other side, so there's no risk of a sword fight.'

Harry chuckled, recalling Penelope's question about cockfighting. 'That sounds all right, but I might exile you to a guest room if things get awkward.'

'How discreet do we need to be. Is it a disaster if the _Prophet _gets wind of it?'

'No. The Light magic article comes out on Sunday, so anything I do this weekend gets a free pass.'

'Really? Did you see an advance draft?'

'Yeah—it basically says I have a medical condition. So I'm cleared for lift-off.'

Darren nodded approvingly. 'Muggle rocketry lingo ... this is why I like you, Snitchbottom. Speaking of which, is it all right if I call you Snitchbottom tomorrow night?'

'If that's what gets you off, be my guest.'

After their laps and calisthenics, the players were instructed to prepare for a practice match. 'Don't make us late for lunch,' Janet warned Harry as they walked to their lockers. 'I'm a creature of habit, and if I don't have my pie and mash at half twelve precisely, you'll have a very cross Janet.'

'And why is that my problem?'

'Because I'll tell Ron on you, and he'll lecture you tomorrow morning.'

'No he won't. At most he'll say, "Janet says I'm to lecture you for making her wait ten minutes for lunch," and that'll be the last of it.'

'Curse you, Snitchbottom! You're right—Ron's the problem.'

'Do you want me to lecture him for you?'

'Very funny. Just don't screw up lunch.'

They returned to the benches with their broomsticks, and Elspeth's ponytail caught Harry's eye again. _I should make Kreacher wear a long red ponytail, _he mused. _Surely that would cure me of finding them attractive._

Before the balls were released, Darren asked Harry, 'How early do you want to get started tomorrow? Should we audition partners at the Spyglass or venture farther afield?'

'I think the fewer expectations we have, the better. It's all about flexibility.'

'I agree completely. We'll play it by ear. But hang on—here's an idea. Polyjuice Potion!'

'What?'

'Switch identities!' said Darren enthusiastically. 'I get to be you, and you get to be tall. Everyone wins!'

Harry made a face. 'No, that sounds sleazy. The witch deserves to know who she's getting.'

'Witches,' insisted Darren. 'Plural. But yeah, I see your point.'

Tuttle blew her whistle to start the match, and Harry shot into the air. Gemma's spotting had finally begun to improve, so she didn't track him right away, and Harry was free to expand into blissful awareness. _How close can I come to glowing without actually doing it?_ he wondered.

In an instant he was awash with Light magic. 'Oh, bugger,' he moaned aloud, and Janet, who was within earshot, started to laugh.

'We might have to start calling you _Luminos Magnus._ Or _Megalumos_,' she called.

'I love you,' he replied ecstatically. 'I'm so happy for you and Ron!'

'Shut up, and catch the bleeding Snitch!'

Harry set a strong intention for the Snitch to appear within his field of awareness. _I love flying_, he thought blissfully. _I can't believe how fortunate I am, that I get to fly every day. Magic is brilliant!_

Gemma shot into a steep dive, and Harry automatically shot downwards in the same direction. His Seeker instincts took over and he felt his mind clear as he accelerated towards a nonexistent Snitch. He found Gemma afterwards and said, 'Thanks for the shot in the arm. I was orbiting Jupiter out there.'

'I was wondering about that,' she replied. 'You were drifting like seaweed. Do you think you might be more vulnerable to Bludgers when you're like that?'

'I doubt it—my Seeker instincts kicked in the moment you started your dive.'

'Right, so the trick is to keep those instincts alive while you're in Light la-la land.'

'That's a good description,' he said. 'And I'll try that.'

He flew off and began circling again, but this time when he allowed Light magic to arise he set a strong intention to retain his Seeker intensity. _This isn't just a game,_ he thought, recalling what Kieran Sheppard had said during their recent match. _This is Quidditch, and it's the ultimate wizarding tradition. People are paying good money to see me fly and catch the bleeding Snitch._

He felt himself glow again, but this time there was a coiled energy that had previously been absent. It was still highly pleasurable, and love bubbled beneath the surface, but otherwise he felt like a trap ready to spring.

_Can I feint yet?_ he wondered. _It's only been a few minutes since Gemma did, but those Chasers are just asking for it._ He launched towards them at top speed, and he was momentarily overcome by extreme bliss. Ginny's ponytail dazzled him, and he zig-zagged nimbly between her and the other Chasers, forcing a turnover.

_That wasn't Ginny_, he realised afterwards. _Bugger, I'm just in a different la-la land._

Gemma found him and said, 'That was an improvement. How did you feel?'

'I mistook Elspeth for Ginny.'

'That's a good thing, right? It'll be Ginny tomorrow.'

'Good point. I'll stay with it.'

'Yeah, but keep it in your gloves,' she advised. 'You can't glow like this tomorrow—at least not straight away.'

For the next hour, Harry experimented with differing degrees of Light magic. _This is probably a good way to learn control_, he mused, but it seemed impractical for all Light Arts students to become league Seekers. Seeing Elspeth fly with Ginny's ponytail occasionally made him emotional, and one aggressive feint was fuelled entirely by rage towards Blaise Zabini, but otherwise it felt therapeutic.

He eventually spotted the Snitch high overhead, near the edge of the playing area, and he zoomed towards it for an easy catch. Only his hands had been glowing, but the release of tension caused him to flare into full display, and his teammates laughed when they saw him.

'If only the bookmakers had odds on this,' remarked Titus. 'And yes, I checked.'

'They will from now on,' said Gary. 'How many times Harry glows during a match, whether any of us start glowing, and so forth.'

'Glowing Beaters?' asked Harry. 'I don't see how that could possibly work.'

'Are you being judgmental, just because I slam heavy iron balls at fragile Seekers for a living?' replied Suresh. 'It's not my fault I'm this big.'

When Harry landed, he was surprised to see Nitta waiting for him, and around her neck was a too-large pair of Omnioculars. 'Nitta has a message for Harry Potter,' she said, handing him a pale grey envelope.

The brief note, written in Narcissa's elegant script, said:

_Will you be able to come to the Manor at five o'clock? If so, we can discuss Rita Skeeter and also take care of Draco's blood oath. Andromeda will be present. Please send your reply with Nitta. You may travel by Floo to 'Malfoy Manor.'_

Harry told Nitta he'd come at five, and he was astonished he'd been given Floo access. _It's almost as if I were family_.

Tuttle delivered her post-match notes, and she congratulated Harry for his aggressive flying. 'Bring that kind of fire tomorrow, and we'll have it in the bag.'

'Except for the Harpyheads,' muttered Darren.

'And Hobbs,' added Suresh. 'Clearly we need to verbally abuse you during lunch.'

'No, not while he's having so much trouble controlling his glow,' said Ryan. 'I don't fancy performing memory charms on everyone at the pub.'

Harry made it through lunch without glowing, and Janet got her meal on time. 'All is forgiven, Snitchbottom. And don't worry if we lose tomorrow. In fact, you'll finally be a real Cannon once it happens.'

'She's right,' said Gary. 'You've just been a fair-weather Cannon so far.'

'Are you implying I'll quit if we stop winning?'

'No, but you really haven't had the full Cannons experience yet. You haven't even seen our post-defeat ritual.'

'Why on earth would you have a ritual after losing?' asked Harry. 'Isn't the whole point to break the streak?'

'You'll see,' said Suresh mysteriously, and no more was said on the topic.

Afternoon practice was anticlimactic, since the match was already behind them, and the cloudy skies meant Harry wasn't free to glow. He and Gemma practised with a Snitch, and Owen made Harry wear the goggles, which were set for maximum hostility. But the simulated banners weren't very convincing, since the messages weren't particularly personal, although he noticed they all referred to him as 'Harry Toffer.'

'That was my idea,' said Gemma proudly. 'We needed to make it more plausible.'

'Are you going to hold a banner?' he asked.

'Not at the Harpyhouse, but next week for sure.'

After showering and changing into robes, Harry travelled by Floo to Malfoy Manor. 'No flowers?' said Draco when Harry emerged from the drawing room fireplace. 'Does this mean I'm free to wear them?'

'No, I came straight from practice and didn't have any with me.'

'Harry, do come in,' said Narcissa. 'And ignore Draco—he's worse than usual today.'

'Mother, you say that every day.' He turned to Harry and said, 'Now you see why she's been sucking up to you. She's desperate to get me out of the house.'

'Draco, how dare you say such a thing!' scolded Narcissa.

Andromeda approached Harry and embraced him. 'Thank you, Harry. I know how busy you've been, between the team and courting votes for next week.'

'Yes, and Rita Skeeter as well,' replied Harry.

Narcissa frowned. 'You aren't willing to delay your announcement until after Draco's vote?'

'No, I can't possibly. I'm glowing right and left, and it's almost certain to happen tomorrow during the match.'

'Are you hoping to win back the Weasley?' asked Draco. 'Admittedly she's a pure-blood, but now that you're a Black you can do better.'

'Draco, are you trying to make Harry change his mind?' snapped Narcissa.

'I won't change my mind,' Harry reassured her, ignoring Draco. 'But let's talk about Rita.'

Harry sat down in what had become his usual chair, inwardly astonished that he had a usual chair at Malfoy Manor. Narcissa began pouring his tea, but he stopped her. 'Thank you, but I'm not permitted outside food or beverages during the twenty-four hours prior to a match,' he explained. 'It's nothing personal.'

'I see,' said Narcissa stiffly. 'Then I suppose we can get right to business. Would you please describe the nature of your arrangement with Rita?'

'Apparently it's the same contract Lucius had, stating that as long as I give Rita right of first refusal over any news items, she won't print anything negative about me. The only exceptions are Quidditch news and anything I announce on the radio.'

'Was that her suggestion?' asked Narcissa.

'Not exactly. She proposed an alliance, and I demanded legal protections. That's when I learnt she's made similar arrangements before.'

'I'm relieved you aren't as blindly trusting as Dumbledore,' said Narcissa. 'You may be a Black after all.'

'Perhaps I am,' replied Harry, thinking of the Marauder's Map. 'You'll either be pleased or horrified to learn that I was Sorted into Slytherin last night.' They all stared at him, and he described his brief encounter with the Sorting Hat, only without mentioning the Horcrux.

'I'm pleased,' said Andromeda. 'And not surprised—you've become considerably more strategic lately, in spite of your personal life.'

'Yes, about that,' began Narcissa. 'Can you refrain from creating any new scandals between now and next Wednesday?'

Harry thought guiltily of his plans with Darren for Saturday night. 'I can't promise that. But I'm confident about the vote—you seem to have the Dark faction under control, and I have assurances from the Light faction. I just need to court a few more neutral wizards, and we should be fine.'

'I've spoken to Violetta Greengrass, and you needn't worry about the neutrals. They'll be more than happy to vote with the majority. But what about the Ministry appointees?'

'To be honest, I'd forgotten about them,' confessed Harry. 'Who should I talk to?'

'Shacklebolt,' said Narcissa. 'You'll never get anywhere with Merrick Bode, but Shacklebolt has influence as well. He'd still be Minister of Magic if he'd wanted.'

'All right, I'll owl him tonight.'

'Don't you mean you'll raven him?' said Draco archly.

'They're jackdaws,' said Harry. 'The shop was nearly out of owls, and the jackdaws are terrific.'

'I approve,' said Narcissa. 'You're indisputably head of House Black, and those birds are both practical and distinctive.

'But getting back to Rita,' continued Harry, 'do you think it's necessary to publicise Draco's vote in advance?'

'I have no idea,' replied Narcissa. 'It all depends on how your Light magic is received. Andromeda, what do you think?'

'Will people think the Light magic has somehow undermined your judgment?' Andromeda asked Harry. 'It's certainly affected your behaviour.'

'I honestly don't know. I read a draft of Rita's article this morning, and it doesn't imply that Light magic would make me any less rational, except where women are concerned.'

'So they'll assume we plied you with prostitutes,' said Draco. 'That's probably the fastest way to get your attention—I assume that's the real reason you joined Pratt's.'

'Do I look like I care about discretion?' snapped Harry. 'No, I'd rather buy her dinner first.'

'Harry!' scolded Andromeda. 'There's no need to stoop to his level.'

'I suppose we just need to wait and see about Rita,' said Narcissa, ignoring them. 'Harry, can you stall her?'

'I'll just tell her we'd rather keep it quiet as long as possible, but that I'll consult her if necessary.'

'Did the trim on your robes change colour when you were Sorted into Slytherin?' asked Draco.

'I wasn't wearing robes.'

'Why ever not? I thought they were your new emblem, now that your scar is fading.'

'Draco,' said Narcissa through gritted teeth, 'it's time for your oath. Assuming you're willing.'

'Yes, Mother,' he said with mock obedience. 'Potter, would you make your ring visible so I can kiss it first?'

Harry's patience ran out. 'Malfoy, I'm taking a big risk for you! I don't expect gratitude but could you at least refrain from insulting me for ten minutes?'

To Harry's surprise, Draco appeared chastened. 'You're right, Potter. You are taking a risk for me, and I appreciate it.' He sat up and said, 'Mother, I'll take the oath now.'

Andromeda took a rune-etched bowl from the table and said, 'Harry, Narcissa asked me to oversee the oath, as a neutral party. Draco, please cut the tip of your left ring finger and squeeze a few drops of blood into the bowl.'

Draco performed a mild cutting curse using the hawthorn wand and allowed several drops of blood to fall into the bowl.

'Stand up,' Andromeda told him, rising from her seat. He stood, and so did Harry and Narcissa. 'Repeat after me: I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, hereby swear not to use any wand other than the one I now hold until July the eighteenth, two thousand.'

Draco recited the oath, and then Andromeda performed an incantation to seal it. _'Sanguis Potestas,'_ she said, and the blood glowed before being absorbed into the bowl.

Narcissa relaxed visibly. 'Draco, try using my wand,' she said, placing it on the table in front of him. He reached for it and the wand was repelled, as if by an opposing magnet.

'That's it, then,' he said. 'No Dark magic for Draco until next July.' Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from making a snide comment, but Draco saw his expression and added, 'It's not all curses, you know.'

'Really? Where could I possibly have got that impression?' asked Harry sarcastically.

'He's right,' said Andromeda. 'There's more to the Dark Arts than curses, but we needn't discuss that right now. Narcissa, do you need anything else from Harry?'

'No, thank you.' She rose from the sofa, clearly indicating it was time for Harry and Andromeda to leave. 'You've been extremely patient, and I'm grateful for your efforts to ensure a good outcome on Wednesday.'

They walked together towards the fireplace, but then Draco turned from his seat and called, 'Potter, when will you be here next?'

'Unless something else comes up, probably not until we go flying on Wednesday.'

Draco's expression changed, and he suddenly looked much younger. 'You were serious about that?'

'I said I'd come. And I'll enjoy seeing which broomstick you prefer.'

'What were you flying today?'

'The Silver Arrow,' said Harry, puzzled. But then he recalled the Omnioculars Nitta had worn. 'Did you watch the recording?'

'I did. I haven't seen live Quidditch in more than a year, you know.'

Harry paused, not wanting to provoke Draco again. 'What did you think?'

'Honestly?' began Draco. 'It was some of the best flying I've ever seen. You and Rees especially, but I've never seen the Cannons play that well.'

'Thanks,' said Harry, not quite looking at him. He sensed that Draco was making himself vulnerable, and he didn't want to ruin it by asserting dominance. 'It'll be fun flying with you on Wednesday—you were probably the best adversary I had at Hogwarts.'

'Not Diggory?' asked Draco. 'He's the one who beat you.'

'Honestly, no. He was the first to admit that he only won because of the Dementors.'

'Well, good luck against the Harpies. And I'm only saying that because I want Puddlemere to pull ahead for the cup.'

'Cheers,' said Harry. 'See you Wednesday, if not sooner.'

Before throwing Floo powder into the fireplace, Harry asked Andromeda if he could stop by and see Teddy, and she assented. They travelled to her house and were greeted by an exasperated-looking witch.

'How was he?' asked Andromeda nervously.

'Not as bad as last time, but bad enough. I don't know how you manage.'

'I've been through it once before. Where is he now?'

'Playing in the nursery, monkey-style.'

'Monkey-style?' asked Harry.

'Yes, he's discovered how useful a prehensile tail can be,' explained Andromeda, as they walked towards Teddy's room. 'He's much more nimble with it than with his own two legs.'

When they entered, Harry was relieved to see that aside from the tail, Teddy did not resemble a monkey. But he was hanging from a curtain rod, which seemed to have been reinforced for the purpose, and swinging delightedly. 'Is he safe like that?' Harry asked.

'Safer than walking, believe it or not. And you can see how much he enjoys it.' Andromeda left to pay the babysitter and then returned alone several minutes later. 'Your exchange with Draco at the end was ... extraordinary,' she said.

'It was.'

'Narcissa's worried about him, you know. House arrest hasn't been good for him. Better than Azkaban, certainly, but not good.'

'I can see that. That's why I'm doing this—he doesn't need another year to build up resentment.'

'Indeed no. I daresay he has a lifetime's worth already.'

'What else did Narcissa say?'

'I don't want to betray any confidences, but she says he's lost. And as much as she wants him to gain his freedom, she's not sure what he'll do with it.'

'I assume a job at the Ministry is out?'

'It is, and he doesn't need a job, even with the drop in their assets. He wants to rebuild the family fortune, but she's worried he'll be taken advantage of.'

'It's a valid concern. Do you think he'll start courting?'

'Perhaps, but I'm not convinced he's mature enough to settle down.'

'I know I'm not,' said Harry.

'You and Draco are similar in that respect. Your adolescence was shaped by the war—it made you older in some ways, but younger in others.'

Harry nodded and was silent for a moment. 'Narcissa accused me yesterday of trying to recruit Draco. Did she tell you about that?'

'Yes, she asked me the same question. I think it's hard for her to understand why you'd risk yourself without an ulterior motive.'

'Bloody Dark magic,' grumbled Harry. 'Can't she understand human decency?'

'She can, but she doesn't dare hope for it. And from her perspective, it's not the most logical explanation.'

'No, I suppose it wouldn't be. By the way, what did you mean when you said Dark magic isn't just curses?'

Andromeda began to reply, but suddenly Teddy started clamouring for her to carry him. She reached for him automatically but Harry interposed himself and took hold of the energetic toddler. He made a game of lifting him in the air and tossing him over alternate shoulders, and they continued playing until Teddy decided to amuse himself with the piano in the sitting room.

Andromeda cast a sound-isolating charm, which permitted them to keep an eye on Teddy without the cacophony. 'I was starting to tell you about Dark magic. It's similar to Light magic in the respect that it's driven by emotions, only they're negative. Obviously there's anger and hatred, which lend themselves to battle, as you've seen. But there are other negative emotions, like contempt and envy, and they can be rather compelling.'

'Envy is compelling?' asked Harry.

'Certainly, or else we wouldn't bother with it. For example, we tend to experience envy when we feel hurt about not having something we want. It happens to me sometimes when I see women my age with their husbands—envy is somehow more comforting than grief.'

Harry was nodding. 'Yes, I think I understand. I was hugely envious of Dudley growing up because he got everything I wanted. Not just toys, although I certainly wanted those, but also affection. But how would you use envy to perform magic?'

'Advanced magic usually requires strong concentration, and with the Dark Arts you harness the power of naturally-occurring emotions like envy to strengthen your magic. For example, when creating a charmed object, you'll be able to imbue it with far more magic if you generate strong envy first—or whichever negative emotion is most accessible at the moment.'

'Does this relate to what happened when I gave Draco back his wand?'

Andromeda's eyes widened momentarily. 'I hadn't thought of it that way, but you're right. When you imbued the wand with Light magic, you may have turned it into a sort of cursed artefact. Cursed with Light magic, that is.'

'And it destroyed his Dark Mark,' said Harry. 'My teacher Davina said I was lucky nothing worse happened.'

'She's right ... you gave him the Light equivalent of a cursed tiara!' She frowned for a moment then asked, 'When do you anticipate having time to meet with the other Blacks?'

'Sunday afternoons are probably the best. Could you arrange something? I'd be glad to host it, and I'm sure Kreacher would be overjoyed to have a houseful of us.'

She raised a single eyebrow, presumably at his use of the word 'us.' 'Do you still intend to change your name?' she asked.

He nodded. 'Yes—Harry Potter-Black, although yesterday another artefact omitted the "Potter."' He told her about the Marauder's Map and said, 'I should probably give it to Teddy when he starts at Hogwarts.'

'Don't tell me about it if you do,' she warned him.

'Did you know that my hair colour is a Black trait? Apparently the Potters were fair before Dorea Black married in.'

'No, I wasn't aware of that.' After another pause, she said, 'You really long for family, don't you?'

'Is it that obvious?'

'It's perfectly natural. And I have the same impulse, as you can see. Not just with Narcissa, but with you as well—not least because it's good for Teddy.'

'I'm sorry I don't see him more often,' he began, but she stopped him.

'You work six days a week—I realise it's not a typical job, but it's still time-consuming. And now you have politics, and Light magic, and any number of other things. And as much as I criticise your personal life, you certainly deserve to have one.'

He felt a release of tension when she said it. 'Thanks, that's good to hear. Last weekend Arthur Weasley accused me of going off the rails and said I needed an adult in my life. And I told him I had one,' he said, looking meaningfully at her. 'I may grumble, but I genuinely appreciate your criticism. I'd probably still be sending my Patronus to Malfoy Manor if it weren't for you.'

'I like to think you'd have caught on eventually. You're a Slytherin, after all.'

It was time for Harry to leave, so he said goodbye to Teddy and embraced Andromeda. After returning home, he composed a short letter to Kingsley, proposing they meet on Sunday or Monday to discuss Draco's early release. He knew he should have replied to more fan mail before his evening with Simon, but he was tired after his abridged night of sleep, so he lay down on the sofa.

Simon woke him a while later. 'Are you all right?' he asked.

'Yes—just a bit knackered. What are we doing tonight?'

'I'd thought to go to the V&A Museum, but perhaps you'd prefer something more relaxed—a film, perhaps, or just an evening's conversation.'

'Conversation sounds good,' said Harry, and he explained what was happening with his Light magic. 'We may need to restrict ourselves to wizarding settings until I get a handle on the glowing.'

Simon agreed, and they went to the dining room to eat what Kreacher had prepared. Harry noted yet again what a good teacher Simon was, since he was able to spontaneously deliver a fascinating lecture about both Muggle and magical topics.

Harry thanked him at the end of the evening. 'I can't tell you how much I enjoy these sessions. There's so much I never learnt in school, and filling in the gaps like this makes me feel a bit more normal.'

_Normal_, thought Harry, as he prepared for bed. _What a radical concept._


	79. Chapter 79

Harry was eating breakfast in the kitchen when Ron arrived. 'Are you ready for the Harpies?' asked Ron, emerging from the fireplace.

'You mean am I ready to be plunged among the Harpyheads and for Allie Hobbs to grind me to a powder, while Ginny blows kisses to Blaise Zabini?'

'Blaise Zabini! Is that her mysterious boyfriend?'

'Yeah, he was with her in Rome.'

'Blimey! No wonder she wouldn't say who it was!' said Ron. 'How are you doing?'

'Not bad. Yesterday I managed to channel my rage and heartbreak into feints, so at least I'm not bottling up my emotions.'

'Don't take this the wrong way, but you stopped bottling your emotions years ago.'

'I suppose that's true. Do you want breakfast?'

'Sounds good, thanks.'

'Kreacher,' called Harry.

_Crack! _'Yes, Master!' Kreacher appeared, and Ron immediately started coughing uncontrollably.

'Ron would like some breakfast, if you don't mind.'

'Of course, Master,' replied Kreacher, and he took Ron's order.

After he scurried to the cooker, Ron whispered, 'Why does he have a long red ponytail?'

'Aversion therapy. I want to be prepared for seeing Ginny flying around the stadium.'

'I get it, but is it really an improvement to associate red ponytails with Kreacher? That might be a bit unnerving. Also, Hermione will kill you if she hears about this.'

'I'm not going to tell her,' said Harry firmly. 'Problem solved.'

'You sound like Janet.'

'You're right, I do. Speaking of Janet, how are things going? Did you get revenge for the makeup prank?'

'I did, but it was of a private nature.' Harry feigned confusion, and Ron said, 'Privacy is what the rest of us have.'

'Really? How would that even work?' joked Harry.

Ron read the _Prophet_ while Harry replied to fan mail. 'I can't believe you stayed off the front page for an entire week. Janet said the team wager is on hold because nobody predicted you'd go this long.'

'True, but I'll be back on the cover tomorrow, when the Light magic article comes out.'

'Have you read it?'

'Yeah, Rita sent me a copy yesterday. I'd show it to you, but you'll mock me mercilessly.'

'Then I have to see it,' insisted Ron. 'Come on, it'll be good preparation for Hobbs.'

'Ugh, you're right—I'll go fetch it,' said Harry, heading towards the sitting room.

Ron laughed out loud when he saw the headline. '_Harry Potter's Got It, and You Can Get It,_' he quoted. 'Are you kidding me?'

'That's what she came up with. And yes, a small part of me is screaming inside, but I want to promote the Light Arts and she says this is the best way.'

'I reckon she's right. But you'll need to find a secretary a little less uptight than Mrs Thwip to schedule your encounters. Do you reckon Lockhart can recommend someone?'

'I doubt it, if he's still in St Mungo's.'

'Haven't you heard? He's out, and at least comparatively back to normal.'

Harry looked at Ron in outrage. 'He's out?! Why isn't he in Azkaban? He tried to Obliviate us!'

'He's currently under house arrest, but his barrister is arguing that his six years in St Mungo's should count as time served. And his Healers say he's shown remorse, so it looks like he'll be out soon.'

'Don't we get a say in the matter?!' sputtered Harry.

'Apparently not. The maximum sentence for illegal memory charms is five years, and he's already done that.'

'So that's it, then. He's getting away with it!' scowled Harry. 'Does he still keep his book earnings?'

'No, those went into a fund for his victims. And by the way, this is all DMLE confidential, so don't tell anyone I told you.'

'Great, so now we have an exonerated Gilderoy Lockhart running around, desperate to earn some Galleons. What do you bet he claims he killed the Basilisk?' grumbled Harry. 'Or maybe he'll go back to teaching Defence—I should owl Minerva and put in a good word. Strictly speaking, he was one of our better Defence professors, since he didn't literally try to kill me.'

Ron smirked and said, 'Are you sure you're not just upset you'll finally have competition?'

'Competition?! For what?'

'_Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, of course. I thought you were a shoo-in, but now all bets are off.'

'There's no way they'd choose him over me!' blurted Harry, before turning bright red. 'Oh, bugger. I really said that, didn't I?'

Ron was in hysterics, and when he calmed down he said, 'I have never been more tempted to blackmail you. But I have an alternative proposal.'

'What?' asked Harry suspiciously.

'Let me in on the condom scheme. George told me about it.'

'But you work for the Ministry!'

'So does Percy,' argued Ron.

'Not in law enforcement.'

'Aurors don't deal with bribery or illegal charms, unless there's Dark magic involved, which there won't be. But come on, this is my big chance!'

'Did you talk to Percy?'

'He says it's up to you and George, and George says it's up to you.'

'Obviously I don't mind. I just don't want you to lose your job.'

'I won't—not with Percy involved.'

'I hope you're right,' said Harry, and Ron began reading the article.

'_Your taut, Seeker's body?'_ he quoted sceptically. 'Don't tell me you let Rita have a look.'

'God no! Give me a little credit!'

'I'm sorry, that was unfair of me. She didn't require a look, since your robes leave nothing to the imagination.'

'Oi! You're as bad as Malfoy today!'

'Oh right, you saw him last Sunday. How did that go?'

Harry told Ron he'd agreed to advocate for Draco, and he even managed to convince him it was a good idea. 'We have plans to go flying together on Wednesday, believe it or not.'

'I've learnt to suspend my disbelief around you,' replied Ron. 'Will you invite him to your next party? I thought you warded the house against marked Death Eaters.'

'Er, that no longer describes him,' said Harry, and he told Ron what had happened with the wand.

Ron was astonished. 'You'd better hope Malfoy doesn't resent you for everything you're doing for him. Because he's perfectly capable of it.'

'I know, and I'm treading lightly. But I think he realises we're in the same boat, as far as war trauma is concerned.' Harry was reluctant to tell Ron about the curtain incident, so he left it at that.

'Maybe,' said Ron dubiously. 'But be careful.'

After finishing the article, Ron asked, 'Why didn't any Light wizards come help us during the war? Couldn't they have just turned up at the Battle of Hogwarts and snapped everyone's wand?'

'Yeah, that's crossed my mind as well, and I don't know. I'll ask Davina on Monday.' He was silent for a moment and added, 'But I have a sense of why it didn't happen that way. There are Dark wizards all over the world, and Light wizards can't spend all their time fighting them. Furthermore, a Light wizard mightn't just snap their wand—they might inadvertently kill the Dark wizard, and I can understand why they wouldn't want that.'

'But is it really worse to kill a Dark wizard than to allow dozens of regular wizards—or Muggles—to die?'

'No, probably not. But I don't think it works that way,' said Harry, and his hands were beginning to glow. 'Things fit together, and that includes who dies in battle.'

Ron was shaking his head. 'I don't buy it. Don't you wish a Light wizard had turned up at the Department of Mysteries and kept Sirius alive?'

'Of course I do, but that's not how it happened.'

'But it should have!' persisted Ron. 'Light wizards have a responsibility to save innocent lives.'

'And regular wizards don't?' asked Harry. 'I assume you read the Muggle newspaper every morning and look for problems you could fix with magic, right?'

Ron frowned. 'I can't, because of secrecy.'

'Really? There's no way you could Disillusion yourself and use charms to extinguish a burning building? Or go into a hospital and slip healing potions into a few people's porridge?' Ron was silent, and Harry said, 'I'm not trying to berate you—my point is that we all have our own paths. But who knows, maybe you'll learn Light magic and lead an elite Auror squad.'

'Do you reckon I could?' asked Ron. 'I know the article said so, but this is still you we're talking about.'

'I'm sure you could, although apparently it's not easy to get started. I just got lucky.'

'You paid your dues, mate.'

'So did you,' said Harry sincerely.

Kreacher kept walking past the table and swishing his ponytail provocatively. 'Harry, this is giving me the creeps,' whispered Ron. 'Can you make him stop?'

'Yeah, you're right,' said Harry quietly. 'Kreacher! Thank you for trying, but you can take off the ponytail.'

'Yes, Master,' chirruped Kreacher, who promptly removed it and handed it to Harry.

'Er, thanks,' said Harry uncomfortably. 'Ron, do you want it?'

'No, I'm good. Do you have any other strategies for today's match?'

'Light magic. I'm going to try restricting it to my hands, since my gloves mostly hide it. But during the final chase, if there is one, I'll let it rip.'

'So you might literally start glowing in a packed Harpyhouse?'

'That's right.'

Ron shook his head in amazement. 'Will it make you nervous to know all the Weasleys will be there?'

'Really? Even Charlie?'

'Yeah, he wants to see Ginny play. And you, of course.'

'Will they hold a banner?' asked Harry nervously.

'For Ginny. But I'm sure it won't say anything bad about you.'

'No, that's what all the rest of the banners are for. Speaking of which, help me decide which of our dead mates are in the stands.' Harry told him how he'd pretended Remus and Tonks were at his last match, disguised as sanctimonious Harry-haters.

'Fred, no question,' said Ron. 'He and George will cook up something big—I'm sure of it. But who did you invite? Shouldn't you have a new girlfriend by now?'

'I do, but she's in Ireland this weekend. We're not dating exclusively, though.'

'Does that mean you're off to Pratt's tonight?' smirked Ron.

'Didn't you read the article? I said no more prostitutes.'

'And that was the truth? Blimey, I'd have figured you'd need to blow off steam after learning about Ginny and Zabini. And besides, you need to take me there one of these days.'

'Make Percy take you, assuming the condom scheme pays off and he gets to join—which is apparently his life's ambition.'

'I don't know how he didn't get Sorted into Slytherin,' said Ron, shaking his head. 'Although we should be grateful he didn't, since he'd probably be in Azkaban by now.'

_Not all Slytherins turn Dark_, thought Harry defensively. 'Er, I have a confession. I was at Hogwarts the other night and I inadvertently got Sorted into Slytherin.'

'Inadvertently? Were you just standing there, minding your own business, and then the Hat dive-bombed you and shouted SLYTHERIN?'

Harry explained how the Hat had wanted to reevaluate him post-Horcrux. 'It didn't say I was a Slytherin, but rather that I belong there, whatever that means.'

'Of course you're a Slytherin—you're a Black,' said Ron wryly. 'The Hat probably talked it over in advance with your ring. But, it makes sense—the first time you were Sorted, you rejected Slytherin because you didn't want to go Dark. But now there's no risk of that. And face it: you're pretty bloody ambitious.'

'You mean because I want to drive the Knight Bus?' joked Harry. 'Ernie can't last forever, and my eyesight is far better than his.' Ron laughed, and Harry said, 'You're right—I am ambitious. I want to prevent the next war, and promote the Light Arts, and revisit goblin treaties, and make wizarding society less unequal, and protect Squibs ... Shall I go on?'

'You forgot to mention catching the Snitch this afternoon.'

'I mainly want to get out of there in one piece,' admitted Harry. 'But yeah, I also want to win.'

They passed the rest of the morning as usual until Harry left for the Cannons training grounds. 'Today's the day,' said Darren solemnly. 'The day you reveal your true power to the wizarding world.'

'His Light magic, you mean?' asked Gemma.

'Actually, I was referring to our plans after the match. But yeah, the Light magic too—why not?'

'What are your plans after the match?' asked Gemma.

Harry felt his cheeks turn red, and he muttered something about going out for drinks.

'Oh, are you on the pull again? That makes sense. Once you've gone public, you can just go to Penumbra and use your Light magic as a sort of bat signal to lure witches. Which is more efficient, really, assuming you want to save your energy for what's to follow.'

'Gemma, you're brilliant!' exclaimed Darren. 'Harry, can your Light Arts instructor teach you how to make shapes when you glow? You could have a lightning bolt, like your Cannons emblem!'

'Er, they're actually developing glowing merchandise for me. It'll be on sale next Saturday.'

'Because you weren't content merely to bury your teammates with your merchandise sales?' said Darren. 'You need to humiliate us on top of it?'

'What are you on about?' said Suresh. 'Lara says everyone's sales have increased. Apparently, for everyone who buys Harry's merchandise, there's someone who buys one of our items so they don't look like a conformist.'

'I had some merchandise sales,' announced Gemma proudly. 'Not a lot, since all I have so far is a player photograph. But still, it was more than nothing, like on my first pay statement.'

'Congratulations,' said Harry. 'Are they going to produce new merchandise now that you've caught the Snitch? And shouldn't they take a new team photograph?'

'Susanna said they only do that for starters. But she wants to get a picture of the two of us, since we're both Seekers. I think that'll happen next week.'

'You need a figurine,' declared Janet. 'I finally got one, and it's more popular than they expected, although I could have told you it'd be a big seller. Girl power, you know.'

'Like the Spice Girls,' declared Gemma. 'Only we're all Sporty—except for Harry, who's Posh.'

'Oi!'

'Snitchbottom, you're about to go to Harpies Stadium,' said Suresh. 'Now is not the time to be hypersensitive.'

The trainers led them through their pre-match warmup, and then Owen found Harry during lunch. 'How are you doing? Are you ready for the Harpies?'

'Yeah, I reckon so. Whether I'll win is another story, but at least I'm free to start glowing if necessary.'

'Do it,' said Owen. 'It'll make a brilliant finish, no matter what happens.'

They travelled by Floo to Harpies Stadium, and after changing into his team robes and being inspected for illegal charms, Harry practised the exercise Davina had taught him. His glowing was still hard to control, but it seemed to be getting more powerful and, if possible, more enjoyable.

'What's the weather out there?' he asked Owen, who had been outside.

'Overcast. Not the best spotting weather, since the light's very flat. But that's not your biggest problem.'

'Oh?'

'The banners ... they're brutal. Usually the crowd is split evenly at away matches, but the Harpyheads are as loyal as Cannons fans are, so the stands are probably three-quarters green,' he said, referring to the Harpies' team colour.

'Any new themes I should know about?'

'There's a lot about Ginny, and how she didn't want you.'

'Right,' said Harry nodding. 'I anticipated that.'

'Not much in the way of "Mothers Against Harry Potter," but there's a new word out there: "Manwhore."'

Harry inhaled sharply. 'Is that on a lot of banners?'

'Yes. I suspect there was a coordinated effort—Harpyheads are notoriously cutthroat.'

'And well-organised, apparently. What else? Anything war-related?'

'Yeah. A couple of banners saying you stole the credit and that Ginny and Hermione were the real heroes.'

'That's not far off, as far as Hermione is concerned,' said Harry uncertainly, 'but I hope I didn't steal the credit.'

'Of course you didn't steal the credit!' snapped Owen. 'Don't let them into your head like that!'

'You're right, sorry. Anything else? Nothing about the Dursleys, I hope.'

'No, that's apparently where the Harpyheads drew the line, but I can't speak for Hobbs. Otherwise it's just the usual taunts: Harry Toffer, Lord Blatch, and so forth. But be prepared to see "Manwhore" everywhere you look.'

Harry took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. 'Thanks for the warning.' The other starters began walking down the corridor leading to the stadium, and Harry said, 'Wish me luck.'

'Use the Force, Luke,' said Owen, causing Harry to laugh. 'You'll be fine.'

Harry was the last of the Cannons to be announced, and for the first time in his Quidditch career there were considerably more boos than cheers. He deliberately expanded into awareness before taking in the crowd, but even that wasn't enough to soften the blow.

'_Manwhore Go Home!'_ flashed a banner in angry green letters. _'She dumped you because you're disgusting!'_ said another. He also saw, _'The Manwhore Who Lived,' 'Hey Potter, you're rich and she still doesn't want you,'_ and _'Tough break, Manwhore—she'll never shag you again.'_

Some were at least light-hearted. _'Harpies Stadium Welcomes the Community Pelvis!'_ said one banner, and another said, _'Attention Potter's Witches: You Owe Ginny Weasley Your Thanks.'_ And he was shocked but amused by a sign depicting a long-tongued snake, with the legend, _'You may be a manwhore, but at least you're a gentleman.'_

One large banner featured an animated drawing of Harry shoving aside both Ginny and Hermione to collect his Order of Merlin medal. _That doesn't even make sense,_ he thought, since Hermione had won the award as well. And another alternated between two drawings of Harry, entitled 'With Ginny' and 'Without Ginny.' In the first drawing, he wore Auror robes and was using his wand to cast a dazzling Patronus, and in the second he wore flamboyantly fitted robes and had his arm around a simpering blonde, who was guzzling from a large flask labelled 'Veritaserum.' _I sincerely hope Lydia isn't in the stands,_ he thought. _Because she'd curse the living daylights out of whoever made that._

The rest were the usual assortment, just as Owen had described, only with numerous references to Allie Hobbs. _'Hobbs: 150 - Manwhore: 0,'_ said one sign. And _'Allie Hobbs earned her job as Seeker. Potter? Not so much.'_ Another sign actually accused him of buying his job as starting Seeker, which even he realised was absurd. _Haven't they noticed I've won six matches? _he wondered.

Finally there was a smattering of friendly signs in Cannons orange, with words of encouragement like _'We love you, Harry,'_ and _'Don't let the Harpyheads get you down!'_ And another, bordered in flowers and lightning bolts, said, _'World's Greatest Seeker.'_

He joined his teammates in the air, and although it was too loud to hear them, they all showed their support nonverbally. The Harpies flew one by one into the stadium, and there was an excited hush when Ginny's turn arrived. 'And now, in her Harpies debut, our third Chaser, wearing number twenty-seven, Ginny Weasley!'

Harry cheered enthusiastically, partly to distract himself from how overwhelmed and hurt he was by the hostile surroundings. The words 'manwhore' and 'disgusting' repeated in his mind, and he thought uncomfortably about his plans with Darren for after the match.

The balls were launched, and he commenced his circling with a fast burst of flying to clear his head. It worked—he felt not only Light magic but also the startling clarity he'd experienced on Friday, and he set a firm intention to notice the Snitch and not be rattled by his surroundings. Normally he hoped the Snitch would take its time before appearing, for the fans' sake, but this time he invited it to appear right away.

Sadly, the Snitch ignored his request, and Harry circled the stadium once more. He was already tempted to feint, but he needed to pace himself for what would probably be a long match. And predictably, Allie Hobbs came and greeted him.

'Welcome to the Harpyhouse, Potter. They certainly rolled out the red carpet for you!'

'Yes, I can see that. And how are you doing?'

'I'm doing brilliantly, cheers. We're tied with Montrose for first place, and I'm about to break your winning streak. And not only that, I get to spend the next few hours with the most envied wizard in all Great Britain! Although I doubt anyone will envy you this particular experience.'

'Are you kidding? I get to play Quidditch in front of thousands of people, at least a quarter of whom don't hate me. And I get to watch Ginny's debut, though I suppose I won't be able to see her very well.'

'No, she's seeing someone else now. I won't name names, but I can tell you she's deliriously happy. Just the other day she said, '"I never realised what I'd been missing."'

Harry tried to let the words roll off him, and in his expanded state he was mostly successful. 'I'm glad Ginny is happy, but I'd enjoy getting to know you, as long as we're flying together.'

'I thought you didn't bother asking witches about themselves until after you shagged them,' said Hobbs. 'Or is this how you kill the time between your neurosis-fuelled sex marathons?'

'Actually, I have a growing number of hobbies.'

'Yes, you're the head of a Noble and Most Ancient House! Do your Muggle relations know you're a lord?'

'Hermione mentioned it to them, but I told them wizarding lordships are rubbish, so it probably went in one ear and out the other.'

'Rubbish? I thought lordships were bollocks? Isn't that your catchphrase?'

'It is. but I think I said "rubbish" that afternoon.'

'Yes, I imagine Aunt Petunia doesn't condone rude language.'

'That's true. But you've brought the topic back round to me, and I wanted to hear about you. Which school did you attend?'

'Dunbridge, in Northumberland. And you?'

'Er, Hogwarts.'

'What? _The_ Hogwarts! Didn't Harry Potter go there?'

'Yes, and so did Ginny Weasley. And Gwenog Jones—have you met her?'

'Of course I have. She attends nearly all our matches—she's probably in the stands right now. But you mightn't be able to see her behind all the "Manwhore" banners.'

'Perhaps not,' shrugged Harry.

Hobbs was frowning. 'Is something wrong with you, Potter? All the other Seekers you've played said you knew how to taunt. But you're about as exciting as a dishrag this afternoon.'

'I gave up taunting a week and a half ago,' he replied. 'I didn't like how it was affecting me.'

'You can't play Quidditch without taunting,' she argued. 'Not Seeker, anyway.'

'I don't know what to tell you, but I don't taunt anymore. Not if I can help it, anyway.'

'Are you saying I can say every hideous insult I can think of, and you're not going to respond in kind?'

'I make no promises, but that's the idea. I should warn you, though, that one-sided taunting tends to fall flat.'

'I noticed that,' replied Hobbs. 'Which means I just have to be more creative.'

'Do you mean make up stuff, like Gilstrap does?'

'No, that's not my style. I know all's fair above the pitch, but there are limits.'

'Really? You're the first Seeker to mention my Muggle relations.'

'Why should that be out of bounds? Isn't the whole point to get under your opponent's skin?'

'I thought it was to catch the Snitch,' replied Harry, 'but perhaps I'm naïve.'

He wasn't rattled, but he decided it was time to clear his head, so he amplified his Light magic and plunged into a precipitous feint. Then he skimmed the pitch before charging upwards through the Harpies Chasers, which gave him his first up-close view of Ginny.

_I love that determined expression!_ he thought ecstatically. She was biting her lip, which caused her nose to scrunch up, and he recalled how he'd occasionally nipped it while she was studying for her N.E.W.T.s. She would swat him away, but he'd keep at it, and more often than not it led to a quick shag. He always pushed for a not-so-quick shag, but she insisted she needed to study, and he wasn't so swinish as to derail her completely.

_That's what I miss,_ he realised. _The playful little traditions. _With the possible exception of Lydia, he hadn't been with anyone long enough to develop patterns. But he and Ginny shared years of memories, and many months of romance, which provided a rich vocabulary for their interactions.

_Bugger, I'm feinting!_ he recalled suddenly. His Seeker instincts returned belatedly, and he found himself zooming nowhere. Fortunately no Bludgers were nearby, but he was mortified to have lost his focus that long during a match.

Hobbs found him and asked, 'Did someone get distracted? By a certain redhead, perhaps?'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' replied Harry primly.

'Oh, yes you do. Ginny's team merchandise has sold remarkably well, especially considering she wasn't a starter until today. I reckon they'll start selling charmed caps that turn the wearer's hair into a long red ponytail. Although I notice they haven't made similar caps for your hair.'

'No, and I hope they don't—I wouldn't wish my hair on anyone.'

'It's not your best feature. Honestly, I can't figure out why you're considered good-looking. I'll grant you, your eyes are nice, but otherwise you're not classically handsome. Although some men can pull it off, and apparently you're one of them.'

'This is the first time a rival Seeker has insulted my appearance,' he observed.

She laughed and said, 'Try being a female Seeker! I've had every flaw scrutinised, ad nauseam. Gilstrap actually showed my photograph to a bunch of Muggles and took copious notes about everything that was wrong with me.'

'Merlin, what an arsehole!'

'That's something we can agree on,' she said bitterly, and Harry recalled that the Magpies had beaten the Harpies several weeks prior. 'But Ginny's new sweetheart is definitely easy on the eyes.'

'I suppose he is,' grumbled Harry.

Hobbs's eyes lit up wickedly. 'So you know who it is?'

'Yes, I pieced it together a few days ago. I know Zabini from Hogwarts.'

Smirking, she said, 'He caught everyone's eye the first time he attended a match. Clearly he resembles that mother of his.'

'I've never met her,' replied Harry stiffly.

'It's a good thing you have that vow against proposing marriage, otherwise you might be her next victim.'

Harry didn't reply—he was distracted by seeing the word 'Manwhore' in his peripheral vision, and he also didn't enjoy hearing about Blaise and Ginny. He took advantage of the silence to expand into awareness, and a huge flood of Light magic surged through him. _Here it comes,_ he thought, and he wholeheartedly allowed himself to glow, but to his surprise nothing happened.

_I must have dropped my resistance_, he thought, recalling what Davina had advised. He almost felt disappointed he mightn't glow that afternoon, and he deliberately invited his hands to light up. _There they are_, he noted with relief, seeing the light through his gloves, and he decided it was time for another feint.

This time he aimed for Gary and Suresh, hoping to lure Hobbs into danger. He flew brilliantly, thanks to his powerful Light magic, but his rival emerged unscathed. 'At least you stayed awake this time, Toffer,' she said afterwards.

'Only Gemma can call me that,' he replied automatically.

'Really? Apparently nobody told the Harpyheads,' said Hobbs, gesturing towards the stands. 'But clearly "Manwhore" is more popular.'

'Nobody pays me.'

'No, of course not. But you're definitely cheap. And if you were a witch you'd be pilloried for it.'

'Do you lecture the other Seekers this way? I'm certain some of them are as promiscuous as I am—the only difference is I haven't any privacy.'

'No, you haven't, but that just makes my job more fun. And believe me, if I knew as much about the other Seekers as I know about you, I wouldn't hold back. Which, come to think of it, I've been doing. Here's a suggestion: I'll let you alone for a while, and then I'll give you my worst.'

'What choice do I have?'

'None, really,' she said breezily. 'See you later!'

She flew ahead, and Harry used his solitude to experiment with his Light magic, taking care to maintain his Seeker intensity. His hands were glowing continuously now, and he suspected some of the more observant spectators had noticed. _The secret's out_, he thought with satisfaction. All he needed to do was postpone the full display, if possible.

The banners were still overwhelming, but he tried to decide which one Fred and George were holding. _It has to be a charmed one_, thought Harry. _Fred was absolutely brilliant at Charms. _He was unsure, however, whether it would be primarily anti-Harry or pro-Ginny. In the first category, he identified a banner featuring a slithering Basilisk who kept bumping against a wall in frustration, and the accompanying text said, _'Potter, you can forget about her Chamber of Secrets.'_ In the second category, he chose the sign that showed Ginny flying with her wand extended, surrounded by orange-robed players with bats flapping from their nostrils.

Hobbs gave him a long time on his own, which he appreciated. But the Snitch didn't appear, and eventually she found him. 'Are you ready, Lord Black?'

'Really? Lord Black? That's so July.'

'I'm being retro,' she said. 'But I can really turn back the clock and call you "delusional." Or "attention-seeking," although I suppose that still applies. Or perhaps just "freak."'

'You're really stooping that low?'

'They were right,' she continued, ignoring his question. 'Not because you're magical, but because you're hopelessly abnormal. First you're a Parselmouth, then you're not. You survive not one but two Killing Curses, which is impressive but completely freakish. And then there's the prophecy, and I don't know the details, but normal people don't have prophecies about them. Only freaks do.'

'I'm sorry you're doing this,' he said sincerely. 'There's a reason I stopped taunting—it wasn't good for my mind.'

'Has it occurred to you that your mind is more fragile than other people's? Ginny said you have nightmares and wake up screaming about You-Know-Who.'

_Ginny told her teammates about that?_ he thought sadly. 'That's private,' he said, frowning.

'Like your first time with her? She said you lasted about fifteen seconds.'

_It was at least forty-five seconds_, he recalled. 'That was just the first time. We were back at it minutes later, and I quickly improved.'

'Yes, so I hear. Your tarts seem pleased anyway.'

'Only some of them are tarts,' he snapped. 'They're mostly lovely.'

'But what good is it?' asked Hobbs. 'You can fuck every witch in England, but you'll never have Ginny back.'

_And you're a raging bitch,_ he thought, keeping his mouth shut. His hands were still glowing, but he also felt fierce. 'This isn't worth it,' he said. 'You'll find out what I mean tomorrow.'

'What happens tomorrow?' she scoffed.

'Forget I said it. Carry on.'

She surveyed him and said, 'I reckon dating a redhead was the closest thing to having your mum back. Did you ever try suckling her? I've heard there are charms for that.'

'I've heard that taunt before. All the dead mum taunts, in fact—Owen Barrowmaker specialised in them.'

'Oh right, Barrowmaker! He was an awfully good sport about how you took his job.'

'I didn't take his job. His injuries prevented him from starting.'

'What about Rees then? She's as good a flyer as you are, only she earned it. After having her wand snapped during the war, all because you had your head up your arse! Ginny told me how lost you were, and that you'd never have succeeded without Granger.'

'She's right about Hermione, but I've always shared the credit.'

'Isn't it odd that Granger never fancied you? All I can guess is that she didn't grow up with all that Boy-Who-Lived bollocks like poor Ginny did. I reckon it was a rude awakening when Ginny discovered you weren't the Boy Who Lived, but just a colossal headcase. No wonder you fell apart when she dumped you.'

Harry decided he'd had enough, and so he avoided her for a while. _Can I glow everywhere but my face? _he wondered. _Or just glow slightly?_ The latter seemed more achievable, so he set the intention and allowed his magic to flow accordingly.

_Yes, that's working. My hands are less bright, but the overall sensation is stronger. I just need to keep my Seeker instincts alive. _Out of curiosity, he pulled back his sleeve and saw that he was glowing faintly, which suggested his face was the same. _The cat's definitely out of the bag_, he thought. _It's time to show the world that Light wizards can fly!_

The Cannons Chasers had the Quaffle, so Harry shot towards the Harpies rings in an apparent Plocking attempt. But instead of flying through one of the hoops, he turned sharply at the last moment, which caused confusion and allowed Darren to score. 'I can see you!' Darren shouted, and Harry acknowledged him with a cheeky grin.

_Now catch the bleeding Snitch_, he thought, resuming his circling pattern. But Hobbs found him and just stared for a moment. 'What the hell is going on?' she scowled. 'Don't tell me you have Glowpox.'

'It was never Glowpox,' he said exultantly. 'It's Light magic, and it's brilliant.'

'Light magic? Like the Patronus Charm?'

'Yes, but it's so much more than that. You'll read about it tomorrow.' He flew downwards, opting to work from a lower vantage point than before. Hobbs was a good spotter, and he knew it would just be a matter of luck who reached the Snitch first. _But it'll be perfect either way_, he thought blissfully, and his glow brightened.

They spotted the Snitch simultaneously, but Harry's choice to fly lower proved a mistake. Hobbs was closer, but Harry was undeterred, and he flew at top speed in case she made a mistake. He did every bodily tweak he could think of, and he completely uncorked his Light magic as well.

The final confrontation was closer than he expected, but Hobbs made the catch, prompting an explosion of high-pitched cheers. Harry was awash with bliss, not at all unhappy about the outcome, and he found his teammates. 'I love you!' he cried, throwing his arms around Renée.

'You realise we lost, right?' she asked, smirking.

'Yes! I'm a real Cannon now! That was brilliant!'

She laughed and said, 'Are you aware you're glowing like a beacon?'

'I know! It's public! I can glow whenever I want now!'

He and the other Cannons landed, allowing Hobbs and the Harpies to fly victory laps, and Harry enthusiastically embraced all his teammates. Darren hugged him back and said, 'So, when do we start celebrating?'

Harry's glow must have dimmed, because Darren frowned and said, 'Don't tell me you've changed your mind because of all the Manwhore rubbish!'

'I don't know,' he admitted. 'I'd rather play it by ear.'

'Fine,' said Darren suspiciously. 'But give me fair warning before cutting bait ... I don't want you pulling out at the last minute.'

'Said the actress to the bishop,' quipped Janet. 'And lighten up, Snitchbottom! You're free of Hobbs until next season!'

Harry literally brightened, and he realised he should congratulate Ginny. He looked for her on the pitch, and to his surprise she was kissing one of her teammates. _I suppose women are more demonstrative than men,_ he thought, until their kiss lengthened. With dawning realisation he remembered what she'd said about her trip to Rome. _'I went with my teammate Wendy and a friend. We had a great time,' _he recalled, and he almost cried with relief. _It's Wendy! Her secret love is another witch!_

His Light magic surged as he watched them, but he politely waited at a distance until they'd pulled apart. 'Ginny!' he called. 'Congratulations!'

'Harry! What on earth is going on with you?'

'It's Light magic,' he replied. 'You'll read all about it tomorrow. And don't worry when you see the byline—Rita Skeeter—because it's completely true.'

'Light magic? Like the Patronus Charm?' she asked, and he gave her a brief overview. 'Oh, Harry! That sounds wonderful—I'm so happy for you.'

'And I'm happy for you too,' he said sincerely, still glowing brightly. 'Is this Wendy?'

'Yes,' she replied, blushing. 'We've been together for a month now, but we couldn't keep it secret any longer, even though Molly will need a Calming Draught. Wendy, meet Harry.'

She extended her hand, and Harry had to restrain himself from throwing his arms around her. 'I can't tell you how glad I am you're not Blaise Zabini.'

'You thought I was dating Blaise?' exclaimed Ginny, laughing.

'Yes, and Hobbs didn't correct my mistake. Merlin, she was brutal!'

'And so were the Harpyheads,' scowled Wendy. 'I'm so sorry! I've never seen them gang up on a single player like that.'

'Welcome to my life,' replied Harry. Turning back towards Ginny, he quietly asked, 'Did you tell Hobbs about my nightmares?'

'What? No, of course not! Did she taunt you about them?'

'Yes, and also about the first time we had sex, and how long it lasted. Or didn't last, rather.'

'I'll admit I told her that,' said Ginny sheepishly, 'but it was after the _Sorceress_ article came out, and my point was that even you were underwhelming on your first try. But I never mentioned your nightmares.'

'Er, you told me about them,' admitted Wendy. 'At the pub, after a match. You probably thought we were alone, since we were at that corner table, but Allie was behind you.'

'Oh no! You're right! Harry, I'm so sorry ... I would never normally reveal something so personal.'

'That's all right,' he said warmly. 'But don't let me keep you—I'm sure the reporters want to talk to you.'

'No, they won't!' she laughed. 'Did you forget you're glowing?'

'Oh, bugger—you're right! I'm sorry to upstage you.'

'Story of my life,' she replied, kissing him on the cheek. 'Good luck with the upcoming news frenzy.'

Next, Harry made a point of congratulating Hobbs. 'That was a good catch,' he said. 'You spotted it the same moment I did.'

'High praise indeed!' she said, rolling her eyes. 'I was genuinely disappointed you didn't taunt me—I was hoping for a fugue state—but in the end you weren't boring.

She was dragged away by the other Harpies, and Harry rejoined his teammates. 'Owen, sorry I didn't catch the Snitch!'

'Don't worry about it,' said Owen. 'Your flying was great, and it was just bad luck that you were low and the Snitch was high. Although you got closer than I expected.'

'Did I teleport?' whispered Harry.

'No, I watched the recording. You were just really fast.'

'Do you know when people began to notice I was glowing?'

'Close observers probably saw it when it was just your hands,' said Owen. 'But I didn't overhear anything until your face started to glow, although it was more subtle than usual.' Harry explained how he'd deliberately modulated his Light magic, and Owen nodded in approval. 'I could see it in your flying—that Plocking fake-out was fantastic. And then everyone saw it when you raced for the Snitch.'

Tuttle approached Harry and said, 'It was a good, honest loss—nothing to be ashamed of. You didn't make any huge errors, except for that embarrassment of a feint at the beginning, and the end was just bad luck.'

'I might have won if I'd stayed close to her,' he admitted. 'But she was nearly as bad as Gilstrap and I needed a break.'

'You're not easy to rattle when you're glowing, so I'll trust your judgment. Now let's go talk to the reporters—something tells me they'll have a question or two.'

All of the Cannons—staff included—had been briefed on what they could reveal about Harry's Light magic before Rita's article was published, and their answers quickly became repetitive. 'You'll read the full story tomorrow, and Tuesday night I'll be on Weasley's Wizard Wireless,' Harry told them.

The reporters may have been disappointed, but the photographers weren't—he posed for numerous photos, with his teammates and even with Ginny. He was glowing in all of them, and he inwardly marvelled that he no longer had to hide it. _When can we go to the Spyglass?_ he wondered impatiently.

Invited guests flowed onto the pitch, and Harry found himself surrounded by Weasleys. 'Harry, those banners!' cried an indignant Molly. 'I scolded the witches behind us for insulting you like that! I told them you're an orphan and it's not your fault you never learnt moderation.'

'Er, thanks?' said Harry uncertainly.

'You're welcome, dear. But then when we realised what was happening, I gave them a stern lecture on how Light magic can affect a wizard. Arthur told me all about it when we were courting, after all.'

'Did he?' asked Harry, turning towards the Weasley patriarch.

Arthur looked sheepish and said, 'Not everyone glows, you know, and I thought maybe it was, er, the best explanation ...' He trailed off.

'Say no more,' replied Harry, trying not to laugh. He was rescued by Bill and Fleur, who exclaimed over his Light magic.

'At first I thought it was my imagination,' said Bill. 'I knew about Light magic, but I also know how rare it is, so I made a joke to Fleur about it: "Oh, look, Harry's glowing—maybe he's part Veela too."'

Fleur looked around to make sure no one was listening. 'That is not what you said,' she whispered. 'You said, "Look, Harry is glowing. Maybe he's pregnant too."'

'You're pregnant!' gasped Harry quietly. 'Congratulations, that's marvellous!'

'Yes, it is _merveilleux_,' said Fleur, 'but do not tell anyone—especially not _belle-mère _Weasley. She is always dropping hints, and I do not want to give her the satisfaction.'

Bill smiled indulgently and said, 'It's also early yet, so we don't want to make it public, and there's no way Mum could keep her mouth shut.'

'Understood. Did you enjoy the match?'

'I hated the horrible banners about you,' said Fleur. 'Bill had to explain to me what "manwhore" is, and I roll my eyes. Typical Anglo-Saxon puritanism.'

'The banners were vile,' said Bill, 'but I was impressed by how well you handled it. They didn't seem to rattle you at all.'

'That's not true,' admitted Harry. 'I've never flown in a stadium this hostile, and Allie Hobbs was merciless—I'm not sure I could have handled it without the Light magic.'

'Don't tell me you would have punched her!' exclaimed Bill.

'No, of course not. But I mightn't have spotted the Snitch the same time she did. Not that it mattered.'

'That was a tough break, but you have nothing to be ashamed of,' said Bill. 'Forget about the Harpies, and for Merlin's sake, enjoy your Light magic!'

'I will, trust me.' Keeping his voice low, Harry added, 'But there's something I've been meaning to tell you about ... you're familiar with Pratt's, right?'

'Of course—Ernest Prewett has hinted about nominating me for membership, but I keep putting him off. Why do you ask?'

'I went there, and Phineas Nigellus warded it.'

'Damn him! But what brought you to Pratt's?'

'Er, they invited me to join, and Percy and George persuaded me to accept.'

Bill's eyes widened. 'I gather they didn't know about your Light magic?'

'Not until this afternoon, same as you.'

'Blimey—they're probably having an emergency meeting as we speak! I don't think they'd kick you out, but they'll want reassurances you won't hurt anyone.'

'I've been experiencing accidental Light magic for nearly a month and it hasn't been a problem, even when Dark wizards attempted Legilimency on me. So they needn't worry I'll barge into the lounge and start snapping wands.'

'That would be exciting,' said Bill with a chuckle. 'But about the wards ... you'll need to bring it to the attention of the management, outside the club walls. And don't tell them you told me—I'm sure they want to keep this private.'

'Definitely,' said Harry. He spent a few more minutes asking Fleur how she was feeling before turning to his other guests. But Hermione assailed him mid-conversation with Neville.

'Those banners were horrible!' she cried. 'The Harpyheads should be ashamed of themselves, collectively.'

'It's just a game,' said Harry, who was more interested in calming Hermione than having her come to his defence.

'Lucinda was furious!' she continued. 'She actually started walking through the stadium and scolding people—the only reason I didn't join her is because I'm too recognisable.'

'I hope that didn't ruin the match for her!'

'Not at all—she said it had been ages since she'd had that much fun at a Quidditch match. Walter suggested she start "Mothers For Harry Potter," and I think she might do it.'

Darren tugged at Harry's sleeve. 'Snitchbottom, quit holding everyone up. We have a post-defeat ritual to attend to.'

'Oh right—my full initiation as a Cannon.' Harry excused himself and followed Darren to the locker room. 'Will I be at a disadvantage if I start the ritual on an empty stomach?' he asked.

'No, nothing like that. You'll see.'

Tuttle gave her post-match notes, which were ironically more positive than any of the notes she'd provided after a victory. 'Nothing against your old girlfriend, Potter, but she's not starter material. She probably will be a year from now, but there's a reason Chasers aren't normally promoted this fast.'

'That didn't keep them from winning,' remarked Janet dryly.

'Yes, but that's Quidditch scoring for you,' said Darren. 'Not that I'm bitter.'

After showering, Harry waited for his teammates to provide instructions. 'Where do we go for this ritual? The Spyglass?'

'No,' replied Gary. 'This is private, for Cannons only. It's at Chudley Stadium.'

'Am I dressed all right?' asked Harry, looking at his robes, which Lydia had helped him purchase.

'You're dressed perfectly,' declared Janet. 'As always.'

When all the players emerged from the locker rooms, Harry approached the fireplace but Ryan stopped him. 'We're Apparating.'

'To Chudley Stadium?'

'Yes, to Chudley Stadium,' insisted Ryan, taking Harry's hand.

Ryan turned on his heel, and seconds later Harry found himself on what looked like the stadium's front parapet. They stood before a bronze cannon, which was in a row with six others. Ryan pulled Harry to the side, and thirty seconds later Waldemar, one of the reserve Chasers, appeared in their original landing spot.

All fourteen players arrived, and Janet waved Gemma and Harry to an unmanned cannon next to hers. 'This is where you'll Apparate next time,' she instructed. 'Starters first, then reserves—to avoid collisions.'

Gemma and Harry looked at the cannon in fascination. 'How old is this thing?' she asked.

'Nobody knows for certain, but really bloody old,' replied Gary. 'The team dates back to the fifteenth century at least, although it's hard to know for certain because the old records were destroyed in a fire.'

'Not caused by a cannon,' said Ryan. 'I checked.'

Harry noticed that the other players were fetching cannonballs from a large wooden box. 'Are those actual Muggle cannonballs?'

'What are we, savages?' retorted Janet. 'No, they're charmed!'

'Charmed to do what?' asked Gemma tentatively.

'You'll see,' said Janet, suppressing a grin.

She led Harry and Gemma to the box. 'You'll want three cannonballs total,' she explained before showing them how to load the first ball. 'You first, Snitchbottom.'

Harry saw that the reserve players had stepped aside and that the starters had pulled out their wands, so he did the same. 'What's the incantation?' he asked.

'Typical Hogwarts,' said Suresh, rolling his eyes. 'At Binglingham we learnt charms for firing Muggle artillery in second year.' Harry looked at him in surprise, and Suresh added, 'Or maybe I just made that up.'

'It's _Cabumus_,' said Ryan. 'And you just aim your wand at the back of the cannon. But stand back.'

'On three!' ordered Gary. 'One, two, three!'

Harry performed the charm along with his teammates, and seven cannonballs blasted out simultaneously. They were aimed slightly upwards, and Harry wondered how far they would travel, but then they exploded mid-trajectory as if they'd collided with an invisible barrier. The resulting display looked like bright orange fireworks, which filled the sky even though it wasn't yet dark out.

'That barrier is the wards,' began Ryan, but he was interrupted by an enthusiastic Gemma.

'Fan-fucking-tastic!' she cried. 'Is it my turn now?'

'Just load the next ball,' said Ryan. Harry and Gemma readied their cannon, and he stepped out of the way.

When the reserves fired their cannons, the resulting display was still orange, but the light pattern was shaped like broomsticks, flying in all directions. 'That is unbelievably cool!' exclaimed Harry.

'Just you wait,' said Janet.

Harry and Gemma prepared their cannon for the final round, and Ryan said, 'Now you'll both perform the spell simultaneously.'

Gary counted down, and all fourteen players recited the incantation at once. This time, the explosion included the full colour spectrum, and the entire area within the wards was flooded with rainbow light.

Harry couldn't help glowing. 'It's so beautiful!' he said joyfully.

'Do you see why this is a tradition?' asked Renée.

Harry nodded, unable to find words. 'No wonder the Cannons used to lose so often,' said Gemma. 'It's almost worth losing, just to see this.'

Gary shook his head. 'No, that last one was brighter than I've ever seen. The first two are always the same, but the last one supposedly accumulates more magic the longer we go without a defeat. Mind you—it's always good—but I've never seen it like that.'

'How does that even work?' asked Harry. 'We used the same cannonballs for all three.'

Ryan said, 'Collaborative magic. Seven is a powerful number, after all. Rumour is the cannons won't fire if there are only six people, although I've never tested that. And there are charms on the cannons themselves, which interact differently with the cannonballs depending on whether it's the first, second, or third firing. Supposedly a fourth firing doesn't work either.'

'Why do we only fire the cannons after losing?' asked Gemma. 'Not that I'm complaining, mind you.'

'The explanation I heard was that, above all, Quidditch is supposed to be fun,' replied Gary. 'It's easy to celebrate winning, but losing can be hard, so the idea was to provide a silver lining. Or a bright orange lining, rather.'

'And you don't think this has anything to do with the Cannons' long history of losing?' she persisted.

'No, the Cannons were dominant during the nineteenth century,' said Renée. 'If anything, I think this tradition has helped the team, because it keeps us in good spirits. I suspect that's part of why the fans are so loyal, even though they don't know about it.'

'Oh, right,' said Gary. 'You mustn't tell anyone. My wife doesn't even know about it, and I tell her everything.'

Harry was astonished. 'Ryan, have you actually not told Hermione about a weird application of Charms?'

'I haven't, and it's killing me. But rules are rules.'

The players Apparated the short distance to the stadium fireplace in preparation for their trip to the Cracked Spyglass. Darren found Harry and asked, 'Are you with me, Snitchbottom?'

'Like I said, I'm going to play it by ear,' he replied. 'But I'm free to glow in public, and there are bound to be a lot of eager fans, so I'm not ruling anything out.'

Darren's mouth curved into a smile. 'That's all I ask,' he said, and they stepped one at a time into the green flames.


	80. Chapter 80

When the Cannons emerged at the Spyglass, the fans were already well-lubricated. 'Hey, Potter—it's dark in here!' shouted a wizard who was charmed orange. 'Can you give us a _Lumos_?'

Harry easily summoned his Light magic, and the fans went crazy when he started to glow. 'Bugger me!' cried the wizard, astonished.

'Sorry, I don't swing that way,' replied Harry, and loud laughter followed.

'I've seen more than my share of Cannons defeats,' declared an elderly wizard, 'but that was bloody brilliant. Are you going to do that from now on?'

'I don't know–I'm still in the accidental stage.'

'Then what in Merlin's name are you doing here?' asked another wizard with mock outrage. 'Shouldn't you be shagging your arse off somewhere?'

Their good-natured ribbing continued until Darren dragged Harry to a table. Harry was already halfway through a pint of beer someone had given him, and he was in a great mood. 'I must be a terrible Seeker for enjoying losing this much,' he grinned.

'No, you're a Cannon,' said Janet, who was sitting next to Ron. 'We lose with style.'

'Where were you?' asked Ron. 'Janet won't tell me.'

'I won't either,' said Harry. 'Team tradition.'

Ron scowled. 'After everything we've been through!' He turned to Janet and said, 'I thought I knew all his secrets, particularly since that _Sorceress_ article came out.'

'Then it's high time you established some boundaries,' she said. 'They're a necessary part of growing up.'

Autograph-seekers started crowding around Harry, but he put them off. 'You may want to wait for tomorrow's _Prophet_, since it'll have photographs of me glowing.' Most of them decided to wait, but more than the usual number of people asked to have their picture taken with him.

It might have grown tiresome if Harry hadn't been glowing, but he was on top of the world. He found it challenging, however, when some of the witches became handsy, since his inclination was to respond in kind. Two of them were particularly attractive, and they asked to take a picture in which they were simultaneously kissing him on the cheek.

'How can I refuse?' he said, brimming with affection. 'You're both terribly lovely.'

'Which of us do you prefer?' one of them asked.

'I couldn't possibly decide,' he said honestly. 'It's like trying to choose between the sun and the moon.'

'Which one am I?' she replied.

'You're the sun, because you make me feel warm all over.' Turning to the other, he said, 'And you're the moon, because I'd love to see you in my bedroom at night.'

Harry knew he sounded smarmy, but he didn't care. He'd been glowing on and off for nearly two hours, and even the slightest touch from a woman was overwhelming. They posed for a photo, taken by Darren, then Harry turned and started kissing one of them.

'It appears you prefer the moon,' remarked Darren.

'To start with,' said Harry during a break. 'But a man needs both.'

Darren looked at the other witch seductively. 'Are you willing to cast your rays on me for a while?' he asked.

She smiled and said, 'All right,' and Darren led them to an unoccupied booth. Harry allowed his partner to slide in first, and he started kissing her again.

'Does kissing feel different when you're glowing like that?'

'It feels amazing. I wish everyone could experience this.' After several more minutes of breathless snogging, he pulled away and said, 'Blimey, I don't even know your name.'

'It's Jocelyn,' she replied, her lips slightly swollen. 'And the sun over there is Maryann.'

'I'm Harry,' he murmured. 'And this is Darren. We play Quidditch.'

The women laughed, and Jocelyn said, 'I knew I recognised you from somewhere!'

'Perhaps not,' joked Harry. 'I'm told I have one of those faces.'

She ran a finger along his cheekbone, which was still glowing faintly. 'You're even better-looking in person,' she said admiringly.

'Am I? I'm sorry, I know that sounds egotistical, but Allie Hobbs said she couldn't figure out why anyone thinks I'm attractive, other than my eyes. And honestly I don't see it, so I assume it's only because I'm famous.'

'You're beyond famous—you're iconic,' she declared. 'I've heard about you my entire life, only for years there weren't any photographs, so we just had to imagine what you looked like. And then when you finally turned up, you were always trying to leave the frame. I think the first proper photograph I saw of you was during the Triwizard Tournament, and even though I was sixteen and you were too young, I remember thinking _"I can't wait until he's older."'_

Harry noticed she hadn't contradicted his assertion that fame was his biggest draw, but it was hard to care when a beautiful witch was looking at him as she was.

'I'm so glad you always wear robes now,' she continued. 'They're dead sexy, and so much classier than Muggle clothes.'

'I'll agree that baggy trousers and football jerseys aren't the best, but I haven't given up on Muggle clothes. In fact, I'll probably start wearing them more often, just to keep from becoming too predictable.'

'Snitchbottom, I don't think there's any risk you'll become predictable,' said Darren.

'Snitchbottom?' said both witches simultaneously.

'Oh dear, it's my team nickname. Long story.'

Maryann seemed impressed that Darren had an irreverent nickname for Harry. 'What was it like, finding out Harry Potter was joining the Cannons?'

'That _Prophet _article was the first I heard of it,' replied Darren. 'Same for Harry, of course, but we didn't know that at the time. I'll admit I was a bit miffed they'd picked a new Seeker without having trials, and we had no idea whether Harry was a decent flyer or what he was even like, since that was before he was on the radio. I'd heard he was standoffish, which made me nervous, but it turns out that wasn't true at all.'

'Is Darren your best mate on the team?' asked Maryann.

'I don't know—do I have a best mate on the team?' he asked Darren.

'Owen. But Janet and I are your partners in crime.'

'That's true. They took me to Penumbra right after I joined the team—I'd never even heard of it before.'

'Everyone's heard of it now,' said Jocelyn. 'But the rumour is you haven't been there in weeks.'

Aware of the irony, Harry said, 'No, I decided it was too tawdry.' He emphasised his point by kissing Jocelyn on the neck.

'Oh!' she gasped. 'Yes, please!'

'Not yet, I'm famished,' declared Darren. 'Harry just sits on his arse the entire match but I throw a Quaffle back and forth, and I need more than just crisps. Do you reckon Kreacher can make us something?'

'Of course,' replied Harry. He turned to the women and asked, 'What do you want to eat?'

The women exchanged glances, and Jocelyn said, 'Can't we go out? You're always being photographed in fancy restaurants.'

'If you insist,' said Darren obligingly. 'Harry, do you object?'

'Not at all. Do you have somewhere in mind?' he asked Jocelyn.

'Mistigri?'

'No, I'm not in the mood,' said Harry, not wanting to dilute his memories of Lydia and Helena. 'How about somewhere I haven't been, which is nearly everywhere else.'

They decided on a restaurant Harry and Darren had never heard of, but which the women assured them was lovely. Harry silently asked Kreacher to make a reservation, and several minutes later the elf confirmed that a table had been set aside for as long as they wanted it.

'Not too long, mind you,' said Darren. 'I'm hungry but I don't fancy a twelve-course dinner.'

'Of course not,' said Maryann. 'It'll be just right.'

The women excused themselves to change into evening clothes, prompting Harry to wonder if he was appropriately dressed. 'You look perfect,' said Jocelyn. 'But Darren might want to smarten up.'

They made plans to meet at the restaurant in half an hour, and Harry accompanied Darren to his flat. 'Am I mistaken,' asked Darren, 'or will this be your first time with a bona fide C-squared?'

'Yes, and probably my second time as well,' replied Harry. 'Although part of me is mortified by how sleazy this is.'

'What do you mean, sleazy? It's not as if you slipped out the back of the Spyglass with her, applied Cushioning Charms to the brick wall, and shagged her on the spot before going back inside for another pint.'

'That was oddly specific.'

'No, it's happened more than once. But my point is we're taking them to dinner—and somewhere expensive, by the sound of it.'

'And that doesn't bother you?' asked Harry. 'I'm not complaining, because they're gorgeous, and the way Jocelyn kisses suggests that she, too, is stuck in the oral phase of development. But I also felt like she only sees me as someone who's rich and famous.'

'Of course she does!' called Darren from his bedroom, where he was getting dressed. 'How else would she see you?'

'I don't know—maybe like how Alex sees me.'

'Isn't Alex just using you as an opportunity to sleep around before getting married?'

'Not entirely—there's definitely romance as well. And she's remarkably clever.'

'Yes, but you can't expect that from every witch,' argued Darren. 'And both of our new friends seem clever enough—especially Jaclyn.'

'Jocelyn,' corrected Harry. 'But Vera was clever too, and yet we hadn't a thing in common. My attempts at conversation fell completely flat.'

'Then I salute you for making the most of an awkward silence,' said Darren, emerging from his bedroom in robes.

'Is that a floral waistcoat?' asked Harry.

'Yes—Romilda made me buy it. It's the same as yours, only Thimble wouldn't sell me the same colours.'

Harry looked at his pocket watch. 'It's still twenty more minutes until we meet them. Should I ask Kreacher to send over a snack? There are probably leftover scones from this morning.'

They sat on Darren's sofa munching on scones, and Harry continued to fret about bringing home a couple of C-squareds. 'I don't know why it feels weird. I've certainly gone home with women I've only just met, but except for Vera none of them made me feel like prey.'

'I see we've found the problem,' said Darren. 'You don't like being served up as the main dish. You're more of a hunter.'

'Maybe that's it. Although come to think of it, Lydia hunted me.'

'Not the same. Yes, she's the one who pursued you, but there was still conquest involved. You asserted dominance over the entire class of wizards who tried to crush you.'

'You're right, I did.' Smiling, he added, 'I can't even describe what it was like, telling her father I wouldn't marry her even though he tried to bribe me, and then plowing in right afterwards. Now that was a conquest!'

'Why can't you see Jocelyn that way? Don't you think you earned it?'

'Maybe cumulatively, but not in the moment. And with her I suspect it's mostly just a combination of "Boy Who Lived" and "Lord Black," neither of which is me.'

'Harry, you're not giving yourself enough credit. Those credentials would have got stale already if you didn't back them up with something.'

'_Sorceress,_ you mean?'

'Yes, and league Seeker, and Britain's most popular radio personality. And I'm deliberately leaving out the Voldemort stuff—not because you didn't earn it, but because it's related to the Boy Who Lived.'

'The radio is also the Boy Who Lived,' argued Harry.

'Nobody would listen if you were boring. You'd just be a sad tosser trying to hang on to celebrity, like an ageing child actor. But getting back to your problem, I think you're too efficient. You've somehow applied the principles of mass production to the traditionally bespoke task of pulling.'

'Haven't you as well?'

'Yes, but comparatively speaking, I'm a cottage industry and you're Henry bloody Ford.'

Harry sighed. 'What about tonight, then? I don't fancy feeling like a product off an assembly line.'

'Are you a Light wizard or not?' cried Darren. 'Get out of your sodding head and return to the present moment! Two beautiful witches are currently making themselves even more gorgeous for the express purpose of getting into your enormous bed. So quit whinging and show me some glow!'

Chuckling, Harry allowed himself to glow until it was time to meet their dates, and his doubts largely vanished. _Darren is right_, he thought. _I'm a sodding Light wizard who's just gone public, and I'm free to act like one._

He dimmed his glow, and they travelled by Floo to the restaurant. 'It's awfully dark in here,' he whispered to Darren. 'Not Penumbra dark, but I'm still likely to blind everyone.'

'I thought you said you can modulate it now. Perhaps you can aim for candlelight, and maybe a more yellowish cast. Your current hue is a bit bluish, which mightn't be flattering in a dark restaurant.'

The host greeted them enthusiastically, and while they waited they perused the menu. 'Excuse me,' said Harry. 'There aren't any prices listed.'

'Oh, I beg your pardon,' replied the host. 'I gave you the witches' menu, which omits the prices. Here's the wizards' menu,' he said, handing it to them.

Darren's jaw dropped when he saw how much everything cost. 'Maryann had better know what she's doing, because I could probably pay for a trip to France with my half of the bill.' Harry offered to cover more than half, but Darren refused. 'No, I got you into this—I won't be a freeloader on top of everything else. But we should both order the chicken.'

The women finally arrived, and Harry inhaled sharply when he saw them. On the one hand, he was nearly overcome by desire and proud that they fancied him. But on the other hand, their dresses left little to the imagination, and he was certain they'd be described in detail in Sunday's gossip column. _Or photographed_, he thought with mild alarm.

But his anxiety vanished when Jocelyn leaned in to kiss him. 'Sorry to keep you waiting,' she said. 'We had trouble deciding what to wear. Is this too revealing? I know Muggle film actresses dress like this, but is it too much for a wizarding setting?'

'Nobody could possibly describe that dress as "too much,"' he said. 'Particularly the neckline. But you look absolutely stunning, and the only problem is that I'll be staring so hard that I might have trouble getting my fork into my mouth.'

The host led them to their booth, which to Harry's relief was relatively secluded, but every head turned as they passed. Harry noted with amusement that wizards looked first at Maryann's legs, since her dress had a short skirt, and then at Jocelyn's cleavage. But when they saw Harry, several wizards tightened with alarm.

One couple left in a hurry, but another wizard stayed put and signalled for the host. Harry suspected what the problem was, and he was proven right when the host returned to their table. 'Mr Potter,' he said. 'I apologise for the interruption, but several of our guests are concerned for their safety. May I offer them reassurances?'

'Yes. Just tell them not to curse anyone in my presence, but otherwise there's no danger. I've been experiencing accidental Light magic for a month, and I haven't hurt anyone, including numerous Dark wizards I've interacted with.'

'Thank you, sir. I was unfamiliar with Light magic until this afternoon, so this is all very educational. I'll tell them there's nothing to worry about.'

The witches were studying their menus, and they seemed delighted by the options. 'Everything looks so good!' exclaimed Maryann. 'But I can't decide whether to have something I'm familiar with, like prawn cocktail, or to try things I've only heard of, like caviar.'

'I say play it safe,' advised Darren. 'You don't want an upset stomach to spoil your evening.'

'That's true. But perhaps we could order some caviar for the table, so everyone can try some. Although I'm sure Harry is used to it.'

Harry was about to protest, but then he remembered Lydia had served caviar that night at her flat. 'I've only had it once, but it was good,' he admitted, and he tried not to wince when Darren kicked him under the table.

They agreed on several starters, including the brutally-priced caviar, and everyone discussed the main course. 'The chicken looks fantastic,' said Darren. 'Harry, what do you think?'

The chicken was not, in fact, Harry's first choice, but he felt he owed Darren after the caviar, so he said, 'That does look good. I'll have it as well.'

'I've never had lobster,' said Jocelyn. 'And the menu says it was imported just this afternoon from North America!'

'But what about the veal medallions with foie gras?' replied Maryann. 'Those also look lovely!'

Darren had gone pale, and his attempts to speak didn't seem to work, but Harry came to the rescue. 'I've heard that foie gras production is extremely cruel,' he said, recalling a lecture from Hermione. 'And veal as well—apparently they separate the calves from their mothers and raise them in a tiny pen before slaughtering them.'

'I could never eat that!' insisted Maryann. 'I guess I'll have the truffled rack of lamb instead.'

'What about wine?' asked Jocelyn. 'I could fancy champagne, and I'll bet they have some good elf-made varieties.'

Darren sprang into action. 'Actually, I have a friend who works for a wine importer, and he says Prosecco is every bit as good as champagne, or even better. Apparently waiters can spot a connoisseur right away if they bypass the elf-made wines and order Prosecco instead. Or, if you prefer red wine, a nice Rioja.'

'I've heard that too,' lied Harry, and the women appeared to buy it.

The waiter didn't smirk when they placed their order, and Harry suspected he was accustomed to gross disparities depending on who had the menu with the prices. Darren appeared to relax, and his occasional involuntary utterances suggested Maryann was massaging him under the table. _Hopefully just his leg,_ thought Harry, but he decided to cast it from his mind and focus on Jocelyn.

'Have you always been a Cannons fan?' he asked.

'Not as such,' she admitted. 'I grew up supporting the Catapults, and my parents are still huge fans, but I find I'm more interested in the individual players' personalities rather than who wins or loses. You're all tremendous athletes, and winning is often just a matter of luck—no offence.'

'None taken, especially today,' replied Harry. 'Did you attend the match?'

'No, I heard it on the radio.'

'Forgive me for asking, but what did they say when I started glowing? Did they know it was Light magic? And when did they first spot it?'

'At first all they said about you was that the banners were particularly vicious, and that you appeared distracted during your first feint because of your ex-girlfriend.'

'They were right—I was distracted, and Hobbs didn't help.'

'Yes, they talked about her as well. One of the announcers was primarily observing the Seekers, and he had trouble deciding which of you was dominating the conversation. He could see that Hobbs was on the attack, but that you looked very relaxed and weren't sneering as usual.'

Harry was appalled. 'I usually sneer?'

'Not today, nor last week against Ballycastle, but normally yes. They said you finally looked like the Harry Potter who's on the radio and not a colossal snob.'

'I guess that's good news, but I'm mortified to find out I looked like such an arrogant prat up there.'

'Don't worry—no one thought any less of you. I think it just adds to your mystique. Aloof, you know.' In a lower voice, she added, 'That's why it's so exciting being right next to you. It's like being admitted to the inner circle.'

Various parts of Harry's mind were screaming in protest, but his body and ego conspired to enjoy her praise. 'Technically speaking, you're the one with the inner circle,' he murmured.

'I suppose I am,' she replied. 'And you'll definitely be admitted.'

He couldn't resist kissing her, even though they were in public. _Light magic,_ he told himself. _People will be disappointed if I don't misbehave at least a little._

Their Prosecco arrived, and Darren made a show of appreciating it. 'It's much less cloying than champagne, don't you think?'

The women seemed to like it, but they were disappointed when they saw how small the serving of caviar was. 'That's hardly one spoonful per person,' observed Maryann, and she took the liberty of asking the waiter to bring another.

Darren dropped his head into his palm, but he quickly recovered and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it. 'I'm certain it will be delightful,' he said almost giddily. 'But let's not order any more—I'd hate to spoil my appetite.'

Two orders of caviar proved to be enough, and Jocelyn resumed telling Harry what the announcers had said during the match. 'The one watching the Seekers insisted something was going on with your hands, and they thought it was odd you were still reacting to the Glowpox vaccine. But then someone told them about Light magic, which I'd never heard of—besides the Patronus Charm—and there was a debate about whether you were experiencing it. Still, it was only speculation until your face started glowing as well, and after that they barely covered the match. Apparently the Cannons publicity department had prepared a press release, which they provided to the announcers.'

'Did anyone mention the libido side effect?' asked Darren.

'Not at first, because it wasn't in the press release, but someone told the announcers, and then it was all they could talk about. Honestly, I feel sorry for anyone who was trying to follow the match—they'd talk for five minutes straight about Harry's sex life, and then one of the announcers would say, "Cannons score, pulling ahead 110-70.'

'They didn't even say who did it?' cried Darren indignantly. 'That figures, considering I outscored Ryan for once.'

Conversation continued, but the women mainly seemed interested in Harry, and even their questions for Darren were about him. 'What are his parties like?' asked Maryann. 'I heard the guest rooms are out of this world.'

'They are,' replied Darren. 'But I assume tonight you want to experience his enormous bed.'

She did, and there was saucy conversation about how their evening might proceed. 'My house-elf makes excellent puddings,' said Harry. 'Perhaps we could skip the final course and eat something later at home.'

'That's a great suggestion!' said Darren, a little too enthusiastically. 'We could eat it in bed.'

The women loved the idea, and Harry's relief on Darren's behalf caused him to start glowing. Everyone else in the restaurant turned to look at him, including the wizard who had asked for assurances he'd be safe. _I love you__,_ thought Harry, smiling. _You all deserve to experience this._

Many of the other patrons smiled back at him, but several scowled and conspicuously shaded their eyes. 'Methinks not everyone appreciates your new trick,' observed Darren.

'I'm not surprised,' replied Harry. 'They're probably Dark Arts practitioners.'

'But why do they even bother with the Dark Arts, if Light magic is superior?' asked Jocelyn.

'Light magic is harder to learn,' replied Darren. 'But from what I can tell, it's worth the effort.'

'Oh god, yes,' said Harry breathlessly, and he kissed Jocelyn for good measure. His hands began to roam and he was kissing her neck again when the waiter arrived with their meals.

'That was good timing,' said Darren. 'The other customers were starting to glare.'

'Not that couple over there,' said Maryann. 'The husband moved his chair so he'd have a better view, and he put his arm around his wife.'

'No one is going to be interested in the Dark Arts now,' declared Jocelyn as she adjusted the top of her dress. 'Clearly the Light Arts are where it's at.'

'That's one of Harry's goals in going public,' said Darren. 'He wants to prevent the next war.'

The two witches nearly swooned. 'Oh, Harry!' gasped Maryann. 'That's so noble! Just imagine how many lives you're saving!'

But Harry's glow dimmed as they ate, and he realised he was uncomfortable with how much Jocelyn and Maryann were fawning over him. It had been nice for a little while, particularly after all the abuse he'd taken from Allie Hobbs and the Harpyheads, but he also felt invisible. _Which is ironic_, he realised, _considering how starstruck they are._

He said as much to Darren when the two women went to the loo. 'Doesn't it bother you that they're only interested because you're a league Chaser?' he asked. 'It's so shallow.'

'News flash, Snitchbottom: You're shallow too. There were plenty of women at the Spyglass trying to catch your eye, but you picked the two that were the hottest.'

'Bugger, you're right! I'm as bad as they are.'

'You're not bad—you're human. My Muggle cousin was telling me about evolution, and she said we're biologically compelled to seek partners that would produce the healthiest offspring. As men, we're drawn to women with symmetrical features and bodies that are likely to survive childbirth and provide adequate milk.'

Harry considered this for a moment. 'In other words, pretty faces, hips, and breasts?'

'Exactly. And women are drawn to men who are physically fit and high-status. And you personally get bonus points for being sensitive and nurturing, since that means you're more likely to stick around and help raise the sprogs instead of just making a deposit and scarpering. I hate to say it, but being visibly heartbroken over Ginny probably made you even more fuckable.'

'How is this supposed to cheer me up?' asked Harry. 'Clearly we're all despicably shallow, which is seriously depressing.'

'It's not depressing, it's freeing! Why do you think I kept Romilda around for so long?'

'Because she used Compulsion Charms?'

'No, I checked. The answer is because I accepted that evolution was calling the shots. Say what you will about Romilda, but her body absolutely screams "healthy offspring." Which on its own would have been terrifying, but thanks to Contraception Charms there was no need to worry. So I could allow my caveman instincts to have their fill, and my higher sensibilities couldn't complain because they understood why I was doing it.'

'That has to be the all-time biggest rationalisation I've ever heard,' said Harry. 'Are you recommending I do the same?'

'Not at all. You can send our two new friends packing tomorrow morning—I'm certain they don't expect anything long-term, thanks to your delightful vow. You'll be free to see Alex again after the weekend, but in the meantime you'll have satisfied your evolutionary drive to pass along your genetic material. Again, figuratively.'

'I suppose you're right. The fact is I do want to take them home and "pass along my genetic material." And yes, they mightn't ever see past the Boy Who Lived and Lord Black, but Alex does, and I'll see her again on Tuesday. And besides, she told me to see other people.'

Darren looked relieved. 'Does this mean I've talked you off the ledge?'

'You have done,' said Harry, finishing his glass of wine. 'Are you sure I can't cover more than half the bill?'

'Yes. It's my job to know about the most expensive wizarding restaurants and cleverly steer witches away from them, but I was completely blindsided.'

'I once took Lydia to a chip shop. The night after I deflowered her, in fact.'

Darren nodded approvingly. 'You really deserve another Order of Merlin for that.'

The women returned and playfully switched seats, which meant Harry was next to Maryann. She looked longingly at him and said, 'Jocelyn and I decided we'd rather trade back and forth. Otherwise it's just two partners in a row, which doesn't make the most of the opportunity.'

Harry experienced a sudden decline in his verbal skills, so he responded nonverbally instead, both above the table and below. 'We just need the bill,' he finally said. 'Oh god, where is it?'

The waiter arrived and astutely refrained from suggesting dessert. _They probably want us to leave anyway,_ thought Harry. 'Just the bill,' he said between kisses. 'My friend Darren and I will split it evenly.'

Neither of them had enough Galleons at hand to pay with coins, so they both authorised the transfer from their vaults. 'There goes my pay cheque,' joked Darren as Jocelyn nibbled on his ear. 'Easy come, easy go.'

'Was dinner that expensive?' asked Maryann, concerned.

'Ruinously,' said Harry casually. 'But it was worth it. Only we really should go,' he added, nudging her.

'Do you think there are photographers outside?' she asked.

'Probably, but we can avoid them and Floo directly to my house. I just need to go first and add you to the wards.'

Darren shook his head. 'Snitchbottom, you have to be photographed tonight, if our lovely companions are willing. Don't you want to stop the next war?'

The witches both nodded insistently, and Harry sighed in capitulation. 'I suppose I should glow as well?'

'Naturally,' said Darren. 'Come on, let's have it.'

Harry closed his eyes and invited his Light magic to arise gently, in order not to blind everyone in the restaurant. But Maryann simultaneously squeezed his thigh and blew on his neck, and Light magic tore through him.

'I was trying to modulate it!' he laughed as they exited their booth. 'I'm so sorry,' he said to the other customers as they walked towards the exit. Nearly everyone was shading their eyes, and several people were scowling, but others smiled or even gave him a thumbs up.

They walked outside and were greeted by a small crowd of reporters and photographers. All four of them posed together, and Harry did his best to dodge questions. 'Read the article in tomorrow's _Prophet_,' he told them repeatedly.

'Will you at least confirm that Light magic is affecting your libido?' asked a reporter.

'What do you think?' he replied, prompting laughter. 'Yes, I'm apparently a textbook example, and it's bloody brilliant. Voldemort had no idea what he was missing.'

The women declined to provide their names, and they went back inside and travelled by Floo to Grimmauld Place. 'Oh, it's so shabby!' exclaimed Maryann, disappointed. 'The photographs in that shop window made it look more posh.'

'I prefer the shabbiness,' said Harry, 'but I can spruce it up if you like. Attach wallpaper!'

The women were impressed, and Harry switched to the peacock feather wallpaper before leading them into the entrance hall. Padfoot was lounging on a vast dog bed with the spaniel, the beribboned lapdog, and the Hippogriff, and Darren showed the women how to throw in treats. They were predictably delighted, and the next stop was the drawing room.

'Harry James Black,' recited Jocelyn reverently. 'My mum is obsessed with the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and now you're one of them.'

'No, I'm not. My surname is Potter, and my mother was Muggle-born.'

She shook her head. 'My mum says the only reason the Potters weren't Sacred Twenty-Eight, or Twenty-Nine, rather, is because it's a common Muggle surname. But otherwise your father's family was just as old and pure as the others.'

'Like the Gaunts? I certainly hope not! And besides, the Potters were middle-class blood traitors.'

'You don't look middle-class to me,' she purred. 'Can I see the ring?'

'No, it's ghastly.'

'Come on, Snitchbottom,' said Darren. 'You have to show it to them! And besides, it's not as if they won't see the rest of you.'

'The ring's not me—it's a hideous barnacle that's attached to me. The answer is no.'

A heated negotiation followed, and the witches won by revealing previously hidden parts of themselves. By then, Harry was glowing again, so he was no longer cross about having to show them the ring. 'Now do you believe me?' he asked, once it was visible.

'Oh my god, it's enormous!' laughed Maryann.

'It is tacky,' said Jocelyn, 'but so are the Muggle Crown Jewels, if you think about it. Won't you keep it visible, just for tonight? I want to feel it on me.'

'Do you have a Dark Wizard fetish?' asked Harry. 'Because if you do, I'm definitely not your man.'

'Of course not,' she said, guiding his ringed hand onto one of the previously covered parts of her anatomy. 'But oh ... it feels lovely! Let Maryann try.'

Harry obliged her, and Maryann agreed with her friend. 'Can we go to your bedroom now?' she murmured.

Darren needed no further prompting, and he bounded up the stairs two at a time. He was already removing his robes when Jocelyn announced she wanted to see Harry's wardrobe. 'Can't it wait?' asked Harry impatiently.

'It'll only take a minute,' she pleaded.

'No, it won't,' said Darren. 'Remember whose wardrobe we're talking about.'

The women got the hint, and from then on the evening met everyone's highest expectations. Harry put a stack of records on the player, and Darren, who clearly had experience with four in a bed, cast charms for maintaining just the right amount of privacy. Harry initially found it jarring to see the Black family ring on his hand, but otherwise he had few complaints about the experience.

When they were ready for a break, he sent for the pudding Kreacher had prepared, which they ate in bed. Like Romilda, the women were disappointed the trays weren't silver, but they loved the flowers and made the most of them afterwards.

'Harry, I don't care what you say,' announced Maryann, wearing a makeshift wreath. 'You're a wizarding lord, and I feel like a proper aristocrat right now.'

'A proper courtesan, more like,' said Darren, earning himself a hard whack with a bouquet. 'A high-born courtesan,' he clarified. 'The type who's the illegitimate daughter of a duke.'

'Lordships are bollocks,' groaned Harry, stretching. 'How many times do I need to repeat that?'

'More, apparently,' said Darren. 'Clearly no one got the message.'

'You have to admit, the Light Lord is a fantastic nickname,' said Jocelyn. 'And it's especially good considering you're the Boy Who Lived.'

'Could you please not refer to me as a "boy" when we're naked in bed together?'

'Snitchbottom really knows how to whinge,' observed Darren. 'You must have been an absolute delight during those months in the tent.'

'What will it take to get everyone to stop talking?' asked Harry in exasperation.

'I have an idea,' said Darren, earning another whack from Maryann.

Harry, however, agreed with Darren, and conversation largely stopped. Much later, Harry awoke at the edge of the bed, and he saw that Darren, Maryann, and Jocelyn were dozing in a tangle, several feet away. _Only I could manage to feel alone in a bed with three other people_, he thought glumly.

He'd had a tremendous time, and his body still tingled from the experience. But he felt empty as well, and his Light magic was somehow inaccessible. _I'm definitely a manwhore. Even if I hadn't promised not to marry until I'm twenty-one, what normal witch would want me? _

_Ginny knew me better than anyone, and she dumped me. Scratch that—Hermione knows me better than anyone, and she wasn't even interested. Not that I was either, but still. _He knew that Helena had genuinely cared for him, but he found it hard to believe she was so noble as to break up with him simply because they were too young. _Clearly she saw the writing on the wall,_ he thought sadly. _She decided it was better to dump me before we were in too deep._

Admittedly Lydia had fallen for him, but the Harry she loved had only been a fantasy. _For Merlin's sake, she thought I could go to a magical brothel and not be tempted. How unrealistic can you get?_

He found himself wishing Alex didn't have a fiancé. Or, better yet, perhaps Owen would relent about Fiona. _But why would he? _Sunday's gossip column would confirm just how debauched he was, and that he was unworthy to date the grieving young widow.

_Which leaves only C-squareds, _thought Harry resignedly. Jocelyn and Maryann were beautiful and a lot of fun, but they were clearly more enamoured of his public persona than they were of Harry himself. _They wouldn't give me the time of day if I weren't a Seeker, and if Neville had been the Boy Who Lived. I'd just be a short, middle-class half-blood with untidy hair. And Merlin help me if I'd been poor._

Harry felt bad for thinking ill of them, since they weren't actually snobs, as far he could tell. But they clearly fancied him because of how he made them feel about themselves. '_That's why it's so exciting being right next to you_,' Jocelyn had said. '_It's like being admitted to the inner circle_.'

With a sigh, he acknowledged they were all driven by unconscious needs. He was programmed by nature to be attracted to beautiful, sexy women, and they also satisfied the part of him who still smarted from years of scorn. And now Light magic was wreaking havoc with his behaviour—on the one hand it was delightful, but on the other hand he disliked the lack of control.

He tried falling back asleep but was unable to. _It's just as well_, he thought dispiritedly. _The last thing I want is to have a nightmare with so many witnesses. _But he was tired, so he eventually left a note on the nightstand and made his way to Regulus's old room. _ I may as well get accustomed to the Slytherin hangings, since that's my new house._

Hours later he awoke to a tapping on the window, and to his dismay he saw the Malfoys' post bird—a pale grey Northern Harrier, with black-tipped wings. _Here we go_, he thought, opening the window to collect the letter. It was brief, and Narcissa's writing was less even than usual:

_I told you to avoid causing a scandal! Come to the Manor at once to discuss how you'll fix this._

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. _Shouldn't I at least shower first?_ he thought irritably, and he was tempted not to. _I should just turn up in boxers, with one or both witches pawing me._

But he showered anyway, and he resisted the urge to wear the Slytherin robes he found in Regulus's wardrobe. Instead he returned to his bedroom, where Darren and the two women were enjoying breakfast in bed. 'This morning's _Prophet_ is something else,' said Darren. 'Have you seen it yet?'

'No, but I just received an angry letter from Narcissa Malfoy. What's the upshot?'

Darren and the witches told him about Rita's article, which was exactly as Harry anticipated. But there was also a large sidebar about Harry's public night of debauchery. _'The Light Lord and his Ladies,' _said the headline, and it showed a photograph of him with Jocelyn and Maryann. Darren had been conveniently cropped out, although he was mentioned in the article, and a glowing Harry alternated between snogging the two witches.

'We didn't even kiss in front of the photographers!' cried Harry.

'Apparently Light magic has an effect on how photographs behave,' said Darren.

'He's right,' said Jocelyn. 'You actually started feeling me up a few minutes ago.'

'And they printed that!' exclaimed Harry, aghast. 'Why didn't Rita prevent it?'

'She's trying to promote the Light Arts, remember?' said Darren. 'And believe me, it'll work. If I weren't otherwise engaged at the moment, I'd be queuing up to find a teacher.'

Harry's eyes were still glued to the photograph, in which he'd knelt down and begun licking Maryann's inner thigh. 'I realise we were inappropriate in public, but we weren't this bad! Or were we?'

'No, we weren't,' Darren assured him. 'But read the article—there are plenty of quotes from the other diners describing our behaviour, including the bit where Jaclyn and Marilyn traded places.'

'Jocelyn!' and 'Maryann!' cried the women indignantly, and they became even more cross when they discovered Darren was unsure which one was which. Harry distracted them with a brief tour of his wardrobe, which drew _oohs_ and _ahs_. 'You have to wear the white robes this morning,' announced Maryann, but Harry decided on green, to emphasise his Slytherin identity. Jocelyn selected a boutonnière, which was a flower he didn't recognise, and Harry grabbed a scone and hurried downstairs.

Within moments he was at Malfoy Manor, where both Narcissa and Andromeda awaited him, and, to his surprise, Teddy. 'Harry, what were you thinking!' said Andromeda as soon as he appeared.

'It was the Light magic!' he began, but Narcissa interrupted him in fury.

'Couldn't you at least wait until you were in private before ... suckling her!'

'What! Oh my god!' he cried. 'Of course I did! No, the Light magic obviously interacts with photographs. All we did was pose for portraits, and at most I was holding Maryann's hand. They cropped my friend Darren from the picture.'

'But the eyewitnesses saw you groping both of them in the restaurant!' persisted Andromeda.

'Well, yes,' admitted Harry. 'And I agree that wasn't appropriate public behaviour. But I certainly didn't do what that photograph is doing.' He looked at it again and gasped, 'Sweet Merlin, I've never even done that in real life!' For a moment he was fascinated before he remembered where he was. 'What do you want me to do?' he asked simply.

'Can you go on the radio today?' asked Andromeda. 'Announce that the photograph was inaccurate, due to the Light magic?'

'Nobody will know to listen to Lee and George today,' said Harry. 'They only broadcast on Tuesdays.'

'What about one of the other announcers?' suggested Narcissa.

'I'd really rather not. Do you think it would be sufficient to have the Cannons publicity team send an urgent press release?'

The sisters were silent for a moment. 'Yes, I think that would be all right,' said Narcissa. 'But you need to go to Pratt's and explain yourself.'

'What am I supposed to say exactly?'

'I don't know!' she snapped. 'I don't have any experience with this sort of thing. Andromeda, what do you suggest?'

'Just tell the truth, that your Light magic interfered with the photograph somehow. Although that's another problem—have you heard anything yet from the Pratt's management?'

'You mean have they kicked me out? No, not yet.'

'I found it,' called Draco, entering the room carrying a large toy dragon. 'And no wonder Nitta couldn't find it—I'd hidden it in the secret toy cupboard that's warded against house-elves.' The dragon was large and partially blocked his face, which meant he only saw Harry after he'd set it down. 'Oh look, it's the Light Lord. I hope you at least showered before coming over.'

Harry remained silent, not wanting to dignify Draco's accusation with a response, but both Andromeda and Narcissa looked at him questioningly. 'Of course I showered! Give me a little credit!'

'Draco, the photograph was affected by Harry's Light magic,' said Andromeda. 'He didn't actually behave that way in front of the cameras.'

'No, just in the restaurant,' said Draco. 'I should curse you for ruining my chance for an early release, but we both know my current wand is useless. And you'll probably snap my next wand, or worse.'

'What makes you think I've ruined your chances?' asked Harry. 'And why aren't you more upset?'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Some Slytherin you are. You've ruined my chances because nobody is going to believe you're in your right mind. They'll think I Confunded you, or that Mother did.' He unfurled the toy dragon in front of Teddy and added, 'And I'm not upset because I knew you'd screw it up somehow. Honestly, I was expecting a last-minute disappointment, so this almost comes as a relief.'

'I really don't think it'll be a problem,' said Harry. 'I can go to Pratt's now, and I'm having lunch in a few hours with Kingsley. I just need to ask the Cannons publicity team to make an announcement on my behalf.'

'I suppose they've grown accustomed to cleaning up after you,' said Draco. 'And who knows, maybe your patented uncanny good luck will come through in the end, although it didn't work against the Harpies.'

Harry shrugged. 'The streak couldn't last forever.' He looked at the toy dragon and asked, 'How does this thing work anyway?'

'Oh right, the head of House Black was raised by Muggles. All I need to do is refresh the charms, which is probably the only task my wand is suited to, and then Teddy can ride it like a little train. And if his magic is strong enough, it'll fly and breathe fire. Pretend fire, that is.'

'His magic is strong enough,' said Harry and Andromeda at the same time.

'Yes, yes ... hybrid vigour,' said Narcissa dismissively, and Draco refreshed the toy's charms. Andromeda goaded the suspicious toddler onto the dragon, and it immediately glided aloft and exhaled golden flames.

'Da-gon!' cried Teddy gleefully, holding the dragon's neck, and both Malfoys looked impressed.

'Well done, half-breed,' announced Draco. 'It just proves how strong the Black blood is.'

Harry was about to tear into him when he realised Draco was taking the piss. 'You'll have to try harder than that, Malfoy.'

'Mother, did you just see that? Potter didn't fly off the handle, even though I deliberately provoked him!'

'Harry, you should send that letter straight away, and then go to Pratt's,' ordered Narcissa. 'But for Merlin's sake, change your boutonnière!'

'What's wrong with this one?'

'It's hellebore, which signifies "scandal,"' explained Andromeda. 'But surely you have some lilies.'

'I think so,' replied Harry, recalling the wreath Maryann had worn. 'I'm sorry I didn't foresee this. The photographs I took with Rita on Tuesday came out completely normal.'

'You probably didn't have such strong ... emotions around her,' said Andromeda.

'I, for one, am relieved that there are limits to Potter's insatiable lust,' declared Draco. 'But go on, try to salvage my early release. It'll be so much more exciting when it fails at the last minute.'

'It won't fail,' said Harry. 'See you Wednesday.'

He returned home by Floo and found Darren and the two witches still in his bedroom. Darren was in bed, propped up on pillows and wearing the floral wreath, and the women were modelling Harry's wardrobe. 'This scarf is fantastic,' announced Jocelyn, who was wearing his foulard and little else. 'Why haven't you been photographed in it yet?'

'I will be this week, assuming we figure out why I behaved so weirdly in that photograph.' He took a spray of lilies of the valley from Darren's wreath and said, 'Sorry I can't stick around, but it's time for damage control.'

'When will we see you again?' asked Maryann, who looked lovely in the outer cloak of his formal robes. _Although Robert de Montesquiou would probably have been horrified to see them worn that way,_ mused Harry.

'Er,' he began, unsure how to reply.

'Harry's girlfriend is coming back from Ireland,' said Darren. 'Obviously he was free to see other people, or else he'd be in big trouble now, but it was only for the weekend.'

'Oh, all right,' said Maryann, and she and Jocelyn both looked disappointed.

Harry assured them he'd had a wonderful time, and that he'd never forget them. _And neither will anyone else,_ he added internally. He kissed them both goodbye before dashing downstairs to write to Susanna and Thaddeus. In a single paragraph he explained what had happened and apologetically asked for them to set the record straight. '_I'll instruct Kreacher to follow your orders this morning, which I hope will simplify the task_,' he wrote.

Kreacher seemed delighted to have an exciting new mission, so Harry sent him away. _Mischief managed_, he thought with satisfaction, even though he knew the job was far from complete. 'Pratt's,' he said clearly, tossing a pinch of Floo powder into the grate.


	81. Chapter 81

_Author's Note:_

_Surprise! Loose Cannon passed 1,000 followers this week (yay!), and to celebrate I'm publishing an extra chapter this week (the next chapter will come out on Wednesday, as usual)._

_I'm thrilled to have so many readers, primarily since it means more people will find my story. And frankly, we all need less mortal peril right now, so if you haven't clicked "Follow" or "Favorite," please consider doing so. Or, better yet, spread the word. Because more milestones means more bonus chapters!_

_Thanks so much for reading :)_

-––—––—––-

When Harry went to sign the register at Pratt's, the wizard behind the counter politely stopped him. 'Mr Potter, would you be so kind as to follow me?'

'Shouldn't I sign in?' he asked uneasily.

'We'd prefer not to alarm the other members,' replied the wizard. 'Please, follow me.' The wizard led him to a private room and said, 'Wait here, please. I'll summon a house-elf to provide whatever you need.'

Harry thanked him, recalling that he'd be unable to call a house-elf himself without first signing the register. _At least they haven't suspended my elf privileges entirely._

The wizard snapped his fingers for an elf and then left, closing the door behind him. 'Good morning, Mr Potter. How may Cuppy be of service?'

'Good morning, Cuppy,' replied Harry. 'Could you please bring me some breakfast?'

Cuppy was very pleased to take Harry's order for a large English breakfast, which he delivered soon after. Harry was eating heartily when the door opened again, and he quickly rose to his feet.

'Please, there's no need to stand,' said Dunston, the club secretary Harry had met on his first visit. 'I didn't expect you to receive our owl this quickly, but I'm delighted you could make it.'

'Did you owl me?' asked Harry. 'I actually came of my own accord, to set the record straight.'

'So much the better. I believe you already know Oscar Abbott and Reginald Baxter,' he said, indicating the two grey-haired wizards accompanying him. 'And Silas Yawton, of course.'

'Yes, we met last week,' replied Harry. He knew that Abbott and Baxter represented the Light and Dark factions, which presumably had distinct concerns. Abbott looked at Harry as if to chastise him, although in a friendly manner, and Baxter avoided eye contact entirely.

The four wizards sat down, and Dunston said, 'Potter, I'll get straight to the point: Our members want assurances they're safe in your presence. As you know, Pratt's puts member safety above all else, and the club has every possible protection in place. However, there's no way to protect against Light magic, particularly the accidental variety, and I need to know the details of your ... manifestation.'

'Did you read Rita Skeeter's article this morning?' asked Harry.

'Of course,' said Dunston. 'But she's not known for her slavish devotion to the truth.'

'No, but in this case the article was completely accurate, and as long as nobody attempts Dark magic around me they'll be fine.'

'But how can you be certain?' said Baxter, still averting his eyes.

'It's been nearly a month, and I've interacted with several Dark wizards who wished me ill.'

'Who were they?' persisted Baxter. 'Are you sure they were competent?'

'Desmond Travers and Draco Malfoy. I'll let you decide whether they were competent.'

'Did they actually try to hurt you?' asked Abbott.

'They both attempted aggressive Legilimency and were unsuccessful. Malfoy also ambushed me with an extremely cruel prank, which was designed to cause severe emotional distress. And neither of them were hurt.' Harry deliberately omitted the bit about Draco's Dark Mark.

'Baxter, I've told you there's no risk,' insisted Yawton. 'The membership committee discussed the possibility before making Potter an offer. We even solicited your opinion, as you'll recall.'

'You never mentioned Light magic! You merely asked how I'd feel about having Potter as a member, which at the time I believed was the best way to handle him.'

Harry almost wished they'd forget about his presence so he could learn more, but Baxter turned towards him again. 'Are you're certain it's genuine Light magic?'

'Of course it is,' scoffed Abbott. 'What more evidence do you need?'

'Yes, it's genuine,' replied Harry. 'I should also point out that it's been happening for nearly a month, and I haven't hurt anyone, including a stadium full of hostile Quidditch fans.'

Abbott chuckled and said, 'Baxter, you can't possibly accuse the Harpyheads of not disliking Potter enough.'

'I suppose you're right,' admitted the Dark wizard. 'But Potter, why didn't you say anything? You had a responsibility to disclose your status before joining.'

'No, I didn't. I read everything in the information packet I was given, and there was nothing about Light magic.'

'Technically you're correct,' acknowledged Baxter. 'But in your omission you joined under false pretences.'

'Nonsense!' cried Abbott. 'You're only upset because you thought Pratt's might subdue him, when clearly it won't.'

Baxter harrumphed indignantly, and Dunston began trying to make peace, but Harry interrupted them. 'Yes, I know I probably wouldn't have been offered membership if my Light magic were public, and I accepted the offer in part because I knew I'd never get another chance. But I'm sincere about wanting to get to know my fellow wizards, particularly those on the Wizengamot, and I believe I have a lot to learn here.'

'You want to push your agenda,' grumbled Baxter.

'Of course I do—just as you want to push yours. But surely you knew that about me before offering me membership.'

'They hoped you'd be easier to manipulate,' said Abbott. 'And frankly, so did I.'

'Baxter, have I addressed your concerns about safety?' asked Harry. 'I really have no desire to hurt anyone.'

'Yes,' said Baxter grudgingly. 'But that's not our only concern.' He glanced at the other wizards.

'Your discretion,' said Yawton. 'Pratt's is exceedingly private, and we have grave concerns about your ability to safeguard that privacy.'

'If you're referring to the photograph from last night, it was inaccurate.'

'Poppycock,' blurted Baxter. 'Photographs don't lie. They might exaggerate a bit, but they don't materially misrepresent anyone.'

'Apparently they do when Light magic is involved,' replied Harry. 'I give you my word that when I posed for that photograph, I was only holding hands with one of the witches, and not even touching the other.'

The four wizards looked astonished, and Abbott started to laugh. 'You mean you weren't groping them in public?' exclaimed Yawton.

'Er, I did in the restaurant—that bit was true. Although not like I was in the photograph.'

'I should hope not!' said Dunston. 'If my kids weren't currently at school, we'd have had to hide the newspaper from them. Although I daresay it's making the rounds at Hogwarts as we speak.'

'Oh god, Minerva's going to kill me,' muttered Harry. 'Does anyone know where I can find Rita Skeeter on a Sunday morning? I should really give her a piece of my mind.'

'She'll be at the Dapperling Tea Shop,' said Yawton. 'That's where all the reporters congregate.'

'At a tea shop?' asked Harry sceptically.

'It's a bar,' replied Yawton. 'Only they serve food and tea as well.'

'Do you really mean to go there?' asked Abbott, concerned. 'It's the last place you want to lose your temper.'

'I won't lose my temper,' said Harry confidently. 'Rita and I are on good terms, but I'm getting the sense she needs some pushback from time to time. And besides, I need to get the word out that the photo was inaccurate.'

'But about your discretion,' continued Yawton. 'In offering you membership, we hoped you'd take advantage of the Boudoir, which has long been a refuge for energetic young wizards like yourself.'

'I think I made it clear in the article why that's not an option.'

'Surely you wouldn't fall in love with a _fille de joie!' _exclaimed Baxter, appalled. 'Did you fall in love with your two witches last night?'

'No, but with Light magic it's an enormous risk,' he replied. 'And as fantastic as Light magic is, the loss of control is no joke. I can guarantee I won't hurt anyone, but when it comes to witches I'm extremely impulsive.'

Frowning, Abbott asked, 'Yes, about that ... Might there be another reason you're advocating for Draco Malfoy's early release?'

'If you're asking whether the Malfoys bribed me with prostitutes, the answer is no.'

'That wouldn't be strictly necessary,' said Baxter. 'Narcissa, after all ...'

'Narcissa!' cried Harry, aghast. 'She's old enough to be my mother!'

'Don't be so dismissive, Potter,' said Yawton. 'A fine wine gets better with age.'

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'Even if Narcissa had offered, which she hasn't, my primary goal is to establish good relations with Draco, and shagging his mum is hardly the way to accomplish that!'

'Draco needn't find out,' said Baxter, 'but you've made your point.'

'Abbott, are you satisfied the Malfoys aren't manipulating me? I really don't want to lose Wednesday's vote.'

'I'll spread the word, but don't blow it with those reporters this morning. And try to act rationally on the radio. You will go on the radio this Tuesday, right?'

'Yes, definitely. Should I have Lee and George bring up the question of whether I'm off my rocker?'

Abbott and the others nodded. 'Everyone wants your vote to pass, except for a few curmudgeons who either hate you or the Malfoys. But be sure to get the Ministry appointees in line.'

'That's what I'm doing at lunch.' Harry took a deep breath and asked, 'Why can't I just be a Seeker?'

'Because you're the head of two houses,' replied Yawton. 'This is why you need Pratt's, because many of our members have similar responsibilities.'

'Right,' said Harry resignedly. 'Is there anything else, or may I finish eating?'

Dunston glanced at the other wizards, all of whom looked satisfied. 'Yes, please do. And feel free to disregard our letter when you receive it.'

The wizards left, and Harry closed his eyes and invited his Light magic to arise. _Oh, yes,_ he thought, feeling much better. He cast a warming charm on his breakfast and allowed himself to glow while eating it, savouring the tastes and textures.

After dimming back to normal, he walked to the front desk and asked for directions to the Dapperling Tea Shop. 'It's near the _Prophet_ building, but you can Floo there directly,' said the wizard.

_That ought to surprise a few people,_ thought Harry mischievously as he approached the fireplace. 'Dapperling's,' he announced before stepping into the green flames.

After a short Floo journey, he found himself in a smoky but unusually well-lit bar. There was a din of conversation, but within seconds everyone was silent. 'Is Rita here?' he asked warmly.

'Harry, darling!' she cried, waving him over to a large round booth in the far corner. 'What a lovely surprise!' She was with her usual photographer and several others, including a gangly-looking wizard in his twenties sitting next to her. 'Does your visit have anything to do with the emergency press release from the Cannons publicity department?'

'It does, in fact,' he replied jovially. 'May I ask what in Merlin's name you were thinking when you ran that photograph?'

'Weren't you pleased?' she asked, feigning astonishment. 'I thought you wanted to prevent the next war!'

'I do, but I didn't realise that required making me look like an exhibitionist.'

'I have bad news for you, dearie, but you are an exhibitionist. My colleagues spoke to some of the other diners, and apparently you did everything but get on your knees underneath the table.'

_Maryann tried, but it was too cramped,_ recalled Harry. 'Fine, but that doesn't mean we wanted our photograph in the paper like that. I distinctly recall only holding Jocelyn's hand.'

'Damon, did you hear that?' called Rita to another reporter. 'You were right—the brunette's name is Jocelyn.'

_Bugger! _thought Harry. 'Leave her alone!' he ordered. 'She didn't ask for publicity.'

'Harry, darling, she's a C-squared—they live for publicity. The only reason they didn't provide their names last night was to generate an air of mystery. But Damon's publication is ideal for someone like her.'

'If you're talking about _Busty and Bewitched_, I may have to consider terminating our agreement,'warned Harry.

'Of course not! It's a brand new magazine aimed at wizards, called _Wandlore_.'

Something told Harry that _Wandlore _would not include a column by Garrick Ollivander. 'It's a wizarding lad mag, isn't it?'

'Well spotted! You've catalysed a previously unexploited demographic, and at least one publisher is cashing in.'

'Do you really think Jocelyn will want to appear in it?' he asked, even though he knew the answer.

'Yes, and her friend as well. Damon was tasked with finding a cover model for their inaugural issue, and he hit a roadblock when the _Sorceress _informant backed out at the last minute. But you've provided not one but two cover models, and they'll be an overnight sensation—pun intended. By this time next month, they'll be wizarding Britain's leading it-girls. Unless,' she added in a grave voice, 'they seemed upset this morning when they saw the photograph.'

Damon was listening intently. 'Er, not outwardly,' admitted Harry. 'But I can't read minds.'

'Don't worry,' said Damon. 'We give witches a full week to back out of a contract if they have second thoughts—that's what cost us your friend Vera.'

'I have no idea who you're talking about,' said Harry innocently. Turning back to Rita, he said, 'Fine, let's just say the witches didn't mind being photographed like that. But what about my reputation?'

Nearly everyone in the tea shop started laughing. 'Oh, honey,' said Rita patronisingly, 'your reputation is a smoking ruin—you've said it yourself. But do you have any idea how many people that photograph has already inspired to pursue the Light Arts? Ricard!' she shouted across the room. 'Tell Harry what you said when you saw it.'

'I said, "Someone needs to write the obituary for the Dark Arts in Britain, because as of this morning they're deader than You-Know-Who,"' replied the wizard.

'And the copy and layout editors both asked me how to get in touch with Davina Hampton,' added Rita. 'They sent their owls last night to beat the rush.'

'I'll admit that's a good outcome,' said Harry. 'But I demand that you or someone else at the _Prophet _write about how Light magic apparently affects photographs!'

'You demand?' she exclaimed, fanning herself. 'Clearly someone is of the dominant persuasion! No wonder you caught a Seer's inner eye before you were even born!'

'Rita,' said Harry sternly, 'will you write that article or should I find someone else?'

'Of course I'll write it. Have a seat and I'll interview you right now. It'll be instructive for my new protégé,' she said, indicating the young wizard sitting next to her. 'Harry, this is Timothy. Timothy, this is God's gift to Britain's news and gossip industry.'

Rita's companions made room for Harry but nobody left to give them privacy. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry,' said Timothy. 'Rita has been a fantastic instructor so far, but she didn't let me come to your interview on Tuesday, so this is a real treat.'

'Yes, Timothy is an eager little student ... positively voracious!' said Rita. 'So I'm delighted you've turned up for his further education. In fact, he's learnt loads from you already!'

_Sweet Merlin, they're lovers!_ realised Harry. Stifling the mental image, he said, 'In the article, I'd also like for you to get the point across that Light magic only affects certain aspects of my behaviour and doesn't make me irrational across the board.'

'It certainly doesn't! You've become positively cunning of late, and it suits you perfectly. Rest assured, I'll make it clear that you're nobody's puppet.'

She set up her Quick Quotes Quill and interviewed him, carefully guiding him into providing quotes that supported the narrative. She occasionally explained her strategy to Timothy, who took notes of his own. Harry sipped tea as they worked together and he realised why the bar was well-lit, since many of the other reporters were working as well.

Fascinated, Harry watched Rita use her wand to rearrange quotes on a parchment. 'I'm assembling your story, darling. If you can stick around another half-hour, you'll see the final draft.'

He decided to wait, and various journalists introduced themselves, including Damon from _Wandlore._ 'We'd love to interview you sometime, since you're the ultimate embodiment of the _Wandlore _demographic,' he gushed. 'Young, fit, stylish, sexually adventurous, with disposable income, and unafraid to break a few rules. In fact, we have your photograph hanging in our main office, with the caption, _"What would Harry Potter do?"'_

'Don't put too much emphasis on me,' warned Harry. 'One of these days I'm bound to do something nobody likes.'

'We're not worried,' replied Damon. 'So far even your missteps have been fabulous. But please tell me you'll appear on the radio this Tuesday! All of us at the Dapperling were bereft when you didn't turn up last time. And I heard there was a minor riot in Azkaban.'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'They listen to Weasley's Wizard Wireless in Azkaban?'

'They listen to the radio all day,' said a grizzled-looking reporter named Vincent. 'Now that the Dementors are gone, the guards have to keep the prisoners occupied somehow.'

'Not the maximum security prisoners too?' asked Harry anxiously.

'Oh yes. They're much more docile that way.'

Harry blanched. 'Oh my god ... Dolores Umbridge has been listening to my broadcasts. Please tell me she doesn't have access to Howler stationery.'

'No, and all outbound post is screened for threats and coded messages. I've heard she writes to you constantly, but none of her letters have made it out.'

'That is truly horrifying,' said Harry. 'Does she have adherents within the prison?'

'No, she's an outcast,' replied Vincent. 'She's in maximum security with all the Death Eaters, and now that she's no longer useful they scorn her for having a Muggle mother.'

Harry sighed. 'She was horrible to me, and to heaps of other people, but I can't say I take any satisfaction in how things turned out for her. It sounds like she's completely miserable.'

Rita's ears pricked and she looked up at Harry. 'Don't tell me you want to help her somehow.'

'I don't see how I could, if she hates me.' Turning back to Vincent, he asked, 'Do you know whether they're plotting against me in Azkaban?'

'Of course they are. You killed You-Know-Who and ruined their lives. But not to worry—it's mainly the inner circle Death Eaters, and they're all sentenced to life without parole.'

'Mainly?' asked Harry, alarmed.

'Yes, there's a handful of others, but they craft plots against other celebrities as well. They're completely harmless, and their plots are mostly just a way to pass the time.'

Rita called Harry back to the table. 'Darling, have a look!' she said, handing him a parchment. The headline read, _'An Open Apology to Harry Potter.'_

_The _Prophet _editors hereby apologise to Chudley Cannons Seeker Harry Potter for unwittingly publishing an inaccurate photograph. We were unaware that Light magic can interfere with photographs, causing the pictured Light witch or wizard to behave differently to their real-life counterpart. The result was that yesterday's photograph of Potter and his two lovely companions inaccurately depicted his behaviour. Eyewitnesses confirm that Potter held hands with only one of the witches and did not kiss, grope, or otherwise pleasure her in front of the cameras._

'_I was shocked when I saw this morning's _Prophet_,'_ _said an understandably upset Potter on Sunday morning. 'I realise my behaviour inside the restaurant was inappropriate, and I apologise for that, but I certainly know better than to act that way while being photographed.'_

_Potter, who was bright-eyed and dressed becomingly in bottle-green robes, appeared invigorated after his nighttime activities. He said, 'I admit the photograph very accurately conveyed my aspirations for the evening, but surely I'm not the only wizard whose mind runs in that direction. And it clearly had something to do with my Light magic, since I was glowing very brightly when I left the restaurant.'_

_The _Prophet_ spoke to an anonymous Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries who confirmed that Light magic can radically affect how people behave in photographs. 'It's a well-known phenomenon, and newspaper editors in countries where the Light Arts are more common would have known better than to print a photograph of someone behaving inappropriately whilst glowing. But the Light Arts have long been dormant in Britain, so it's not surprising the _Prophet_ editors were caught unawares.'_

_When asked whether Potter's overall judgment might be affected by his Light magic, the Unspeakable said, 'No, quite the opposite. On balance, Light magic has probably made Potter more rational—not less—because he is less vulnerable to afflictive emotions. The exception, however, is where attractive women are concerned, and of course Potter has a reputation in that department. But if you think about it, he's actually shown remarkable restraint. Light magic is clearly playing havoc with his impulses, as the photograph demonstrates, but he's largely behaved within normal boundaries for someone his age.'_

_With unusual candour, the Unspeakable added, 'Given Potter's Light magic and his access to willing partners, he's been a model of decorum for the last month. Someone with less self-discipline might have sought a new partner every night—such is the power of accidental Light magic, particularly in one so young. But Potter has been late for Quidditch practice only once, almost immediately after the onset of his Light magic, and even with yesterday's loss his record with the Cannons speaks for itself.'_

_Potter, by contrast, apologised profusely for his behaviour, in spite of his relative blamelessness. 'I'm so sorry if I brought unwanted attention to the two witches, whose names I'm obviously not going to share. They're both lovely people, and they only consented to appear in a normal photograph—and not a graphic depiction of my inner desires.'_

_When asked whether he regrets coming forward with his Light magic, Potter was adamant. 'No, not at all. Light magic is wonderful, and although the accidental phase has its challenges, it's far better than the alternative. And yes, I'd certainly have preferred not to spend all morning cleaning up the damage from one photograph, but I need only close my eyes and allow Light magic to settle my nerves.'_

_The _Prophet_ hereby pledges to compare all new photographs of Potter with eyewitness accounts, to confirm that his Light magic hasn't affected his in-photo behaviour. Furthermore, we thank Potter for his forbearance as we learn about his new and exciting magical condition._

After reading the article, Harry looked at Rita in amusement. 'Is Timothy your anonymous Unspeakable?'

'That's what's so wonderful about the Department of Mysteries!' she said. 'I can attribute anything to an Unspeakable, and they'll never confirm or deny it.'

'And you don't think it's a bit much, praising my restraint and calling me a model of decorum?' he added with a smirk.

'That was the unvarnished truth as far as I'm concerned,' declared Rita. 'Have you ever been turned down in your romantic career?'

'Er, no—as long as you don't count witches like Ginny who eventually dumped me. Oh, and Cho Chang already had a date for the Yule Ball, but we went out a year later.'

'Those don't count,' said Rita. 'And how many propositions do you receive every week in care of the Cannons?'

'I don't actually know, since I don't personally review them.'

'My point exactly. I think everyone here will agree you've shown remarkable restraint. Am I right?' she asked the assembled crowd, and they nodded vigorously.

'Then I won't argue with you,' said Harry with satisfaction. 'But are you sure the _Prophet_ editors won't mind your apologising on their behalf?'

'Let me put it this way, darling. All they care about is profits—full stop. We've had more new subscriptions and fewer cancellations in the last two months than in decades. Furthermore, we can charge double for advertisements that appear on the same page as an article about you—why do you think we pad them out with so many photographs?'

'But aren't people complaining about this morning's issue?' asked Harry. 'The portraits you took on Tuesday were bad enough, but last night's photo is borderline pornographic.'

'We received Howlers, of course, and any number of declarations of outrage. But zero cancellations, and at least a dozen requests for reprints. Remember what I told you: _Sex sells, Harry Potter sells, and Harry Potter having sex sells better than anything._'

Harry shook his head and sighed. 'You're lucky I don't have parents to complain.' Looking at his pocket watch, he said, 'It's time for my next round of damage control. Nothing personal, but let's try not to see each other until at least Wednesday.'

'Of course, darling. I'll just have to occupy myself some other way,' she said, with a leer at Timothy. 'Ta ta!'

The small crowd of reporters parted to allow Harry to pass, and he returned to Grimmauld Place to prepare for lunch with Kingsley Shacklebolt. A peek into his bedroom confirmed that his guests had gone, but Harry rolled his eyes when he saw what Kreacher had done in his absence. 'Kreacher!' he said aloud.

_Crack! _'Yes, Master!'

'Why are there Slytherin hangings in my bedroom?'

Kreacher straightened with pride. 'Yesterday Kreacher overheard Master telling Ron Weasley that Master was Sorted into Slytherin. And this morning Kreacher saw that Master slept in Master Regulus's room, and Kreacher assumed that was because it was appropriately decorated.'

'That was very thoughtful, Kreacher, but that's not why I slept in Regulus's room. Would you please restore my bedroom to normal?'

'Yes, Master,' said Kreacher glumly. 'Will Master also require Kreacher to change back all of Master's undergarments and handkerchiefs?'

Harry opened his top drawer and saw that his boxers, vests, socks, and handkerchiefs now sported an embroidered Slytherin crest. _That's actually pretty funny,_ he thought. 'Please change the socks and vests back to normal, but leave the rest,' he said, tucking a handkerchief into his pocket. 'And thank you.'

He went downstairs to await Kingsley Shacklebolt at the fireplace. 'Detach wallpaper,' he said, not wanting to alarm the former Order of the Phoenix member with too many changes at once. Kingsley arrived soon after, and he greeted Harry with a fatherly hug.

'It's been far too long,' said Kingsley. 'But I'm delighted to see you. How are you doing?'

Harry appreciated that Kingsley hadn't immediately started scolding him. 'I'm well, thanks, although I've spent all morning on damage control.'

'Is that what this is?'

'That wasn't my intention when I invited you, but I should probably explain the picture from last night.' Harry told him how his Light magic had interfered with the photograph, displaying his intentions rather than his literal actions, and Kingsley guffawed.

'As much as I miss having you in the department, I'm glad it's not my job to clean up after you. That is, assuming you'd have behaved similarly if you'd remained an Auror rather than joining the Cannons in search of "pudding."'

'You just had to bring that up, didn't you?' laughed Harry.

'I'm reminded of it several times a week,' he replied. Peering towards the entrance hall, he added, 'I need to see with my own eyes that Walburga is really gone.'

They went there together, and Padfoot leapt from the otherwise unoccupied dog bed and greeted Kingsley enthusiastically. 'Marvellous!' exclaimed Kingsley. 'What an improvement! But why are there feathers stuck to his coat?'

_Padfoot, you devil!_ thought Harry, recalling the Hippogriff. 'Er, he gets into a lot of mischief on his own.'

'Well, I'm glad you at least have an echo of Sirius. I'm only sorry he didn't get to see how well you've turned out.'

'Do you really think so?' asked Harry. 'Arthur Weasley gave me a stern lecture last weekend about how I shouldn't have left the Ministry, and he said you were disappointed with me as well.'

'I was disappointed you left, but I certainly respected your decision. And from what I can tell, you're no longer under the cloud of grief that's followed you for years.'

Harry frowned. 'Perhaps, but's not as if I've forgotten everyone,' he said a little defensively.

'I wasn't criticising you. Acute grief isn't healthy in large doses. And once healing occurs, you're able to remember the people you've lost without feeling crushed by their absence.'

Harry nodded, 'Yeah, that sounds accurate. I think about our old friends all the time—I even pretend they're in the stands at Quidditch matches holding cheeky banners. But I don't actively mourn them any longer. Although ...' he began uncertainly.

'Yes?'

'I seldom think about my parents,' he admitted. 'I have so few memories of them, and none are first-hand, other than what I saw through the Resurrection Stone. I'm starting to fear I'm not even a Potter anymore.' He told Kingsley what the Marauder's Map had called him.

'To anyone who ever saw your father, you're clearly a Potter. And you never met your grandfather, but you're turning out very like him as well, in character more than anything. He was very ambitious, you know—apparently his mates used to joke that he was Sorted into the wrong house.'

'Yes, about that,' continued Harry, pulling out the handkerchief. 'I was at Hogwarts on Thursday and the Hat reassigned me.'

Kingsley laughed again. 'It's a good thing you're a Light wizard, or else we might need to put a task force on you. Bode made noises to that effect when it came out you were advocating for Draco Malfoy.'

'That's the main reason I wanted to talk to you, actually. But let's sit down.' He led Kingsley to the kitchen, suspecting he'd prefer the room they'd all used during the war. 'Do you understand why I'm pushing for Malfoy's early release?'

'You're not just pushing for it—you're putting your neck on the line. And you should know Bode won't go easy on you if Malfoy breaks the law.'

'He won't break the law,' said Harry firmly, and he described the protections he'd arranged, including the part involving Draco's wand and Dark Mark.

'Great Godric! You healed a Dark Mark?!' Harry nodded, and Kingsley said, 'I wouldn't have thought it possible! But then again, this is you we're talking about.'

'It was Light magic, not me, and I really don't think it needs to be as rare as people think it is. That's a big part of why I went public, to encourage people to try it for themselves.'

'They definitely will, based on what I'm hearing. Auror Woodbridge already owled me asking if we can bring you in as a consultant, for training purposes.'

Harry rolled his eyes, recalling the trainer who'd always fawned over him. 'I'll come if Auror Murdoch requests it, which we know will never happen.'

'No, he wasn't sorry to see the back of you,' said Kingsley. 'I think he resented that you weren't able to end the war earlier—he lost his son, you know.'

Harry's face fell. 'I didn't know that. And I'm sorry—I must have been a real thorn in his side.'

'You can't make everyone happy, as I'm sure you've already noticed. But back to Malfoy, the protections you've described are perfect—better than I could have hoped for. If he can't perform Dark magic until next July, there's no risk he'll break any significant laws. And I'll personally celebrate if you make off with their fortune.'

'Be careful, I had to swear under Veritaserum this wasn't a trick.'

'You've really grown fond of the stuff, haven't you?' smirked Kingsley.

Kreacher brought them lunch, and they continued their conversation. 'Do you have a sense of how the Ministry appointees will vote on Wednesday?' asked Harry.

'You won't have Bode's vote, and he's convinced several of his allies to oppose you as well.'

'What about you? I won't necessarily need your vote, since things look good with the hereditary members, but I'd definitely appreciate it.'

'I'll vote with you, and Bode will just have to deal with it. It's not Draco's fault that Lucius Imperiused Bode's brother, and you're absolutely right to try to prevent him from following in his father's footsteps.'

'Could I ask you to try to persuade the other Ministry appointees? I know you don't owe me a favour, but perhaps I can owe you one going forward.'

'Harry, I'll be indebted to you for the rest of my life,' said Kingsley sincerely. 'And I'll be glad to call in a few favours to get people to vote with you, although I don't think it'll be necessary.'

'Thank you—that's a relief. I was awakened this morning by the Malfoys' hawk and had to hurry over to reassure them.'

'Did you at least shower first?' asked Kingsley with a wink.

'Yes, and you're not the first person to ask me that.'

The subject turned to Light magic, and Kingsley looked at Harry intently. 'I know it has a steep learning curve and that even Dumbledore couldn't get anywhere with it, but do you think Aurors could learn to perform Light magic?'

'I honestly don't know. According to Davina, anyone can learn it, as long as they don't have a pile of Horcruxes stashed somewhere, but it's not easy if your main goal is to use it in battle.'

'Why do you think that is?'

Harry closed his eyes to consider the question, and he felt his Light magic stir. 'Intent. I think the only way you could successfully disarm an opponent is to love them first. And not just a little, but enough that you'd be willing to risk your own life to stop them from splintering their soul with Dark magic.' He opened his eyes and saw that his hands were glowing. 'Without realising it, I performed Light magic when I sacrificed my life that night. That's why none of Voldemort's curses worked against us. And, come to think of it, I suspect the only reason his wand didn't snap is because I was its true master.'

Kingsley was staring at Harry's hands. 'And you can play Quidditch like this?'

'Yes, I was glowing for nearly an hour during yesterday's match—that's how I survived Allie Hobbs and the Harpyheads. But I didn't glow brightly until the final chase.'

'Can you show me the full display?' asked Kingsley, still in awe.

With only a hint of effort, Harry allowed Light magic to flow through him completely, and the kitchen was flooded with light.

'Remarkable! And you didn't even use your wand.'

'No, the only time I've used a wand for Light magic was when I transferred Draco Malfoy's wand back to him. And the Patronus Charm of course.'

Kingsley shook his head in amazement. 'I don't care if it's difficult—Aurors need to learn this,' he declared. 'Even if only one in ten can do it, they'd be invaluable during a confrontation.'

'Have you contacted Davina?' asked Harry. 'I'm sure she's being swamped, but I'll put in a good word when I see her tomorrow.'

'Yes, I owled her this morning, and I'd appreciate that.'

Their conversation drifted to Quidditch, and Harry's glow gradually subsided. 'Would you and your family like to attend the next match? We're playing against Pride of Portree, at Chudley Stadium.' Kingsley happily accepted, and Harry added, 'I should warn you that I'm planning to offer tickets to Draco Malfoy as well, assuming he's released on Wednesday. But I can arrange to have you seated in different sections.'

'That sounds prudent,' said Kingsley. 'But are you really pursuing a friendship with him?'

'Friendship is a strong word—obviously we'll never be close the way Ron and I are. But we have more in common than you'd think, as far as Voldemort is concerned, and I truly believe we could have something at least bordering on friendship.' Harry took a deep breath and said, 'Another thing that might help is that I've joined Pratt's.'

Kingsley looked at him in plain disbelief. 'You really are a Slytherin! Who convinced you to do that?'

'Believe it or not, the deciding vote came from George Weasley.' Harry explained his thought process, and Kingsley grudgingly agreed it was sound.

'But Harry, be careful. Pratt's is the epicentre of corruption in wizarding Britain.'

'Is that why you never joined?'

'In part, but also because no one who works for the Ministry should be able to afford the dues, unless he has an inheritance. More than one wizard has offered to subsidise my membership, but obviously they'd want something in return. So no, I don't anticipate joining.'

Harry let the subject drop, not fancying a lecture on the evils of bribing Ministry officials. _I wonder whether George and Percy have made progress on the condom scheme_, he thought idly.

After finishing lunch and making one more joke about 'pudding,' Kingsley said, 'Honestly, Harry, I think you've handled things incredibly well. You've endured a tremendous amount of scrutiny, particularly regarding your childhood, and yet your biggest outburst was to punch Andrew Gilstrap—who by all accounts deserved it. Six months ago you wouldn't have been able to take so many things in stride. Three months, even.'

'You're probably right,' said Harry. 'Just this morning I was able to talk calmly with Rita Skeeter about that photograph, which barely upset me in the first place, even though it should have done. I'm convinced that daily flying is what's made the difference, and Light magic of course.'

Kingsley nodded and said, 'As much as I'd love to have a Light wizard wearing Auror robes, I'm glad you found a career that suits you so well. But keep us in mind if you decide you've had enough Bludgers for one lifetime.'

They said goodbye in front of the kitchen fireplace, and afterwards Harry drifted to the sitting room for his first moment of calm since the Malfoys' hawk had awakened him. But then Kreacher appeared.

'Master received several letters during lunch,' said the elf, handing Harry a small pile.

'Of course I did,' he replied. 'Thank you, Kreacher.' _Crack!_

One was from Blaise, announcing that he was back from Rome and would love to talk at Harry's earliest convenience about the business he was starting. Harry had to remind himself that he was no longer upset with Blaise, and he resolved to send a reply. _But not now,_ he thought wearily.

The next letter was from Hermione:

_Dear Harry,_

_Not wanting to intrude, I decided against sending my otter this morning, but I'm concerned about the photograph in today's Prophet._ _I assume you didn't actually grope those women in front of the camera, in which case your Light magic must somehow interfere with magical photography. How odd that it didn't occur in the interview photos, although I suppose you didn't want to grope Rita Skeeter._

_Please let me know if you need my help with damage control. I imagine you've already spoken to the Malfoys, whom I'd prefer not to visit, and I suspect you've also been to Pratt's. Speaking of which, I should remind you that there are wizarding schools in Great Britain other than Hogwarts. But I'd be glad to talk to the Weasleys or Minerva on your behalf, or anyone else you can think of. _

_Please send Prongs if you need anything, otherwise I'll see you tomorrow before our lesson._

_Love,  
__Hermione_

Harry felt his tension unwind as he read Hermione's letter. _At least someone didn't assume I'm a raging exhibitionist._ He cast the Patronus Charm and told Prongs to say, 'Hermione, I can't tell you how much I appreciate that you gave me the benefit of the doubt. Yes, I spent all morning reassuring people I'm not hopelessly indiscreet, and Rita has already drafted a follow-up piece that completely absolves me. But I'd be grateful if you could tell Minerva, Arthur and Molly, and Bill and Fleur.'

Nearly five minutes later, her otter arrived and said, _'I'll get right to it. And you sound tired, so get some rest!'_

_If only_, he thought, seeing letters from Arthur, Minerva, and the Pratt's executive committee. He skimmed the letters from Arthur and Minerva and was relieved that Hermione would calm them down. And although he'd been instructed to disregard the Pratt's letter, he wrote a short note in reply:

_I hope I successfully addressed your concerns this morning, but there's another important matter we need to discuss. Normally I'd explain it in a letter, but that's not possible for reasons you'll understand later. Please provide a non-Pratt's mailing address so I can tell you more about it._

He also dashed off a letter to the Malfoys, assuring them that everything still looked good for Wednesday. _That's it_, he thought as he sent his letters off with the jackdaws. _No more interaction until tomorrow morning._ With a sigh of relief, he settled on the sofa with a cup of tea and his copy of _Great Expectations_, and he barely moved for the rest of the afternoon.


	82. Chapter 82

When Hermione awoke on Sunday morning, she crept from Ryan's bedroom to retrieve the _Daily Prophet_, knowing that the article about Harry's Light magic was in it. Harry had told her he'd read Rita's draft and that it looked good, but he had become increasingly reckless and she didn't entirely trust his judgment.

'_THE SEXIEST MAGIC YOU'VE NEVER HEARD OF: Harry Potter Has It, and You Can Get It,_' blared the headline, and Hermione rolled her eyes. But she caught her breath when she saw the cover photograph, in which a glowing Harry gazed directly at the viewer with overwhelming love. _And seduction,_ she thought, with a flutter. _It's a good thing I'm taken, otherwise I might be tempted to revise my 'He's like a brother to me,' policy._

She made tea and brought the newspaper back to the bedroom, where Ryan was beginning to stir. And her heart fluttered again, seeing his heavy eyelids and bed-mussed hair. 'I hope I didn't wake you,' she said, setting her tea on the night table and crawling in next to him.

'No, not at all,' he replied, wrapping an arm around her. 'Is Harry's Light magic article on the cover?'

'What?' she asked, completely distracted by Ryan's warm, sleepy presence. 'Oh, yes. The headline is appalling, but Harry approved it for some reason.' Ryan only nodded, and for a while she was content lying next to him. But her curiosity became too strong, so she sat up and reached for the paper.

To her relief, the article itself wasn't bad. 'Other than the headline and the ten superfluous paragraphs about Light magic's effect on the libido, Rita did a surprisingly good job,' she told Ryan. 'But oh my god, this sidebar!'

'What's in it?' he asked sitting up. _'"The Light Lord and his Ladies?"_ I'll admit the headline's a bit naff, but what's the problem–whoa, there it is!' He looked more closely at the photograph and said, 'Harry can't possibly have done that in public, right?'

'I can no longer answer that question with confidence,' said Hermione, frowning. 'Now that he has no secrets left, he's become remarkably uninhibited.' She read the accompanying article and exclaimed, 'Really, Harry—in the restaurant?! With both witches?'

'I blame Darren,' said Ryan. 'He tried luring me to the dark side during our first year on the team. Obviously I was hopeless in that regard, but Harry is clearly more trainable.'

Hermione was examining the photograph, and she gasped when Harry removed one of the witches' shoes and began sucking her toes. 'It has to be the Light magic!'

'Of course it's the Light magic,' replied Ryan, but she shook her head.

'No, the photograph. His Light magic must be interfering with the photograph and depicting his desires rather than his actual behaviour.'

'Good lord, you're right!' Chuckling, he added, 'Poor Harry ... not only doesn't he have any secrets left, but now he's literally displaying his innermost desires. Honestly, we should be grateful they're so vanilla.'

'I can't believe they ran this photo,' said Hermione, shaking her head. 'Clearly the photographer knew it wasn't accurate! Those witches have grounds for a lawsuit, and so does Harry!'

'I agree, although I'm told there's a certain type of witch who relishes this type of exposure, or will do when the full story comes out.'

Hermione sighed. 'I suppose if they snogged Harry in a posh restaurant they can't be too attached to their privacy. But he must be mortified—I'll send him my otter,' she announced, pulling out her wand.

Ryan looked at her sceptically. 'Do you want to think that through for a moment?'

'Hmm, good point. Either he's currently in flagrante with two witches, or he's out reassuring the Malfoys he hasn't lost his mind. I should probably just owl him.'

She dashed off a short message offering her support and dispatched the letter with Ryan's owl. When she returned from the roof, Ryan was preparing breakfast. 'How many eggs do you want?'

'Just one—we're having lunch with your parents, and it's already past ten.'

They read the newspaper and enjoyed a leisurely morning together. Hermione practised the left-handed charms Davina had given her, even though she'd mastered them days earlier. 'Have you noticed whether your overall magic has changed, now that you've got those charms working?' Ryan asked.

'No, but I haven't done anything particularly challenging at work lately. Other than Summoning books from the shelves and using charms to organise my notes, I may as well be a Muggle.'

'Perhaps, but they'd have to Obliviate you every five minutes, which seems impractical.'

At noon, they Apparated together to the shed in Ryan's parents' back garden. 'All clear,' he said, indicating the green flame in the glass bell. 'No Muggles on the premises. Except for Dad, of course.'

It had become Hermione's routine to bring in a small bouquet from the garden, and she put it in a vase that was waiting on the table. 'Ryan, is that you?' called Lucinda.

'Yes, and Hermione.'

'I only need you,' she replied. 'I have a task requiring a hulking beast, and Hermione would be no use at all.'

Ryan and Hermione smirked at each other, and they followed Lucinda's voice into the lounge. Hermione's jaw dropped, and Ryan said, 'What do you need me for? Clearly you already have a hulking beast.'

'Is that a bloodhound?' asked Hermione nervously.

'Yes, and his name is Lucifer—Walter insisted on naming him after me. I plan to use him in my Healing, once I've trained him up a bit. Which you can see is necessary.' She was holding Lucifer by a lead, and he was pulling against it in a desperate attempt to follow a scent.

'Is he full-grown?' asked Ryan.

'No, he's just a puppy. The veterinarian says he'll probably gain at least four stone. But I wanted a young dog so I can establish myself as alpha, which I haven't quite done yet.'

'It's only a matter of time,' said Hermione. 'But what do you need from Ryan?'

'I want someone to hold him still while I perform charms on him. I asked Walter, but Lucifer kept squirming, and I didn't want to accidentally charm the wrong creature. But Ryan can magically resist my charms, hence my request.'

'Why didn't you body-bind him?' asked Hermione.

'I tried, but it was horrible. Lucifer didn't understand what was happening, and he looked completely terrified, so I decided to wait until Ryan could help. But here you are—make yourself useful.'

Ryan approached Lucifer and introduced himself. 'I suppose we're brothers, after a fashion. Mind if I subdue you for a minute?'

Lucifer sniffed Ryan eagerly, and after a tentative palm-licking he allowed Ryan to scoop him into his arms. Lucinda instructed Ryan to defend himself against coercive magic and performed a series of complicated charms, none of which were familiar to Hermione.

'What did you do to him?' she asked.

'The first two were to help along my alpha status. Nothing too emasculating, but you can see why I didn't want to accidentally hit Walter with them. The third charm was to establish a link with the amulet on his collar, which will change colours depending on what smells he detects.'

'And how is that useful?' asked Ryan, no longer holding the struggling bloodhound.

'Diagnostics, specifically on unsuspecting Muggles. It turns out dogs can detect certain diseases as reliably as laboratory tests can, which means Lucifer can tell me whether our friends and relations are sick before they even know it themselves. Then I can cure them without the authorities getting too nosy about spontaneous remission.'

'That's amazing!' said Hermione. 'Is that a common practise among Healers?'

'Not in recent years, but I decided it was overdue for a revival. Furthermore, having a large dog will get me out of the house several hours a day, which is a necessary break from all my brewing. Other than bicycling everywhere I've been bone idle of late.'

Walter entered through the front door, carrying a mesh bag containing fresh bread, fruit, and cheese. 'Oh good, you're here,' he said. 'And I see you've met Satan.'

'I thought his name was Lucifer,' replied Hermione.

'It is, but I like to cycle through all the devil's aliases. And it's only appropriate, since he'll be Lucinda's familiar.'

'I thought you were her familiar,' joked Hermione.

'No, he's my mate. If he were my familiar he'd primarily perform tasks,' replied Lucinda, inspecting the groceries Walter had purchased. 'Didn't they have the seeded loaf?' she asked, disappointed.

'No, they were out of seeded, so I bought the plain instead.'

'Ah well,' she sighed, leading Lucifer through the kitchen, where he sniffed eagerly at the potions cupboard. 'The early bird catches the worm. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and so forth. Just let me cut up the fruit and we'll be ready to eat.'

Hermione was enough of a fixture at the Bellamys' that they no longer cleared more of the dining table than necessary, which meant several spellbooks were open, including two that Lucinda had borrowed from the Black family library. 'Are you ready for more books?' asked Hermione. 'I'm visiting Harry tomorrow evening, and you'll be welcome to pop in if you like.'

'Yes, I'd love to,' replied Lucinda, setting out food. 'Nine-tenths of his library should be doused in petrol and cast into a volcano, but the remaining ten percent is pure gold.'

'That was quite an article about him in this morning's _Prophet_,' remarked Walter. 'And he clearly had a good time last night.'

'That photograph was inaccurate—I'm sure of it!' insisted Hermione. 'The Light magic has to be interfering with the photograph somehow—even Harry isn't that indiscreet.'

'I assumed it was something like that,' chuckled Lucinda. 'Poor lad ... I'll definitely start "Mothers For Harry Potter" and hold a banner for him next week.'

'I'd like to point out that you've never held a banner for me,' said Ryan stiffly.

'Why should I have?' asked Lucinda, with apparent sincerity. 'I gave you life and magic, and I didn't drown you when you turned the house into bedlam for years on end. If anything, you should trail a banner for me and your father, only I suspect that's against league regulations.'

'I'll hold a banner for you,' declared Hermione, and Ryan lit up. 'Sorry, I meant for your parents. But I can hold one for you the following week.'

'Don't worry about us,' said Lucinda. 'It seems your dear block of granite has a fragile ego, and you'd best nurture it. It's the cross we powerful women have to bear.'

'Dad, why exactly do you put up with her?' asked Ryan.

'She's never boring. Which, after twenty-five years of marriage, is a cardinal virtue.'

They continued talking throughout the meal but near the end, as they were munching on fruit and cheese, a light near the kitchen door flashed three times. 'Muggles incoming,' said Lucinda casually, tucking her wand up her sleeve. 'Walter, were we expecting anyone?'

'No, but you're always telling people to drop in, presumably to test the Muggle-detection wards.'

'The wards never get tested anymore,' grumbled Lucinda. Turning to Hermione, she said, 'I used to employ a wide array of Muggle-detection charms, but we were getting too many false positives. But then Walter had the bright idea of making the front latch extra fiddly and using that to trigger the changeover.'

By that point, the house had converted entirely to Muggle mode, and the doorbell rang. Lucifer barked loudly, and Lucinda had to grab his lead to keep him from running after Walter, who had gone to open the door.

Hermione cautiously peered through the kitchen to see who had arrived, and Ryan whispered, 'It's my Aunt Louise and cousin Zoe. Louise is my father's sister.'

'What's this?' said Louise, indicating Lucifer, who was still barking.

'My new familiar,' replied Lucinda. 'At least that's what Walter calls him, since he's named Lucifer.'

'You named your dog after the devil?' exclaimed Zoe, who Hermione guessed was maybe thirteen. 'That's so cool!'

Louise was looking sceptically at Lucifer. 'Aren't bloodhounds usually terrible droolers?'

'So I've heard, but apparently Lucifer is the rare exception,' said Lucinda innocently. 'And believe me, I'm not complaining.'

'And the house doesn't have that dog smell either,' observed Louise. 'But I shouldn't be surprised—the house is always immaculate.'

Hermione avoided catching Ryan's eye, knowing she'd start laughing, since the house had been anything but tidy moments earlier.

'But pardon my manners,' said Lucinda, 'I haven't introduced Ryan's girlfriend, Hermione.'

Introductions were made, and Louise said, 'No need to apologise, Lucinda—we're the ones who turned up unannounced. We were in the car already, and Zoe decided she wanted to see Aunt Lucinda.'

Louise and Zoe sat down, and Lucinda brought plates and insisted they help themselves to whatever was on the table. 'You're doing me a favour,' she assured them. 'When Ryan was still at home we never had a problem with uneaten leftovers, but now they tend to pile up.'

The conversation initially centred around Hermione, whom Louise and Zoe were eager to learn more about. But eventually the adults fell into their own discussion, and the younger generation chatted amongst themselves. 'I love your hair!' Zoe told Hermione. 'Is it naturally like that?'

'It's naturally curly, but I have to help it along to make it behave.'

'Mine is hopelessly straight,' said Zoe forlornly. 'Some of the girls at school call me "Drainpipe" because my hair makes me look like I got caught under one.'

'What?' exclaimed Hermione, outraged. 'Your hair is beautiful, and I'd have done anything for straight hair until I finally figured out how to manage mine.'

'I'm sure it looks good regardless,' insisted Zoe.

'It looks great,' said Ryan enthusiastically, but Hermione scowled at him.

'Ignore him, he's biased,' she told Zoe. 'It's an absolute fright on its own, and I always just wore it tied back.'

'Still, you're so pretty,' continued Zoe. 'I'm sure the boys noticed you anyway.'

Hermione could tell what Zoe had left unsaid: _And I'm plain, so nobody notices me. _'You're very pretty,' she said truthfully. 'And you're tall like Ryan—the boys are probably cross because they haven't caught up yet.'

'I'm taller than most of them,' she admitted. 'But they still ignore me—it's only the pretty, popular girls who have boyfriends.'

'That's how it was at my school too, when I was your age,' said Hermione. 'And believe me, nobody thought I was pretty, and I definitely wasn't popular. None of the girls liked me, which was especially bad because it was a boarding school and I lived with two of them. I only had two friends—both boys—and they barely even realised I was a girl.'

Zoe looked sceptical. 'Were they blind?'

'Admittedly Harry had poor eyesight, but no, they weren't blind. Not only was my hair awful, but my teeth were as well. Let's just say I owe a lot to the magic of orthodontia.'

'Oh,' replied Zoe, surprised. Her mouth was closed, but Hermione could see she was running her tongue over her teeth. 'I suppose my teeth are all right. I'm lucky that way, at least.'

'You're lucky lots of ways,' said Ryan. 'What Zoe hasn't told you is that she's an incredibly good artist, and she even won a prize last spring.'

'That's amazing!' said Hermione. 'I can't draw to save my life.'

'It's not just drawing,' said Zoe, trying to hide her excitement. 'I mean, I like drawing, but I also do collage, and linoleum prints, and ceramics—that's what I won the prize for, actually.'

Hermione felt unexpectedly tender towards Zoe as she began talking about art. _It's like sunlight hitting a jewel, _she thought, watching the girl light up. Even more surprising was that Hermione simultaneously felt affection for herself as an adolescent, imagining how she must have lit up while talking about books or magic.

'How are you doing that?' gasped Zoe.

Hermione froze. 'Doing what?'

'With your hair! There are little blue sparks—look, Mum! Hermione's hair is glittering.'

'We went to a rave last night,' blurted Ryan. 'They were throwing glitter everywhere, and a ton got in Hermione's hair. It must not have all washed out.'

Alarmed, Hermione patted her hair. 'You're right, I can feel it.' _Blast! Is this accidental Light magic?_ she wondered. 'I should go wash it again,' she said, standing.

'No, it's pretty! I can't believe I didn't notice it before,' said Zoe admiringly.

_How do I stop this? _thought Hermione in a panic. She glanced at Lucinda, who was subtly nodding at her. _Just relax,_ she seemed to be saying. _It'll blow over._

'Do you want to pick some flowers to take home?' she asked Zoe and Louise. 'I'll get some shears and we can go outside—I'm certain Lucifer is keen to stretch his legs.'

'Aren't you afraid he'll tear up the garden?' asked Louise.

'No, he avoids the flowers for some reason. He's very clever that way.'

Hermione was impressed by how Lucinda used her natural air of command to sweep Ryan's aunt and cousin outside, along with Walter and Lucifer. 'That was quick thinking,' she told Ryan when they were alone. 'And Lucinda took it perfectly in stride.'

'Years of practice,' said Ryan. 'She'll do anything to avoid having to Memory Charm someone. But what happened? Your hair was sparking, just as she said.'

'I think this was my first manifestation of accidental Light magic. At least it's more subtle than Harry's version.'

'Does it have anything else in common with Harry's version,' he asked suggestively.

'That's a good question,' she replied. 'I suppose we could go back to your flat and find out.'

'What I wouldn't do to see your hair start sparking when it's in seventies glamour model mode,' he began, when suddenly they were interrupted by the arrival of Prongs.

In Harry's voice, the stag said, _'Hermione, I can't tell you how much I appreciate that you gave me the benefit of the doubt. Yes, I spent all morning reassuring people I'm not hopelessly indiscreet, and Rita has already drafted a follow-up piece that completely absolves me. But I'd be grateful if you could tell Minerva, Arthur and Molly, and Bill and Fleur.'_

'Oh. My. God!' exclaimed Zoe, and Louise's jaw dropped.

'_Starete Lignum!'_ cried Ryan, aiming his wand, and the two Muggles froze. Lucifer was barking loudly at Prongs, who hadn't yet faded, and Lucinda sighed.

'Oh, blast,' she said. 'And here you'd handled Hermione's sparks so perfectly. Do you want to do it or shall I.'

'I can do it,' replied Ryan. 'Should I remove the spark memories as well?'

'No, they bought it. And then I'd have to explain where the flowers came from—just erase the Patronus.'

Prongs was gone, and Walter took Lucifer back outside. _'Obliviate,'_ said Ryan, casting a single charm for both of them, and then he ended their stasis with a _Finite incantatem._

Louise and Zoe looked dazed. 'What just happened?' asked Zoe.

'Lucifer started barking for no reason,' said Lucinda. 'But I'll train it out of him—bloodhounds are supposed to be intelligent.'

The two Muggles exchanged glances but then relaxed. 'We should put these in water,' said Louise, as if to remind herself why they'd come inside.

'Yes,' said Lucinda, leading them to the kitchen. 'And Ryan, you two should leave soon if you want to catch your bus. Remember it's Sunday, and the next one isn't for an hour.'

Ryan looked at his wristwatch and said, 'Good point.' He and Hermione said goodbye to Louise and Zoe, and Hermione said how much she'd enjoyed meeting them.

'Next time I want to see some of your artwork,' Hermione told Zoe, and the teenager gave her a hug.

They left through the front door and walked down the road until they reached a clump of trees. 'We can Apparate from here,' said Ryan, and they returned to his flat.

'Ugh, I'm so sorry,' said Hermione. 'That was my fault entirely—I should never have told Harry to send Prongs.'

'You didn't know my aunt and Zoe were going to turn up. And I only had to erase thirty seconds—that wasn't bad at all.'

'Still, I know how much you hate performing memory charms.'

'What's done is done. At least I didn't have to erase your whole conversation with Zoe, which she obviously appreciated.'

'So did I,' said Hermione. 'I think that's why my hair started sparking‚ because I felt so much affection for her.' _And for myself,_ she added internally.

'Then why doesn't your hair spark for me?' he asked playfully. 'Should I feel insulted?'

'The rest of me sparks for you,' she said. 'Oh! That reminds me—I need to reply to Harry. Is it all right if I disappear for a few hours? Hopefully we'll still have time together before your Charms meeting.'

'Can't I come with you?' he asked hopefully. 'I've never seen Hogwarts, after all.'

'I'll ask Minerva, but in principle yes, of course.' Hermione sent her otter first to Harry, and then to Minerva asking to speak to her and whether Ryan might come.

Minerva's cat replied less than a minute later. _'Yes, you can both Floo to my office. Although I'm not sure whether to allow Ryan Bellamy to wander the corridors—the students have only just recovered from seeing Sirius Black.'_

'What on earth is she talking about?' asked Hermione. 'Never mind—we'll find out. Shall we go?'

'Yes, although I might get emotional if you point out all the places you nearly died.'

'There are only a few places like that: the bathroom with the troll, the corridor where the Basilisk saw me, the Great Hall, the Room of Hidden Things, the edge of the Lake–'

Ryan blanched. 'That's not "a few!"'

'No, I suppose not,' she admitted. 'But I was there for seven years, and there was a war on.'

'A war you ended,' he said admiringly.

'Harry ended it.'

'Yes, and you carried him over the finish line.'

She waved her hand dismissively. 'You don't need to reassure me—I received plenty of credit, and I'm delighted not to be anywhere near as famous as Harry is.'

'That's fortunate, because I'm not willing to share you,' he said smiling.

'You mean I can't lure you and Darren into a threesome?' she laughed. 'Or maybe we could find a C-cubed who fancies me.'

'Chaser chaser chaser?' he asked, furrowing his brow. 'Believe me, you're not a C-squared.'

'There's still time,' suggested Hermione. 'Maybe I could ask Harry's new friends where they bought their dresses.'

After bantering a bit longer, they travelled by Floo to Minerva's office, and Hermione quickly explained why they'd come. 'Harry wanted me to assure you that the picture taken last night was inaccurate—apparently Light magic interferes with how photographs behave.'

'So he wasn't groping those witches in public?' asked Minerva.

'I think he was in the restaurant, but not in front of the camera.'

Minerva sighed. 'I suppose that's mildly comforting, but he never should have behaved like that in public in the first place.' She glanced at Snape's portrait, which was sleeping, and said, 'I'm starting to think Severus is right about his need for attention.'

'He attracts attention regardless,' argued Hermione. 'The only change is that he no longer cares what people think.'

'Clearly he does, if he sent you here to reassure me.'

'You're not everybody—he only asked me to talk to you and several of the Weasleys. There's going to be an article in tomorrow's _Prophet _setting the record straight, thanks to his bizarre new relationship with Rita Skeeter. Did he tell you about that?'

'Yes, and I still can't believe it. Did he really approve that headline?'

'Apparently. I can't say I agree with everything he's done, but you have to admit he keeps coming out on top.'

'So it seems,' replied Minerva. 'I suppose this is why you and I weren't Sorted into Slytherin. The Hat reassigned him on Thursday, you know.'

'What?' gasped Hermione. 'I know it wanted to put him into Slytherin years ago, but I assumed that was the–' She stopped herself before saying _Horcrux._ 'His link with Voldemort.'

'No, he's a Slytherin now—not that it matters. Fortunately we needn't worry he'll go Dark,' she added with a chuckle. 'And he's never had a taste for power.'

'He really hasn't,' agreed Hermione. 'Honestly, we're lucky he has such a good heart, because at this rate he could probably influence people to do anything.'

'_Make love, not war,'_ quoted Minerva. 'The portraits are reporting considerably less duelling in the corridors this year, but a good deal more broom-cupboard shenanigans. And Poppy and the heads of houses are being more proactive than in the past about teaching Contraception Charms.'

'Did you have to confiscate today's _Prophet?'_ asked Hermione.

'Really, Miss Granger, you of all people should remember how successful Dolores Umbridge was when she tried banning the _Quibbler,'_ admonished Minerva. 'And decades of teaching have shown me there's no getting around teen hormones. Did you hear about Sirius Black last week?'

'No, what happened?'

'Harry's friend Alex is an absolute genius at Transfiguration, and when he brought her to Hogwarts on Thursday they decided he'd somehow be less conspicuous disguised as pre-Azkaban Sirius Black.'

'Oh dear,' said Hermione, recalling how she'd reacted at age fourteen to an old photograph of him. 'I daresay Harry himself would have been less conspicuous.'

'You're right. And if you thought Harry's robes were daringly cut, you haven't seen his Muggle wardrobe. After he and Alex paraded through the Great Hall at dinner, Prefects from all four houses came to the high table to ask who in Merlin's name that was.'

'What did you tell them?'

'I made up a name and said he'd recently finished his studies at Blockhurst,' admitted Minerva. 'I claimed that he and Alex were part of a task force seeking to establish relations between Hogwarts and the other schools, now that the wards are gone. Unfortunately, all four Prefects immediately volunteered to join the task force, so now I have a new problem on my hands.'

'It's not a bad idea,' said Ryan. 'I'm seeing my former Charms professor at Widgington this evening—would you like me to mention it?'

'Yes, please. So far the Ministry hasn't taken action, unsurprisingly, and any change will have to come from the schools themselves. Now that the flurry of activity surrounding the start of the term has settled, I'd love to work with my counterparts at the other schools. If you'll give me a moment, I'll write a letter you can pass along to your professor.'

Hermione showed Ryan around the office while Minerva wrote. 'I'd show you Pensieve memories of my time here, but I'm afraid you'd scold me for taking so many risks.'

'Like when you took Polyjuice Potion and were stuck as a half-cat, half-human hybrid?'

'For example. But perhaps we can Sort you. Minerva, may Ryan try on the Sorting Hat?'

'Be my guest,' she replied, still writing. 'It's been on a Sorting spree of late.'

Hermione led Ryan to the Hat. 'Just how old is it?' he asked dubiously.

'As old as Hogwarts,' said Hermione. 'The Founders created it, which makes it roughly a thousand years old.'

Ryan looked at it before trying it on. 'Do you know what charms they used? Is it sentient? Does it have its own cognition, or does it just borrow the wearer's?'

'I don't know,' admitted Hermione. 'And I can't believe I never considered those questions myself. But try it on.'

He placed the Hat on his head, and Hermione had to bite her lips to keep from giggling at how silly he looked. After nearly a minute, the Hat cried, 'RAVENPUFF.'

'Ravenpuff?!' exclaimed Hermione. 'That's not a real house!'

'What on earth have you done to the Sorting Hat?' asked Minerva, alarmed.

Ryan, who was once again hatless, said, 'I don't think I broke it, but it was initially a bit cross about doing another theoretical Sorting. It said, _"What's the point of Sorting people when it won't make any difference?"_ so I tried to convince it that self-knowledge was always useful, and that I'd appreciate any insight into my own mind. The Hat seemed to respect that, but then it said I was hard to place, so I asked what goes into a decision. It explained that the wearer's mind normally resonates with the charms cast by one of the Founders, which results in an instant verdict. But in cases where there are either multiple resonances, or none at all, the Hat has to dig deeper. He mentioned that Minerva's Sorting resulted in a Hatstall, and that Hermione's was near to it. I asked if I was Hatstall material, and the Hat said I might have been, had it been a real Sorting, but that this was only a theoretical Sorting, which meant he could place me into a theoretical house. Hence, Ravenpuff.'

'That's perfect!' exclaimed Hermione. 'Clever and hard-working!'

'And loyal,' he said, looking fondly at her. 'But are you disappointed I'm not in Gryffindor?'

'Of course not. I've had my fill of Gryffindor, thank you very much.'

Minerva had finished her letter and was casting a Drying Charm over it. 'Hermione, will you want to show Ryan around Hogwarts, as Harry did with Alex?'

'Yes, if that's all right. What was Alex like, by the way? I haven't met her.'

'I was very impressed, which made today's _Prophet_ all the more disappointing. She seemed like a good influence, but apparently they've split up.'

'No, they haven't,' said Ryan. 'They're not dating exclusively, and she was in Ireland over the weekend, so he was free to look elsewhere. But they're seeing each other again this week, and I get the impression he's rather keen on her.'

Hermione was astonished. 'I don't think I've ever heard you gossip that much! Minerva, there you have it—apparently Alex is still in the picture.'

'That's a relief,' said Minerva. 'Perhaps I'm excessively tribal when it comes to fellow Transfigurers, but I was upset he'd spurned her so publicly. I wouldn't have thought him capable of it, but he's been so hard to predict recently.'

'Yes and no,' said Hermione. 'Ryan says he's very consistent in practice, right?'

'Other than unexpected bouts of glowing, yes,' replied Ryan. 'He works as hard as anyone, and he even makes a point of turning up early on mornings after everyone knows he has a date. He does miss lunch occasionally, for meetings with the legal or publicity departments, or for Wizengamot business, but nobody questions his commitment to the team.'

'I'm glad to hear it. But what's he doing at the Wizengamot, now that he's allied with Rita Skeeter?' asked Minerva.

'He's advocating for Draco Malfoy's early release,' replied Hermione. 'What's more, he's taking a huge risk, because if Malfoy breaks the law before next July, Harry will receive the same punishment.'

'Has he gone mad?' exclaimed Snape's portrait.

'That's an excellent question, Severus,' said Minerva. 'Hermione, why on earth is he risking going to Azkaban just to shorten Draco's house arrest?'

'He has legal and magical protections in place,' explained Hermione, both to Minerva and to Snape's portrait. 'Remember, he's a Slytherin now.'

'Don't remind me!' grumbled Snape. 'Phineas Nigellus of all people bragged about it, claiming that the Black family magic is slowly taking control of him.'

'No, it isn't,' replied Hermione. 'If anything, it's the other way around, and Harry's taken control of the Black family magic.'

Snape shook his head in disgust. 'How on earth did such a mediocre wizard take control of anything? He can't even take control of his penmanship.'

'Actually, it's improved,' said Hermione. 'He spends hours every week responding to fan mail, and I think he's making an effort to write more legibly.'

'And it never occurred to him to write legibly when he was inflicting essays on his professors?' asked Snape archly.

'Apparently not,' said Minerva. 'But getting back to Draco Malfoy, does this mean he and Harry are on good terms?'

'I wouldn't necessarily say that, but Harry says they've found common ground. And he's completely serious about wanting to prevent the next war.'

'Typical Potter arrogance,' scowled Snape. 'And here I thought his father was unsurpassable in that regard, but clearly he was just the opening act.'

'I admire what he's doing,' said Minerva. 'And if he's really taken adequate measures to prevent Draco from breaking the law, it's absolutely the right thing to do, and it could profoundly affect the future of wizarding Britain.'

'It's not surprising, really,' said Phineas Nigellus. 'The Blacks have always been highly influential.'

'Are you actually taking credit for something Harry's doing?' asked Hermione incredulously. 'Even though he's pledged to undo your entire legacy?'

'I can't say I see eye to eye with him, but I've decided to set aside our differences and accept him as family. Admittedly his parentage is a travesty, but with any luck he'll choose a wife more wisely than his father did.'

Hermione and Minerva automatically looked at Snape to see his reaction. 'I'll ask you not to insult Lily Evans,' he said through clenched teeth.

Phineas Nigellus affected confusion. 'Lily Evans? I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with that name. Oh, did you mean Lily Potter?' he asked innocently. 'The one who married James Potter and bore his child? Do you think they conceived quickly, or did they have to put in a lot of effort?'

'Phineas, stop tormenting Severus!' commanded Minerva. Turning to Hermione and Ryan, she said, 'I'm sure you have better things to do than listen to cantankerous portraits. I know I do.'

'Yes, you're right. I'll give Ryan a quick tour and then go reassure the Weasleys that Harry hasn't lost his mind.'

After saying goodbye to Minerva, Hermione showed Ryan around the castle. Eventually he asked, 'How does anyone survive this place? From what I can tell, the faculty-student ratio is appallingly low, unless you count the portraits.'

'There are also ghosts,' said Hermione, but unfortunately Peeves appeared moments later with a full bucket of water, which he overturned on a group of first-years. Ryan raised an eyebrow at her, and they dutifully performed Drying Charms on the drenched students.

'Is that Ryan Bellamy?' exclaimed a boy within earshot.

'Yes,' said his companion, 'he's with Hermione Granger and everything.'

The two young Hufflepuffs dug through their bags for parchment and quills. 'May I have your autographs?' they asked. Naturally, Ryan and Hermione obliged and soon a crowd formed around them.

There was a hum of questions, and Ryan and Hermione smirked when they heard the same two words repeated. One girl had a particularly loud voice, and her question was followed by attentive silence: 'What's Harry Potter really like?'

'That's a broad question,' said Hermione, 'but the first thing you should know is that the photograph of him with those two witches was influenced by his Light magic, and that he wasn't doing that in real life.'

'He wasn't?' gasped the students.

'No, but I get the impression that's what he was thinking about.'

Several of the boys turned pale, and another one swallowed. 'Are you saying that he was standing there looking perfectly normal, but because of his Light magic the camera showed he was thinking about, you know ... er,' said one of the boys, trailing off.

'Doing it?' supplied his friend.

'Yeah,' said the boy, nodding.

'So it seems,' said Hermione. 'But we only have one photograph to base the theory on, and it might change once there's more data.'

'That's it, I'm not going anywhere near Light magic,' announced one of the boys. 'I don't need photographic evidence of what's going on up here,' he said, pointing to his head.

'They'd throw you in Azkaban,' said one of the girls knowingly.

'They'd throw all the boys in Azkaban, I suspect,' said Ryan. 'But that's no reason to avoid Light magic. In answer to your question about what Harry is like, he's incredibly happy whenever he's glowing, and it makes him wonderful to be around. And he's a solid bloke the rest of the time.'

'Are you sure?' asked an older girl. 'I heard he was a huge snob, and that his behaviour on the radio is just an act.'

'That's not true at all!' insisted Hermione. 'Admittedly he used to sneer a lot while playing Quidditch, but that was because of Seeker taunting, which he's given up. He's really an absolute sweetheart.'

'I told you so,' said another girl. 'I wrote to him in care of the Cannons, and he sent me a signed photograph within a week, and a handwritten letter as well. Colleen said he just has a secretary who forges his signature, but Harry would never do that.'

'He does have a secretary, but she doesn't forge his signature,' said Hermione. 'He spends hours every week replying to kids who write to him, and if something is signed by him, it's because he wrote it personally.'

'Is it true he never wears the same robes twice?'

'What? No!' exclaimed Hermione. 'He's not often photographed in the same outfits, but he definitely keeps wearing them.'

'I'm starting to wonder if Harry needs to take Veritaserum on a monthly basis,' remarked Ryan.

'Don't even think of suggesting that,' said Hermione, even though all the students nodded eagerly.

'What did he say when they censored him?'

'That's no one's business but his own,' said Hermione. 'And we need to leave now.'

She dragged Ryan into a classroom. 'That was mayhem! For years people have asked me about Harry, but you'd think they were talking about Prince William or something.'

'I was disappointed they didn't want to hear more about the beautiful and brilliant Hermione Granger. Personally I never tire of her.'

She smiled affectionately at him. 'I feel the same way about the impossibly amazing Ryan Bellamy. Of Ravenpuff,' she added with a smirk. 'But we should really talk to Molly and Arthur next.'

Hermione sent her Patronus to ask if they might visit, and Arthur's weasel replied in the affirmative. So they made their way beyond the castle grounds and Apparated just outside the Burrow. 'This house!' exclaimed Ryan. 'Clearly they're not even trying to pass among Muggles!'

'No, the Weasleys have scarcely met any Muggles, other than my parents. But Arthur is fascinated by them, so you might get some probing questions.' She knocked on the door, and Molly opened it.

'Hermione!' she said warmly. 'How wonderful to see you! And this must be Ryan—do come in.'

She greeted Hermione with a hug, and Arthur did the same. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Ryan,' he said, shaking his hand. 'We think the world of Hermione, of course.'

'I do as well,' replied Ryan.

'Oh my goodness, what happened to the house?' asked Hermione. 'It looks fantastic!'

'Harry loaned us Kreacher last weekend,' began Arthur, but Molly interrupted him.

'Don't even talk about that boy! I can't decide whether to scold the living daylights out of him or cry my eyes out! When I think about what a mess he's been ever since Ginny deserted him.' She raised a handkerchief to her eyes and added, 'I'm still furious at how heartless she was, to cast him aside after he literally gave his life for her.'

'Technically speaking, he gave his life for everyone, and not just Ginny,' noted Hermione.

'Nonsense, it was Ginny he loved. He didn't even look at another girl that year they were apart, and they immediately reconciled when the war ended,' insisted Molly. 'Those two were made for each other, and Ginny committed a crime against Magic itself when she threw him over.'

'A crime against Magic itself?' repeated Hermione with disbelief.

'Harry's the child of prophecy! Clearly different rules apply when we're talking about him! You can't claim he's not one in a million.'

'He is,' said Hermione, 'but so is everyone else. And the prophecy didn't mention Ginny at all.'

'Be that as it may, there were obviously powerful forces drawing them together. Did you know she was the first girl Weasley in generations? And our seventh child, of course. Who else would be an appropriate match for someone like Harry.'

'Molly, he's not the Second Coming!' scolded Arthur.

'Of course not, that's blasphemy!' replied Molly. 'But he and Ginny were meant for each other, and he's been in a tailspin ever since she spurned him. Did you see that photograph this morning, with the two witches?'

'Yes, and that's why I'm here,' said Hermione. 'He wasn't actually groping those women in public—he was posing normally, but his Light magic interfered with the photograph somehow and showed his intentions instead.'

Arthur's eyes shot open, and Molly threw a hand over her mouth. 'You mean the article wasn't true, and he didn't actually misbehave in public?' asked Arthur.

'Er, no,' replied Hermione. 'The article was true, and he did misbehave in the restaurant. But the photograph was inaccurate.'

Molly frowned and said, 'Then my opinion stands. Harry is out of control, and Ginny is entirely to blame.'

'No she's not!' said Hermione. 'She had sound reasons for breaking up with Harry, even though he'd done nothing wrong. And he's dated some lovely witches since then.'

'I hope you're not referring to Lydia Travers!'

'No,' said Hermione slowly. 'Lydia wasn't as bad as I expected, and she has considerable strength of character. But she's rather spoilt, and her worship of Harry wasn't good for him. Helena was lovely, though, and Minerva speaks highly of his current girlfriend, Alex.'

'His current girlfriend!' exclaimed Molly. 'Which one of the witches was that?'

'Er, neither. She's in Ireland this weekend, and they're not dating exclusively.'

Molly shook her head in disapproval. 'Call me old-fashioned, but in my day wizards didn't say they had a girlfriend but then sleep with someone else the minute she turned her back.'

'I'm fairly certain wizards have always done that,' said Hermione. 'The only difference is that it's all in the open, and Alex is free to do the same.'

'I could just strangle Ginny,' continued Molly. 'First she turns sweet Harry into a libertine, and now she's taken up with another witch.'

'What's wrong with that?' said Hermione sharply.

'Oh, nothing in principle,' replied Molly. 'People should be free to love whoever they like, as long as it's consensual. But she's choosing the life of an outcast, and now she'll never have children.'

'Molly, you know that's not true,' began Arthur.

'Of course it's true!' snapped Molly. 'How do you expect two witches to make a child? There's no charm for that.'

'No, but there are wizards,' replied Hermione. 'And there are Muggle techniques for artificial insemination, which don't require intercourse.'

'Do you really think Ginny is going to deliberately choose motherhood if it doesn't happen by accident?'

'Not right now, because she's only eighteen,' said Hermione. 'But when she's older, and she and her partner want children, then of course she might. And furthermore, they'll have two wombs to choose from, so Ginny needn't give up flying if she doesn't want to.'

'But then it wouldn't be our grandchild!' wailed Molly.

'Of course it would be,' replied Arthur. 'You've considered other children your own, even though they weren't technically yours. Harry, for example.'

Molly's tears began flowing again. 'Don't talk to me about Harry—he's completely lost to us. Now that he's a Black, he's no longer interested in mere Weasleys. Prewetts, perhaps, but ...'

'That's completely untrue!' said Hermione. 'Ron is still his best mate, and he's also close with George and Bill. And I know he's very independent, but he specifically asked me to come reassure you this afternoon, because he didn't want you to worry.'

'Harry sent you?' asked Molly, her voice surprisingly girlish.

'Yes, and to Bill and Fleur as well. Admittedly he has a broader social circle than he used to, but he'll always cherish his old friends. And you're the closest thing he has to a family.'

'But Ginny ruined that,' sniffled Molly.

'They'll never marry, but they're well on their way to becoming friends again. And it probably helps that she's dating another witch, because Harry won't be jealous the same way.'

'That's true,' admitted Molly. 'And maybe she'll even let him father her children!'

'Molly, you're getting ahead of yourself,' said Arthur sternly. 'They're too young, and I'm certain Harry will want a family of his own.'

'But he's head of two houses,' continued Molly, her eyes wide. 'His own children can be Potters, and Ginny's can be Blacks and inherit the title ...'

'Lordships are bollocks,' grumbled Hermione.

'But Wizengamot seats aren't,' said Molly. 'The Weasleys sold theirs generations ago, and people are predicting Harry will eventually have two.'

'Stop listening to gossip!' ordered Arthur. 'The boy is nineteen and has a full-time Quidditch career. And besides, you seem to have forgotten how much our children have accomplished. George runs a successful business, Bill is well-established at Gringotts, and Percy is finally back on track at the Ministry. And Ron, of course ...'

'Ronald!' she said affectionately. 'Order of Merlin, First Class! And his Auror supervisors have nothing but praise for him.' Her expression soured, however, and she said, 'But I worry for Charlie. He's nearly twenty-seven and still hasn't met a nice witch. I blame Romania, but he shows no interest in moving home.'

'He seems very happy,' countered Arthur. 'Last weekend he told us he'd joined an amateur Quidditch league, and he's also working on an article for publication.'

'But what good is it without someone to share it with? I'm grateful we have a large family, and I highly recommend you have one as well, Hermione, but more children means more people to worry about. And I'll never stop grieving Fred.'

'Of course not, dear,' said Arthur tenderly, reaching for her hand. 'None of us will.'

After a silence, Hermione said, 'Molly, what can I do to reassure you about Harry? Would it help to know that I'm studying Light magic with him?'

'That's what Arthur told me, but I'm still worried. Are you sure you can trust this Davina Hampton? She was a Slytherin, after all.'

_Technically, so is Harry,_ thought Hermione. 'Yes, I definitely trust her. She evaluated us before accepting us as students, and I did the same.'

Molly seemed consider Hermione's endorsement. 'What about the vampire? Arthur said Harry found this teacher through him.'

'I've met Alistair, and he's fine. He was a Gryffindor centuries ago, and he helped the resistance during the war. And as far as I know, Harry hasn't spent much time with him, so it's not as if they're best mates.'

'He doesn't even go to Penumbra anymore,' said Ryan. 'And I'm convinced that his adventures yesterday were heavily influenced by our teammate Darren, who's a shameless skirt-chaser.'

'I'm certain Harry will settle down when the time comes,' Hermione assured her. 'The whole reason Helena made him take that vow is because he's so eager to fall in love, and she wants him to grow up first. He's actually very romantic, so it's much better if he waits until he's past the accidental Light magic phase.'

'I just hope a good witch will have him, when the time comes,' said Molly. 'Those two he was photographed with looked like floozies.'

'Molly, that's unjust,' scolded Arthur. 'They were wearing Muggle clothing, which is, er, more provocative than wizarding dress.'

Hermione was actually on Molly's side, but she simply said, 'They were dressed for a night on the town, and Arthur's right about Muggle styles.'

'I just don't want anyone taking advantage of him.'

'I don't either,' agreed Hermione, 'but he has a good head on his shoulders, and an exceptionally good heart. I'm confident this is just a phase, and that he'll get through it.' On an impulse, she added, 'More than anything he appreciates when his old friends have faith in him. I owled him this morning to say I was certain that photograph was inaccurate, and you should have heard the relief in his voice when he sent his Patronus. So if you make a habit of giving him the benefit of the doubt, he'll be less likely to push you away.'

Arthur was nodding. 'She's right, Molly. He didn't appreciate my lecture last weekend, that's for certain. And he claims Andromeda Tonks and Marjorie Tuttle are both keeping an eye on him.'

'I can vouch for Tuttle,' said Ryan. 'She's tough on him, but Harry respects her.'

Molly finally softened. 'Hermione, thank you for taking the time to explain. I suppose I'm just scared of losing him, or of someone hurting him. I still remember that lost little boy who didn't know how to get onto platform nine and three-quarters.' She was silent for a moment before adding, 'But how are you, dear? You've come to visit, and we've done nothing but talk about Harry.'

'Don't worry, I'm used to it,' replied Hermione. 'And I'm well.' She told the Weasleys about her work at the Ministry, and also about how she'd reconnected with her grandparents. 'I've had to tell some lies, but Ryan convinced me that was better than losing contact entirely.'

'Did I hear that your father is a Muggle?' asked Arthur excitedly. 'What sort of job does he have?'

'He's an engineer, which is a broad field, but he personally works on developing new types of batteries.'

'Really!' exclaimed Arthur. 'I have an entire box full of batteries in the shed. Did he work on any of those?'

'Probably not,' replied Ryan. 'He mainly works on much larger batteries, which they hope will make electric cars more feasible in the future.'

'An entire car powered by a battery? Marvellous! But what about the petrol? I thought cars needed petrol.'

'If you think about it, petrol is just a different kind of battery,' explained Ryan. 'It contains energy that was captured from the sun millions of years ago, and that energy is used to power an internal combustion engine. But with enough photovoltaic panels and a large enough battery, the sun can power an induction motor, which is far more efficient, and non-polluting.'

Hermione could see that Arthur had got lost, probably when Ryan said _photovoltaic_. 'Fascinating!' he replied. 'I'd enjoy seeing that sometime.'

They chatted a while longer until Hermione politely announced they needed to talk to Bill and Fleur. 'Do you mind if I send a Patronus from here, to let them know we're coming?'

'There's no need,' Molly assured them. 'They're family, and I just Floo right over—I'm sure you can do the same.'

Hermione was certain Fleur didn't appreciate unannounced visits, particularly from _belle-mère Weasley_. 'No, I'd hate to interrupt them—I'll send my otter.'

She sent a short message from the kitchen, and a minute later Bill's head popped from the fireplace and said, 'Yes, please come over, but just you and Ryan. Fleur is under the weather and can't handle a crowd.'

'Under the weather?' said Molly excitedly. 'Flu-like symptoms? Nausea? Or is she just tired all the time?'

'She has a headache,' replied Bill, and Molly's face fell.

'Oh, all right. Let me know if I can send any potions over.'

'I will, Mum.'

Hermione and Ryan said goodbye and then travelled by Floo to Shell Cottage, where they were greeted by a radiant Fleur. 'Hermione, I am very happy to see you,' she said, kissing her on both cheeks. 'And you as well, Ryan.'

'I'm sorry to hear about your headache,' said Hermione. 'May I help somehow?'

'No, I told Bill to lie to his mother, because I did not want her to come over.'

'Does she really just Floo in unannounced?'

'Yes, and it will only get worse,' sighed Fleur.

Bill laughed and said, 'That's Fleur's way of sharing our very good news, which is that she's pregnant.'

Hermione squealed and hugged them both, and Ryan offered his congratulations. 'But do not tell _belle-mère_,' Fleur cautioned them.

'At this rate, I suspect Fleur won't tell Mum until the baby receives their Hogwarts letter,' said Bill. 'But she's not due until the end of April, and we'd rather wait.'

They chattered about the baby for a while, and Fleur offered them tea and pastries. 'I have finally found a good source for _croissants_,' she declared. 'There is a French family who moved to Manchester and opened a bakery. They even deliver by Floo, so I now have _baguettes_ and _batards _just like in France.'

'I'll have to tell Harry,' replied Hermione. 'He's been unsatisfied with Kreacher's pastries ever since his trip to Paris last month.'

Bill frowned. 'Is Harry all right? He looked like he might have been drunk in that photograph this morning.'

Hermione explained what had happened, and Bill and Fleur both chuckled. 'Poor Harry,' said Fleur. 'He has no intimate secrets left.'

'No, none at all,' agreed Hermione. 'On the whole I think he's happier for it, but it's occasionally mortifying.'

Bill and Fleur asked Hermione about her work, her family, and how she and Ryan were doing, and she was oddly touched that they didn't ask her any more about Harry. _Is this what it's like for people who aren't best friends with the world's most famous wizard?_ she wondered.

They were thrilled to hear that she was studying Light magic, and with her permission Ryan revealed what had happened with her hair. 'That must have been beautiful,' said Fleur. 'I would love to see it one day.'

'It was beautiful,' Ryan confirmed. 'Hermione, do you think you can make it happen again right now?'

'I have no idea, since it wasn't on purpose. But I can try.' She brought Zoe to mind and attempted to recall how she'd felt listening to her describe her artwork. 'Anything?' she asked Ryan.

'No, but don't worry, I'm sure you'll get it in no time.'

Bill asked Ryan about Quidditch, and Hermione found herself looking at Fleur's abdomen, even though she wasn't showing yet. _Their baby will be brought up magical from day one,_ she thought enviously. _It won't have to struggle with accidental magic and see Bill and Fleur furtively reading about demonic possession and wondering whether to find a priest. _She recalled her own fear and confusion as a girl, and how she'd simultaneously convinced herself she'd imagined her magic and desperately hoped it was real.

_And you were bullied, on top of everything else,_ she told herself, and she felt the deep tenderness she'd experienced with Ryan's cousin. 'Hermione, you're doing it!' exclaimed Ryan. 'Fleur, look!'

'_Mon dieu! C'est si beau! _Bill, do you see it?'

'That's remarkable! Hermione, how do you feel?'

She was momentarily at a loss for words, and she was afraid she might cry. 'Your baby!' she said. 'She'll never have to wonder why it's happening. It'll just be magic, and everyone will be happy.'

'_Zut alors! _Are you a Seer?'

Hermione laughed. 'No, I promise. And I don't know whether you're having a girl or not—I think I was confusing her with myself.'

'Her?' repeated Ryan, amused. 'You seem fairly convinced.'

'It's just a feeling,' scoffed Hermione, 'and I'm hardly seeing the future, since she received her two X chromosomes at conception.'

Ryan had to explain rudimentary human genetics to Bill and Fleur, which Hermione found delightful. _He's my half-Muggle Ravenpuff_, she thought fondly, pulling a ringlet before her eyes so she could watch the sparks. They were subtle, and even though she'd wanted to glow like Harry, this was perfect somehow.

'We should probably leave,' she blurted, prompting Bill and Fleur to laugh.

'Are you off to a posh restaurant, to see if you can outdo Harry?' joked Bill.

'No, of course not,' she began, but Fleur just kissed her and pushed her towards the fireplace.

'Go and be happy,' she ordered. 'And I will sing French lullabies to my little girl. Bill sings her English lullabies, but they are horrible.'

Hermione and Ryan said hasty goodbyes and then travelled by Floo back to Ryan's flat. 'You have to uncharm your hair,' he insisted, and he gasped when he saw it. 'It's so much brighter!' he exclaimed. 'Go look!'

They went to the bathroom mirror, and Hermione gasped as well. _It's like a halo,_ she thought with amazement, and she threw her arms around Ryan. 'I love you,' she said, and he replied with a kiss.

'My beautiful Light warrior,' he murmured. 'My perfect, amazing Hermione.'

'Don't be silly—I'm not perfect,' she said, brimming with affection.

'You are to me,' he replied, and she didn't protest, choosing to kiss him instead.


	83. Chapter 83

Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a relaxed evening. After reading all afternoon, he ate dinner and spent several hours replying to fan mail before going to sleep at ten. He only had one nightmare, so he was well-rested when morning came. But he needed all his calm to get through the _Daily Prophet_.

Rita's article was on the front page, and it contained no unpleasant surprises. Next to it was a new photograph from Saturday night, only it must have been taken with a Muggle camera, since no one was moving—Harry simply held hands with Jocelyn, and Darren and Maryann were standing beside them. And in what Harry suspected was a coordinated publicity campaign, there was an article inside speculating about the two witches, who were reportedly the talk of wizarding Britain.

None of this bothered him, but the letters to the editor were positively infuriating. 'Mothers Against Harry Potter' were out in force, decrying Harry's indecent public behaviour. _'Harry Potter is no longer merely concerning—he is a full-fledged menace and must be stopped. His uncontrolled behaviour is a threat to our collective moral fabric, and the _Daily Prophet_ is equally culpable in promoting him. We therefore demand that Potter retire immediately from public life and spare our children from his noxious influence.'_

Scowling, Harry thought, _Did you even read the article about Light magic, or were you too busy hyperventilating about the sidebar? _But the next letter was even worse: _'Harry Potter's so-called "Light magic" is clearly a cover for what can only be described as unfettered debauchery. His unsubstantiated claims are a gross insult to the Light Arts practitioners of centuries past, whose extraordinary feats will never be repeated. So far, the only proof Potter has offered is his public glowing, which can easily be faked using charmed artefacts such as a hidden amulet. It is inconceivable that an undisciplined dropout like Potter could possibly be experiencing true Light magic, when his behaviour can much more easily be attributed to his boundless and well-documented lust.'_

Harry stared at the newspaper in furious disbelief. 'My so-called Light magic?' he cried aloud. 'Which part of "surviving the Killing Curse twice" did you miss? And how would I have got a hidden amulet past the referees, you ignorant cow?' _She probably won't be convinced I'm legitimately glowing unless I strip naked and pass under the Thief's Downfall first, _he thought angrily._ Perhaps we can do that on the next episode of Weasley's Wizard Wireless._

Another letter stated that Light magic was a myth, and that Harry and Davina were in cahoots to part gullible witches and wizards from their hard-earned gold. _'I can guarantee that within a month, Potter and Hampton will announce plans to teach the Light Arts to the masses for the "low" price of ten Galleons a lesson, not including mandatory course materials, a patented wand attachment, and officially-licensed Chudley Cannons merchandise.'_

Rolling his eyes, Harry wondered, _Do people really think I'm that mercenary?_ _And for Merlin's sake, the condom scheme is far more promising than trying to peddle Light magic, particularly if it's only a myth._

He was still frowning when an owl tapped on the kitchen window, and to his surprise the letter was from Rita. _'My darling Harry,' _she wrote._ 'Don't give those tiresome letters a second thought. I'll have you know that the _Prophet _didn't receive a single cancellation request in response to yesterday's issue, and that more than a dozen foreign publications have asked for syndication and translation rights. Expect a gift basket at the Cannons training grounds this morning, sent by the Prophet_ _management both to cheer you up and show their immense gratitude. And if by chance you're still upset, go put on your favourite record and get your glow on. Personally I recommend Marvin Gaye. Yours always, Rita.'_

Harry couldn't help smiling. _She's right,_ he thought. _I can glow all morning if I like. _His heart unclenched, and although he didn't actually glow, he was able to finish reading the paper without further irritation.

When he arrived for practice, Lara was opening a very large parcel. 'Do you know anything about this?' she asked. 'It's addressed to you and was delivered just now by Gringotts, believe it or not.'

'Gringotts?' exclaimed Harry. 'I was told to expect a gift basket from the _Daily Prophet_, in appreciation for services rendered, but not from Gringotts.'

She read the card. 'No, it's from the _Prophet,_ but they paid to have Gringotts verify the contents, so you wouldn't have to discard anything for fear of potions or charms.' Looking inside the box, she said, 'Wow, they must really like you.'

'What is it?' asked Harry with childlike excitement.

She hovered the box onto the table next to the window and said, 'Vanish the outer box and see for yourself. But then let me have some.'

Harry Vanished the box and revealed a tiered, flowing fountain, surrounded by vast quantities of fresh fruit. 'Is that chocolate?' he asked eagerly.

'Yes, three varieties: dark, milk, and white. And I should really take your picture, because your eyes are like saucers, only I'm afraid of what you might do in the photograph.'

'Trust me—all my thoughts are chocolate-related right now,' he said, still staring at the cascading fountain. 'But I just ate breakfast and am about to run laps ... Will it keep until later?'

'Yes, of course,' replied Lara. 'Magic, you know. But you need to have something now, just as a teaser.'

'You're absolutely right,' he said, approaching the fountain. 'And you should have some as well.'

'Is that what I think it is?' asked Janet, who had just entered. 'Please tell me I can have some.'

'Go right ahead,' said Harry, dipping a blackberry beneath the flowing chocolate and eating it. 'Oh my god,' he moaned. 'This is how people get fat, isn't it?'

'No, fruit has hardly any calories, and everyone knows chocolate is medicinal,' insisted Janet. 'Who sent this thing anyway, and can I bear their children?'

'The _Daily Prophet,_' replied Lara, between ecstatic bites of a chocolate-covered strawberry. 'By way of Gringotts.'

'I'm willing to have a goblin baby,' said Janet, popping some chocolate-dipped pineapple into her mouth. 'It might even be small enough to play Seeker.'

'Oi!' cried Harry. 'Do you want more chocolate or not?' he asked, coating a slice of banana.

One by one the other players were drawn irresistibly to the fountain. 'Are we sure they didn't charm this?' asked Gemma, between chocolate-covered blueberries. 'And if so, what charm did they use, because I need to learn it.'

'It's the _No Fucking Around This Is Seriously Good Chocolate _charm,' said Titus, his eyes closed in bliss.

'And the _Perfectly Ripe Fruit That Was Hand-Picked By Virgins_ enchantment,' added Suresh, who was visibly enjoying a piece of chocolate-coated melon.

'Shouldn't we be outside running?' asked Renée, after eating her third dipped cherry.

'Is there chocolate outside?' replied Janet, and Renée shook her head. 'Then no, we need to stay here.'

'We need to run,' insisted Harry, forcibly tearing himself from the fountain. 'It'll be here later.'

'You're afraid of the team observers, aren't you?' asked Darren, dipping an apricot under the cascading chocolate.

'Yes, I am,' he said. 'Come on.'

Harry trotted into the locker room to drop off his clean clothes and then ran to the pitch, where Tuttle was looking at her wristwatch. 'I'd lecture you for cutting it fine, Potter, but everyone else is late too.'

'Did you have any?' he asked.

'Yes, but you didn't notice because you were too busy gorging yourself.' The other players arrived, and Tuttle barked, 'You'll need some time to digest before calisthenics—fifteen laps.'

For once, Harry didn't sprint ahead, and Darren joined him. 'So, how should we surpass last weekend's effort?'

'Are you kidding? That was a one-time event.'

'Yes, because we need to surpass it.'

'No, we don't,' replied Harry. 'I'm through with C-squareds.'

'So call them S-squareds. I don't mind.'

'I'm serious. I only went through with it to celebrate going public with Light magic, but I'm tired of being called a manwhore.'

'Sticks and stones,' argued Darren. 'Come on—you'll never be nineteen again.'

'Aren't you twenty-two?'

'I am, and if I'd used my time better when I was your age, I might have moved on by now.'

'Nice try, Rogers, but the answer is no. Jocelyn and Maryann were delightful, but I need more of an emotional connection.'

'Fine, I'm only giving you a hard time,' replied Darren. 'And besides, I'm seeing them again tomorrow.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah, I heard from Maryann last night, and they've engaged a publicist who recommended we be seen together for at least another week. They'd love to have you there as well, but they got the hint regarding Alex.'

'Will they at least pick up the restaurant tab this time?'

'Not necessary—the publicist is on it. The only requirement is that we dial back the snogging.'

'Not if you go to Madam Puddifoot's in Hogsmeade,' suggested Harry. 'But they probably don't need the publicity.'

Darren nodded. 'Speaking of publicity, today was my first time on the front page of the _Prophet._'

'Really? How do you feel about it?'

'I feel great! As you once pointed out, I'm just a rank-and-file Chaser, so this is a big deal for me.'

'Did I really say that?' said Harry, appalled.

'Yes—it was that week we were all taunting you, before Gilstrap.'

'Right, sorry. Carry on.'

'Anyway, I'll probably never be hugely famous as a Chaser, but I might be able to cement a reputation as a man-about-town.'

Harry wasn't sure how to reply. 'And that's a good thing?'

'Definitely! First, it'll be great for merchandise sales. Second, it'll help when I retire, because I won't just be some anonymous ex-Chaser. I'll be Darren Rogers, _bon vivant_.'

'What does that mean?'

'Er, man-about-town. Only with more of an emphasis on food and wine.'

'Is that different somehow from "alcoholic glutton?"'

'Admittedly it's a fine line,' said Darren, 'but I'm not a huge drinker now, so I don't anticipate a problem. And hopefully I'll be vain enough to stay fit.'

'Got it. And are there unique career opportunities for men-about-town?'

'No, but it's a great way to make connections. That's how you get hired at the Ministry, after all—you have to know someone. Obviously I know you, but you're going to get tired of all your ageing teammates hitting you up for introductions. So my plan is to leverage our friendship now, and that way I won't need to hit you up later.'

'If only I'd known,' said Harry dryly. 'I had lunch just yesterday with Kingsley Shacklebolt.'

'Now that's a connection! But not what I had in mind ... I want to make friends with the up-and-comers, closer to my age. And I don't even need for you to make introductions, since by Wednesday I'll be an established man-about-town. Which means we'll have a history by the time I need a job, so they'll know I'm steady.'

'But are you steady?' asked Harry. 'No offence.'

'None taken, and yes, I am actually. I was a paperboy, after all.'

'A Muggle paperboy?'

'Yes. My dad had a paper route before he learnt he was a wizard—he's Muggle-born—and he says it strengthened his work ethic, so he made me do the same. I had a bicycle and everything.'

'Did it strengthen your work ethic?'

'Mostly, except for the time I overslept. I almost got away with it, though, because I delivered all the papers using accidental magic. Unfortunately, some of the neighbours saw my bicycle riding on its own, with newspapers flying from it, and a team of Obliviators had to clean up after me.'

'That's fairly impressive accidental magic,' said Harry.

'Yeah, my family had high hopes for me after that, but unfortunately I wasn't the prodigy they were expecting.'

Harry chuckled. 'I can relate.'

Feigning disbelief, Darren said, 'Are you saying expectations were high after you survived the Killing Curse as a baby? I can't imagine why—that was nowhere near as impressive as my paper route trick.'

Janet slowed down to join them. 'So, I neglected to ask during our chocolate orgy this morning how your sex orgy went on Saturday.'

'Is four people an orgy?' asked Darren. 'I thought five was the minimum.'

'I assumed it was four,' replied Janet. 'Thoughts, Snitchbottom?'

'I have no idea—clearly this is yet another thing I failed to learn at Hogwarts.'

'Can you ask your tutor?' suggested Janet.

'I'd rather not,' said Harry. 'And in answer to your question, it was a lot of fun but I'm swearing off C-squareds.'

'What!' she exclaimed, outraged. 'First prostitutes, now this! At this rate you'll only shag nuns.'

'That sounds problematic,' observed Harry.

'The Harpyheads got to him with the "Manwhore" taunts,' said Darren.

'And I need an emotional connection.'

'Emotional connections are overrated,' grumbled Janet. 'I'm starting to have one with Ron and I don't like it.'

'Really? Why not?'

'I used to be able to torment him without a second thought,' she said. 'It was so much fun to watch him twist in the wind while I chatted up some other bloke. But last time I tried, he got this downcast expression, and it took all my willpower not to run over and comfort him.'

'I'm no expert, but that actually sounds healthy. Particularly if you omit the part where you deliberately provoked him.'

'But that's the best part!' she said. 'It's the part where I'm in control. But then he ruins it by evoking my compassion,' she added, scowling.

'Does he deliberately torment you?' asked Harry.

'He doesn't need to,' she said forlornly. 'We didn't see each other last night, because it was my Muggle grandmum's birthday and I didn't fancy Obliviating my cousins when he inevitably screwed up. And I missed him.'

Harry cupped his ear. 'I'm sorry, I didn't hear that last bit.'

'I missed him! I missed Ron Weasley! Are you happy?'

'Er, yes. You two seem like a good couple, oddly enough.'

She shook her head in disgust and said, 'Bloody emotional connection. Are you sure this is what you want?'

'Yes, only the trick is finding witches who will put up with me.'

'What specifically are you referring to? Your inability to stop skirt-chasing, the fact that you can't propose marriage for two more years, or your complete lack of privacy?'

'Yes.'

'It sounds like Alex doesn't mind,' said Darren.

'She doesn't, but she specifically wants me to see other people.'

'And you've ruled out C-squareds,' said Janet. 'I see the problem. You want something resembling love but you don't want to break anyone's heart.'

'Exactly. I wish I hadn't screwed up with Lydia, because she'd have been ideal.'

'And you're certain there's no hope of salvaging that?'

'Tempting, but I doubt it. The whole reason her family forgave her is because I'm out of the picture.'

'I don't know what to tell you, then,' said Janet. 'You met Alex by chance—maybe you'll meet someone else.'

'I hope so,' he replied, running ahead in silence.

Harry glowed intermittently during practice that morning, which he found incredibly freeing. He also flew on the Firebolt Ultra, which he had actually come to like. It behaved oddly at times, particularly in conjunction with his Light magic, and Harry became convinced it wasn't a coincidence.

'I'll owl Firebolt this afternoon to see if Randolph Spudmore is willing to talk,' Bruce told him. 'He's notoriously tight-lipped, but I'm hoping his marketing team will lean on him.

After their morning session, everyone was tempted just to eat chocolate-covered fruit for lunch, but Tuttle hid the fountain and insisted they have a proper meal. Harry was reluctant, however, to go to the pub for fear of glowing, so he changed into robes instead. 'Does this mean you're eating with the reserves?' asked Gemma.

'Maybe later this week, but today I'm going you-know-where to reassure the other Wizengamot members I haven't lost my mind.'

'Do you need to gather votes in France?' she asked slyly.

'Why doesn't anyone believe me that I'm not interested in prostitutes?'

'Because of your _"boundless and well-documented lust,"_ replied Gemma. 'Next question?'

'Very funny. See you after lunch.'

When he arrived at Pratt's, he was permitted to sign the register and saw that Blaise Zabini had recently arrived. Harry entered the dining room, and Blaise called him over. 'Harry! I've just sat down—will you join me?'

Everyone turned when they heard Harry's name, and several wizards stiffened, but to their credit nobody left. 'Yes, thanks,' said Harry, taking a seat. 'Are you expecting someone?'

'No, I just take the occasional meal here and wait to see who turns up,' replied Blaise. 'And as usual I've been rewarded! May I assume you're here for last-minute electioneering?'

'I think I'm all set, but I wanted to turn up in case anyone had questions.'

Blaise smirked. 'Questions like, "Have the Malfoys bribed you?" Or, "Are you going to annihilate me with your Light magic?"'

'For example. But I think I've reassured everyone on both points. At least I hope I have.'

'You certainly shocked everyone with your willingness to risk your own freedom,' said Blaise. 'Are you sure the Light magic hasn't exacerbated your Gryffindor tendency towards foolish acts of heroism?'

'No, quite the opposite. I was at Hogwarts on Thursday, and the Sorting Hat reassigned me,' said Harry, pulling an embroidered handkerchief from his pocket and showing it to Blaise.

'Sweet Salazar!' exclaimed Blaise. 'You really are a Black now! Surely the name change is imminent!'

'Not until I meet with the other Blacks,' replied Harry. 'You convinced me not to turn House Black into the Harry Potter show.'

'I'm flattered! And I'm certain you're hungry, so have a look at the menu,' said Blaise, handing it to him.

They ordered, and Blaise resumed talking. 'Regarding Draco ... Are you sure he won't break the law?'

'Yes. The details are private, but I have rock-solid assurances. There's no risk.'

'I'm glad to hear it, both of your sakes. I saw him last night, and it's clear he's got his hopes up.'

'Really? He told me he's convinced I'll ruin it for him.'

'Yes, that's true as well. He vacillates between excitement over his impending release and fear it won't happen. For example, he suggested we go out on Friday, but then he corrected himself and proposed I come see him at the Manor instead. It's rather poignant, really—the past year has been more difficult than he lets on.'

'That's why I'm doing it. House arrest isn't helping him.'

'No. It's been hard to watch, but until now the only alternative was Azkaban. What you're doing is tremendous—overwhelming, even.'

Harry sighed. 'That's my one concern ... Do you think he'll resent me for it?'

'He already resents you—the fact that you kept him out of Azkaban was a huge blow to his pride. But the difference now is that you're risking something, and not just distributing largesse from on high.'

'Like a Malfoy, you mean?'

Blaise chuckled. 'Yes, exactly.' Looking Harry in the eye, he added, 'You have a real opportunity, I think, if you can manage not to blow it.'

'To make friends, you mean?' he asked, and Blaise nodded. 'I get that impression as well, and I definitely don't want to blow it. But he's so volatile! And frankly, it won't be a real friendship if I have to walk on eggshells all the time.'

'He can't possibly be worse than he was during sixth year,' said Blaise, referring to the year Draco was tasked with killing Dumbledore. 'He was practically living in the Room of Hidden Things, trying to repair that bloody cabinet, although we didn't know it at the time. All we knew was that he had a top-secret mission, which he all but admitted came from the Dark Lord, and that the stakes were perilously high. And he lost his temper constantly, and did his best to chase away all his friends.'

'How did you handle it?' asked Harry.

'Personally I just rolled my eyes at him and gave him a free pass, repeatedly. If he insulted me, I acted like it was a big joke and insulted him back. And if he got upset and stormed off, I let him. But then I'd sit next to him at dinner as if nothing had happened, which seemed to suit him. More than anything, he wanted to feel safe, and that's what his friends provided, in our own ways.'

'Who else are you talking about, if I might ask?'

'Daphne and Pansy, certainly. Theo as well, although their relationship was complicated by the fact that Theo didn't take the Mark. Draco wanted reassurances he'd made the right decision, and Theo couldn't provide that.'

'What about Crabbe and Goyle?'

Blaise rolled his eyes. 'Draco never saw them as equals. He didn't see any of us as equals, to be honest, but definitely not them.'

'Has that changed at all?'

'Yes and no. Strictly speaking, none of us were his equal: until the war ended, he was sole heir to the richest wizarding family in all England. Admittedly I'll probably outstrip him at the rate Mother is going, but socially I'll never be a Malfoy. Theo, on the other hand, was socially his equal, but not financially, and especially not now. And Daphne and Pansy are witches, so it's not the same.' He looked again at Harry and said, 'Honestly, you're probably the closest he has to an equal.'

'Me? I'm a filthy half-blood, and I don't have nearly as much gold as he does.'

'Yes, but you're also unique. You and Draco were like the kings on a chessboard—at least in his mind—and the rest of us were secondary pieces.'

Harry shook his head. 'Dumbledore and Voldemort were the kings. Draco and I were the pawns.'

'Don't read too much into the metaphor,' said Blaise dismissively. 'My point, which you can't dispute, is that you and Draco were the highest-ranking students on your respective sides.'

'That's true. And Snape pitted us against each other as well.'

'Right. But the problem for Draco is that while you were his greatest adversary, he wasn't yours.'

'No, that was Voldemort.'

Blaise nodded and said, 'And when you defeated Voldemort, you knocked down Lucius and Draco like dominos.'

'I didn't knock them down. Voldemort dragged them down with him.'

'The distinction doesn't matter. You were the winner and they were the losers.'

Their food arrived and they began eating, but the conversation continued without a pause. 'We seem to have got off topic,' remarked Harry. 'I asked how not to blow it with Draco, and you said that during sixth year you kept welcoming him back, even after he blew up at you. Which I think I've been doing with him as well. But I'm not sure what to make of your assertion that I'm his only equal, at least in some respects.'

Blaise thought for a moment. 'My point is that you need to accommodate his hurt pride. You were clever to court him, because that made him feel important.'

'He is important,' said Harry. 'One of the main reasons I'm doing this is that he'll be hugely powerful in the future, regardless of whether he's released on Wednesday.'

'Yes, but are you treating him as an equal, or are you trying to recruit him?'

'Recruit him to what? I haven't any army or faction. I'd be thrilled to be equals, if that means we're at least communicating and not on opposite sides of a war. That's a big part of why I joined Pratt's—I heard Dumbledore shunned it, and in hindsight that was a huge mistake.'

'I was delighted to hear you joined,' replied Blaise. 'I was concerned your miscalculation with the Boudoir might have soured you—I'm sorry I didn't stop you from going that night.'

'You couldn't have stopped me. Lydia told me to go, and I was curious as well.'

Blaise leaned towards him and said, 'But you were bluffing in that article, right? Surely you intend to go back.'

'No, I really don't. If I hadn't heard the church bells and realised I was late to see Lydia, I could easily have fallen in love with Claire by morning. Admittedly I might have fallen in love with someone else days later, but I'm far too vulnerable around women. I've sworn off C-squareds as well.'

'But not before going out with a bang!' said Blaise admiringly. Lowering his voice, he added, 'Have you glowed here at Pratt's yet?'

'Only in private,' admitted Harry.

'And you won't do it now?' he asked conspiratorially.

'I won't stop it if it happens on its own, but I won't cultivate it on purpose.'

Blaise looked around the room. 'Yes, there's a healthy smattering of Dark wizards present. But I'm tempted to draw it out of you anyway, just for fun.'

'You can try, but remember you're not my type.'

'Yes, but what about Ginny? She told me how you misidentified her secret new love.'

Harry felt a sudden wave of affection. 'Oh, bugger, now you've done it.' He closed his eyes and said, 'I should apologise for how cross I was with you—if I were still in Auror training, I definitely would have pictured your face on a duelling dummy.'

'Am I mistaken, or are your hands a bit brighter than they were a minute ago?'

'No—oh, I love you!' exclaimed Harry as his Light magic ran away with him. 'Blast, this is all your fault!'

Blaise was laughing. 'There's nothing to worry about,' he announced to the other diners. 'The biggest risk is that Potter might declare his love for you.'

'Drag him to the Boudoir,' said a wizard.

'Please, no,' replied Harry, glowing brightly. 'I'd be completely defenceless.'

'Now you know how we feel around Light wizards,' grumbled another diner.

'I swear I won't hurt you,' he said sincerely. 'But oh, this is better than the Boudoir.'

'Impossible,' scoffed a wizard with fluffy grey hair.

'Are you accusing Potter of not enjoying the company of witches enough?' asked Blaise.

'I love witches,' sighed Harry. 'If only it were Tuesday and I could see Alex!'

'Alex is a man's name,' Blaise pointed out.

'Alexandra,' he exhaled blissfully. 'I haven't seen her since Friday morning, and it's been like torture.'

'Your memories of actual torture must be fading if you're comparing a night with those two witches to the Cruciatus Curse,' remarked Blaise.

Harry's glow dimmed instantly. 'Why did you have to say that?'

'It was your metaphor. And besides, I still want to tell you about my investment opportunity, and it would be unethical to do so in your vulnerable state.'

'You're right—I'd have just handed you the Black family ring and told you to help yourself. It's probably good I don't actually know how to remove it.'

'I would never dream of parting you from your Noble and Most Ancient House. Speaking of which, my bet is on Harry Potter-Black, with a hyphen.'

'Did Draco tell you?' asked Harry quietly.

'No, I just had a feeling. But mum's the word.'

Blaise spent the next fifteen minutes describing the business he was starting. 'It's completely above board,' he concluded, 'which is frankly a turn-off for some of my would-be investors, but I can assure you the projected returns are just as promising as much more dubious ventures.'

'That all sounds impressive, but honestly I'm not qualified to evaluate it. Would you be willing to make the presentation at Gringotts? They'll know the right questions to ask, and I'll trust their advice.'

'I'd be glad to,' said Blaise. 'I've spoken with them already, and they wanted to invest, but I wasn't happy with the terms. They wanted too large a share for the amount they were willing to put in.'

They agreed on possible times for a meeting at Gringotts, and Harry said, 'I'd love to keep talking, but I need to look in on my secretary. She's the main reason my life isn't a complete shambles, and I want to keep her happy.'

After explaining to Blaise that keeping Mrs Thwip happy did not involve fraternisation, Harry said goodbye and left the dining room. _First chocolate, then Mrs Thwip,_ he told himself as he approached the fireplace. _No, I'll never get to her office if I start with the chocolate, _he realised, so he deliberately looked away from where the fountain was.

'Snitchbottom, don't you want any more?' asked Suresh.

'After my meeting!' he said, shielding his eyes and walking quickly.

'Better hurry,' warned Gemma, 'or there will be nothing left but coconut.'

Still wearing robes, Harry proceeded to Mrs Thwip's office and gave her his correspondence from the weekend. 'I'm sorry I didn't drop these off earlier,' he said. 'I got a bit distracted this morning.'

'Indeed,' replied Mrs Thwip, more frostily than usual.

_Bugger, I'm in trouble!_ he thought. 'I apologise—I should have greeted you first,' he said. 'Good afternoon, Mrs Thwip.'

'Good afternoon, Mr Potter,' was her terse reply.

'How are you today? I hope you had something from the fountain.'

'I had a prune in white chocolate, thank you.'

_I didn't even see any prunes_, thought Harry. _Did she bring her own? _'Er, are you preparing to sack me?' he asked nervously.

'What do you think, Mr Potter?'

_Shit! I'm in serious trouble,_ he thought. _It must be because of Jocelyn and Maryann. _'Didn't you say I'd be all right as long as I didn't deceive or coerce a woman?'

'That's only one type of behaviour I find objectionable,' she replied stiffly. 'Your public deportment is another.'

'But the photograph was inaccurate! Didn't you see this morning's article?'

'I did, but I saw nothing denying you'd behaved inappropriately inside the restaurant.'

Harry's shoulders slumped. 'You're right. I should have been more discreet.'

'Discreet!?' she snapped. 'You were worse than indiscreet—you were inconsiderate! The other diners at that restaurant didn't ask to witness your ... frolicking. And yet you inflicted it on them!'

'I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. My Light magic–'

'Is no excuse! Your behaviour was selfish, full stop.'

He simply nodded. 'Am I sacked, then?'

'No,' replied Mrs Thwip. 'You've kept up admirably with your correspondence, in spite of your distractions, so I'm giving you another chance. But make no mistake, Mr Potter, I shan't work for someone who routinely disregards other people's comfort.'

'You're absolutely right,' said Harry sadly. 'I was extremely inconsiderate, and I wouldn't blame you at all for sacking me if it happens again.'

'I'm certain it won't,' she said through gritted teeth. 'Am I correct, Mr Potter?'

'Yes, I promise. And I appreciate the guidance—really, I do.' Deliberately expanding into awareness, he asked, 'Is there anything else you want to tell me?'

'You have a new category of post,' she said, handing him a folder.

He hesitated before taking it. 'Is it hate mail?'

'No, see for yourself.'

Harry accepted the folder and read the first letter:

_Dear Harry,_

_I can't believe I'm telling anyone about this, least of all Harry Potter, but here goes. I think I am experiencing Light magic too. I don't glow all over like you do, but starting in my late twenties (I'm 45 now), the lines on my palms glow and pulsate sometimes. That alone isn't very interesting, but the emotions you described perfectly match what I experience when my palms light up. Except the word 'I' doesn't apply, because the boundary between 'me' and everything else disappears, and I know that it never actually existed._

_I know this sounds crazy, which is why I've never told anyone, not even my wife. She knows about my glowing palms, of course, and she jokes about how she doesn't need to use a Love Potion on me because I have one built-in. Fortunately I only have eyes for her, and I've never done anything unusual in a photograph, like they said you did on the radio this afternoon._

_I'd never even heard of Light magic until yesterday, but now I want to learn more. I'm going to write to Davina Hampton next, and I also want to see if I can cast a Patronus Charm (I've never tried before)._

_I suppose I don't really have a question, but I just wanted to thank you for talking about Light magic and bringing it to my attention._

_Sincerely,_

_Jasper Krupp_

Harry saw that there were at least a dozen more letters in the folder. 'Are they all like this?'

'Yes,' replied Mrs Thwip. 'They mainly want to tell you about their own experience, which they never knew how to explain until now.'

Frowning, he said, 'I'd like to reply individually, but that could get time-consuming, depending on how common Light magic is. Could you give me a stack of form responses, which I can sign and add a postscript to?'

'Of course.'

Harry read a few more letters to get the gist of them and then dictated a reply. 'Thank you, Mrs Thwip. I'd really be lost without you.'

'Yes, Mr Potter. I know.'

After leaving Mrs Thwip's office, Harry was eager to return to the chocolate fountain, but Susanna flagged him down. 'Harry, do you have a moment?'

'Er, all right,' he said reluctantly, with a wistful glance towards the main entrance.

He followed Susanna to her office. 'We were hoping to take new team photographs this week, but now we have concerns about how you might behave.'

'You mean with the female players?' asked Harry.

Susanna nodded. 'Obviously we can take pictures regardless, and just discard the ones that don't work. But it might be awkward if, for example, we take a photo of you and Gemma—which would probably be a big seller—but then it never sees the light of day because of your in-photo behaviour.'

Harry sighed and thought for a moment. 'I'd love to boost Gemma's merchandise sales. Would it have to be a glowing photo? I don't think there's any risk otherwise.'

'You don't have to glow, but I'm certain it would sell better if you did.' She looked him in the eye and asked, 'Do you have any reason to believe you'd misbehave in a photo with Gemma, or with any of your other teammates?'

'I don't think I would. But I suppose it depends on whether I have deeply-hidden feelings for any of them. And I'll admit, the photograph the _Prophet _ran on Sunday depicted several things I'd never thought of doing before.' After a pause, he added, 'My motivation in taking new photographs would be to boost everyone else's merchandise sales, so perhaps that would dominate. But I might hug people—would that be all right?'

'I don't see why not,' replied Susanna. 'Thank you, Harry, and don't let me keep you from the chocolate any longer.'

Hs dashed down the corridor, afraid he'd find nothing left but coconut, but to his relief there was still plenty of everything. 'It seems to be self-replenishing,' said Ryan. 'We tried eating all the strawberries, but they kept reappearing. Our working theory now is that it's time-limited, and that it might run out at the end of the day.'

'That's your theory,' said Darren. 'The rest of us are just eating.'

Harry didn't reply, since he was simultaneously eating and calculating how much chocolate he'd have time to consume before afternoon practice.

'Do you feel bad now about how often you've whinged about the _Prophet_?' asked Lyle.

'Not even slightly,' replied Harry, between bites. 'They called me delusional for a year, remember?'

'You're right,' said Renée. 'They could send you another chocolate fountain every week for the next ten years and not make it up to you.'

'That is a brilliant idea!' exclaimed Janet. 'They should do that.'

'I don't know,' said Gary. 'It might erode the Cannons' competitive edge.'

'And Harry's robes wouldn't fit,' added Gemma. 'We can't let that happen.'

Afternoon practice was exhilarating, and Harry continued experimenting with differing degrees of Light magic. But he confirmed it was a bad idea to glow fully until the final chase for the Snitch, because otherwise he was too passive.

'Dammit, Toffer—stop telling me you love me and go frighten some Chasers!' shouted Gemma, after the third time he expressed his affection for her.

'But it's such a miracle we even met! I'm so glad we didn't hire Stuart—although, come to think of it, I love him too.'

Gemma's spotting had improved, but Harry's was still better, and the Firebolt Ultra gave him the extra kick he needed to make the catch. 'Bugger!' she cried. 'I was hoping all that chocolate would weigh you down.'

Harry wasn't hungry after showering, but Lara had prepared take-home boxes for everyone, so he brought home a wide assortment for his guests that evening. 'Did the _Prophet_ send a note of apology, for all their years of lies and abuse?' asked Hermione, who arrived first.

'No, although this morning's article was technically an apology. What did you think?'

'Do you really want to know?' she asked pointedly.

'Er ... I do now.'

'You're playing a dangerous game, allowing Rita to lie for you.'

'If you mean the quote from the Unspeakable, I pushed back on that. But she insisted I have shown restraint, in spite of everything.' She looked at him sceptically, and he added, 'All right, three witches in one week was excessive, and we shouldn't have snogged in the restaurant, but I've sworn off C-squareds.'

She smiled indulgently at him. 'Harry, it's none of my business what you do, and as you've pointed out, I haven't exactly saved myself for marriage either. I just don't want Rita to gain leverage over you in case your deal ever falls apart.'

'You're right. I'll mention it next time I see her.'

'Have you really sworn off C-squareds? Again, none of my business.'

'I have done. The sad truth is that it all felt very shallow, on both sides. I was only interested because they were pretty, and they were only interested because I'm famous. Darren gave me a pep talk about how we're all motivated by evolution and human biology, but it was really just an excuse.'

'He's not wrong,' said Hermione. 'And I'm impressed Darren knows about evolution. But we also have an inborn need for emotional connection, and your Light magic probably strengthens it. I know mine does.'

Harry sat up. 'Did the exercises work? Are you experiencing it now?'

She smiled shyly and nodded. 'I don't glow, but my hair starts glittering with blue sparks. It's actually much stronger when I haven't charmed my hair into ringlets, but I suppose that's the Black family magic for you.'

'Congratulations! How does it feel?'

'It's only happened twice, but I suspect it's different to yours. I mainly feel compassion, and a sort of tenderness. But I'll hold off talking about it until Davina is here.'

Lucinda turned up next and immediately announced, 'Harry, I was completely infuriated when I read the _Prophet_ this morning, and with your leave I want to send them this.' She handed him a sheet from a Muggle notebook, which read:

_To whom it may concern,_

_As a mother, I am concerned about a growing problem in wizarding Britain: the sanctimonious blather of a group calling themselves 'Mothers Against Harry Potter.'_

_Although I admire their ability to carve out time from their busy day, I wish they'd used it for something other than vilifying the young man to whom we owe our current state of peace and prosperity. They claim to worry about Harry Potter's effect on their children's impressionable minds, but I worry more about their prurient fascination with Potter's personal life._

'_He should keep it to himself!' they cry. 'There's a reason it's called a "private life!"' And yet since infancy Potter has been denied the privacy the rest of us take for granted. For more than a decade, every magical parent in Britain regaled their children with stories of the Boy Who Lived, and none of us complained that we knew too much about him. Furthermore, as the authors of these bedtime stories, we as parents were able to edit out inconvenient details, such as how his parents were brutally murdered, or how a callous society allowed Voldemort to gain power in the first place._

_Now, years later, the former Boy Who Lived is a remarkable young man who has fulfilled all the promise of his infancy, but Mothers Against Harry Potter still want to pick and choose amongst the facts. 'If only he'd married his school sweetheart, like a proper wizard!' they complain. Yes, and if only we could return to those carefree days when we made up stories involving immortal warlocks and the rest, while remaining ignorant of Potter's far less pleasant reality._

_I vastly prefer the current situation, in which Potter alone is the author of his life and is no longer being abused or manipulated by the adults who were supposed to look after him. Perhaps the narrative isn't as tidy, but my impression is that Potter is a good deal happier now than he was back then. And that, to me, is a far more satisfying story._

_My final advice to Mothers Against Harry Potter is to mind your own bloody business. You seem to believe Potter is a dangerous role model, but I'm certain your small-minded meddling sets a far more harmful example._

_On behalf of Mothers For Harry Potter,_

_Lucinda Bellamy_

Harry was dumbfounded, and he glanced at Hermione in the hope she'd say something. 'That's brilliant!' she cried. 'I wish I were a mother so I could sign it too! Should we gather more names for it?'

'Er, are you sure this is a good idea?' asked Harry uncertainly. 'I'm touched, and I definitely appreciate it, but it's rather harsh and I don't want yet another backlash.'

'You're already seeing the backlash,' said Lucinda. 'And believe me, the original version was much harsher. For example, I questioned how they managed to become mothers in the first place, and I suggested they consult _Sorceress _for advice on how to be less uptight.'

'That's definitely more harsh,' agreed Harry. 'But Hermione, are you sure this is a good idea?'

'Absolutely! I'm convinced Mothers Against Harry Potter is a small minority, and that far more mothers agree with Lucinda. And I'm serious about getting other names—Lucinda, what do you think?'

'I'd be glad to share the credit, although I suspect the _Prophet _won't print a petition. So maybe half a dozen at most.'

Before Harry could protest, Hermione made duplicates of the letter and Lucinda drafted an explanatory note. 'Harry, can we use the jackdaws?'

He assented, and within minutes the letters were dispatched in multiple directions. 'Do you want dinner?' he asked Lucinda.

'No, I'll just tide myself over with some of this lovely chocolate and eat properly later. But I promise to wash my hands before pawing through your library.'

Once Harry and Hermione were in the kitchen and safely out of earshot, he said, 'Can you imagine if we'd had Lucinda in the Order of the Phoenix?'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'That could have changed the entire trajectory of the war, but I couldn't begin to predict how.'

'She'd have cleaned up Sirius's act, that's for sure,' began Harry. 'And she'd have torn Snape a new orifice.'

'She would have done,' said Hermione. 'You'd also still have silver, because she'd undoubtedly have scared Mundungus away.'

'No, I'm eternally grateful to Mundungus for ridding me of the silver. But she'd have saved us a lot of trouble if she'd prevented him from stealing the locket. And something tells me she'd have had no problem destroying a Horcrux.'

'Yes, although she might have become master of the Elder Wand somehow—I can't see her letting Dumbledore off the hook.'

Hermione asked him about Alex, and Harry felt his heart melt just a little. 'I'd love for you to meet her,' he said. 'I'm not sure about her schedule, but perhaps on Saturday after the match?'

'Maybe, but Ryan and I wanted to celebrate my birthday together.'

'Bugger! I almost forgot your birthday as usual! Is it on Saturday?'

'No, it's on Sunday, but we're seeing my grandparents then.'

'Would you be willing to celebrate with more than just Ryan?' asked Harry. I could host a small party if you like.'

'Really? A dinner party would be lovely. But would you mind if I invite Ginny and Wendy?'

'That's fine, but only if I can invite Draco and Pansy.' Hermione froze, and Harry said, 'Just kidding.'

Hermione made a list of guests, including several of Ryan's friends, and Harry called Kreacher so they could discuss the details. 'This is awfully generous of you. Are you sure I can't contribute?'

'Yes, I'm sure. After all, how many years did I completely ignore your birthday, or Christmas for that matter?'

'Not every year,' she said. 'Sometimes you remembered. You and Ginny gave me a lovely birthday present last year.'

'That was all Ginny—she picked it out entirely on her own. To be honest, I can't even remember what it was.'

'It was a portable bookcase. It had built-in shrinking charms, and I could just tuck it in my pocket. Much easier than a book-bag.'

'Oh right! That was expensive, and I didn't have access to my vault yet. Speaking of which, do you want to wear a tiara to your party? I could probably get the curse removed in time.'

'That's quite all right, thanks.'

After dinner, they greeted Davina at the fireplace and went up to the library. 'Don't mind me,' said Lucinda, who had a stack of books on the table in front of her. 'I'm just cataloguing your collection for future reference. But I can leave if you prefer.'

'Davina, this is Lucinda Bellamy,' said Harry. 'Do you mind if she stays?'

'No, of course not,' replied Davina, sitting down. 'So, Harry, how do you feel now that you've gone public?'

He told her about his experience during the match. 'On the one hand, I'm more able to modulate my glowing than I was before. But on the other hand it's happening all the time, and I need to avoid Muggle settings.'

'Yes, your outburst is proving exceptionally strong.'

'What does that mean?' asked Hermione.

'Light magic can manifest in different ways, as you're learning. Not everyone glows, but that's the most famous presentation precisely because it's so hard to ignore. Furthermore, I've seldom seen a magical photograph behave so differently to its live counterpart.'

Harry's face fell. 'So I'm abnormal even among Light wizards?'

'There is no "abnormal" with Light magic,' said Davina. 'But it was to be expected that your experience would be unusual in certain respects.'

'Why?' asked Hermione.

'For all the reasons we've discussed: your mother's sacrifice, the years of suppression, and of course that ghastly Horcrux you were toting in your skull.'

'What?!' gasped Lucinda, looking up from her books.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other in alarm. 'Lucinda, are you familiar with Horcruxes?' asked Hermione cautiously.

'Yes, I came across them in a perfectly horrid book, called something like _Secrets of the Darkest Magic._'

'_Secrets of the Darkest Art?'_ prompted Hermione.

'Yes, that's the one. Vile from start to finish.'

'Where did you find it?'

'One of the pure-blood Spoonwockets had it in the attic, and I found it as a nosy teenager. I don't think anyone had opened it in decades, if not longer. But are you saying Harry had a Horcrux in his skull?'

They explained everything to her, with an emphasis on the importance of keeping it secret. 'Not only don't we want people to know about Horcruxes,' said Hermione, 'but we also don't want anyone guessing the truth behind Harry's scar.'

'Surely some people have guessed it,' said Lucinda. 'I should have done, particularly since it explains why you could speak Parseltongue.'

'I'm glad you didn't,' replied Harry. 'And yes, some people have figured it out,' he said, recalling Alistair.

'And you turned out all right,' said Lucinda slowly. 'Remarkable. But don't mind me—carry on!'

'Er, where were we?' Harry asked Davina.

'I was listing the reasons we shouldn't be surprised your Light magic has come out roaring. Hermione, I don't know as much about your history, but I'd expect your Light magic to be somewhat gentler, in spite of your magical strength.'

Lucinda looked up again but didn't say anything.

'Actually,' said Hermione. 'I think I experienced accidental Light magic yesterday.' She described the blue sparks in her hair, and the emotions that had accompanied them.

Davina beamed at her. 'That's a perfectly lovely manifestation. I look forward to seeing it. But you should work even harder now on your Occlumency.'

'I've been practising meditation, but I still can't quiet my mind at all,' she admitted.

'Perhaps not,' replied Davina, 'but now that you've begun to establish Light magic, you may be able to resonate with Harry's. Turn your chairs so you're facing each other,' she instructed. 'Good, now hold hands.'

Harry took Hermione's hands and looked down at them. 'Look at each other,' said Davina. 'And Harry, do whatever it is you do when you practise Occlumency, only include Hermione.'

'How?' he asked, but Davina shook her head.

'Don't think about how to do it—just do it.'

He allowed energy to rise from his torso and chest into his head, creating a shell of protection that matched the boundaries of his head. _That's me,_ he thought. _Now add Hermione._

He furrowed his brow. 'It's hard when I'm looking at her, because she feels so separate. Can't I close my eyes?'

'No. That's cheating.'

'Cheating? Really?' asked Hermione.

'No, not really,' said Davina. 'But you'll be better off if you can keep your eyes open but learn to soften the barrier between "me" and "not me."'

Harry looked at Hermione, and he allowed his shell of protection to surround their shared being. 'Do you feel it?' he asked.

'Not particularly. Should I?'

'It doesn't matter,' said Davina. 'Your conscious mind is just a tiny part of you. Often it's the last to find out.'

After a few minutes, Davina said, 'That's enough. Hermione, you should keep practising meditation, but when you experience Light magic you might try imitating what Harry does, which is to fill the inner space with silence. One method or another is bound to work.'

'How secret do I need to keep my Light magic?' she asked.

'Don't announce it in the _Prophet_,' replied Davina. 'But if your hair starts sparking in public—wizarding public—just say it's something new that happens when your emotions are running high. Unless of course it's someone you trust, in which case you can tell them.'

Lucinda rose from her chair. 'Harry, may I borrow these four books?' she asked, indicating a small pile.

'Yes, of course. And thank you for writing that letter—that was very kind of you.'

'After what I learnt tonight about the Horcrux, I'm particularly glad I wrote it. By rights you should have turned out as Dark as they come, but instead we have this,' she said, gesturing toward Davina. 'Don't let a handful of uptight busybodies get you down.'

'Cheers,' he said bashfully.

'Look for my banner on Saturday,' she said, and then she bade everyone goodbye and left with her stack of books.

'Davina,' asked Harry, 'can you say more about why my photograph misbehaved, and whether I can expect that to keep happening?'

'As you've probably noticed, there aren't a lot of cut and dried answers in Light magic. If there were, I'd have known to warn you against being photographed while glowing, but I was caught off guard just as you were. That said, here's what I think happened: You'd already been kissing both witches in public, correct?'

'And then some,' admitted Harry.

'Right. Clearly you had a strong desire to be seen, or else you would have waited until you were in private, or ducked into the loo.'

'So I am an exhibitionist?' he said sadly.

'There's no "I am" here,' said Davina. 'I said you had a strong desire to be seen, or at least you did in the moment. There are also parts of you with an aversion to being seen, and also a sense of consideration towards the other diners, but they were outvoted by the rest of you that night.'

Harry sighed. 'I was taken to task this afternoon for being inconsiderate of the other diners, and I don't want to act like that in the future.'

'Then you need to consciously strengthen that wish, so it doesn't lose the vote next time you're in public with someone you fancy. But back to the photograph, you'd already spent the previous hour canoodling with those two witches, if you'll excuse the expression. And then you took a short break to pay for the meal and go home, where you presumably picked up where you'd left off?'

'That's right.'

'Well, it's no wonder your photograph behaved that way. Your intention was well lubricated by that point—again, pardon the expression—and you paused to pose for a photograph before going home to close the deal.' After a short silence, she asked, 'What was your intention when you posed for photographs during the interview with Rita Skeeter?'

'I wanted to tell people about Light magic, and show them how wonderful it is. And also to convince them it's possible.'

'Do you want to know how many requests for instruction I've received since Saturday night?' Harry and Hermione both nodded, and Davina said, 'Hundreds.'

'Hundreds?' gasped Harry.

'Yes, and they were still arriving this evening. And not just for individuals, but for groups as well.'

'Did you hear from Kingsley Shacklebolt? He wants all the Aurors to learn Light magic. He told me on Sunday that even if only one in ten can pull it off, it'll still be worth it.'

'Will you be able to teach them all?' asked Hermione. 'And can you still teach us privately, or would it be a better use of your time to focus on larger groups?'

'I agreed to teach you privately, and I have every intention of continuing,' she said. 'And I confess I have an ulterior motive: I eventually want you to start teaching.'

'Blast, this is just like that letter to the _Prophet!_' said Harry. 'Someone said Light magic is just a myth, and that within a month you and I would start offering lessons for ten Galleons a pop.'

Davina laughed and said, 'Firstly, you won't be ready to teach in a month, except perhaps the Patronus Charm. Secondly, it won't cost nearly that much. I'll charge a nominal amount, since that helps ensure people take it seriously, but I won't turn anyone away for lack of funds.'

'You offered to teach us for free,' noted Hermione.

'I knew your time was valuable—Harry's in particular. So your willingness to make time already told me you were serious.'

She spent the next hour guiding them through exercises to stabilise their Light magic, and at Hermione's insistence she provided the title of a book on the topic. 'Is it all right if I don't read it?' asked Harry sheepishly. 'I'm sure it's interesting, but I'm already too busy.'

'That's fine,' said Davina, and Hermione promised to share the important bits.

'Did you hear from any of your relations after the article came out?' asked Hermione.

'No, but I didn't expect to,' replied Davina. 'My parents are very conservative, and my brother and I were never close.'

'I met your father,' said Harry. 'At Pratt's.'

She looked astonished. 'Are you a member?'

'Yes, as of last week. I joined for several reasons, but the main one is to normalise the Light political extreme and redefine the centre.'

'Interesting. How did they react to Saturday's revelation?'

'They had an emergency meeting and demanded reassurances I wouldn't kill anyone. Which seems to have worked, since I ate lunch there today and nobody fled, even when I started glowing.'

'You glowed at Pratt's?' exclaimed Davina, just as Hermione blurted, 'There are wizarding schools in Britain besides Hogwarts!'

'I know, Gemma reminded me this afternoon. And yes, I glowed there, but all I got were some snide comments.'

'Remarkable,' said Davina. 'You were clever to join now, while they'd still have you. But what did you and my father discuss?'

'We talked about my upcoming Wizengamot appearance, but also about finding common ground amongst wizards.'

'Yes, that's his favourite topic, so long as the common ground is right where he's standing.'

Harry nodded and said, 'I'm afraid I made a blunder when I told him about Hermione's boyfriend, Ryan, and how their house is wonderfully magical even though his father is a Muggle.'

'Oh dear. Does Ryan have non-magical siblings?'

'No, he's an only child, but that's exactly what your father asked. He said that unless we stay pure of Muggle culture, our youth will be tempted away, and magic will be lost.'

'Case in point,' said Davina, raising her hand. 'Poor Father, I've been such a disappointment to him.'

'You shouldn't be,' argued Hermione. 'You've spent years studying an important branch of magic, and you'll be central to its revival in Britain.'

'But he has no magical descendants, or won't after my brother and I are gone.'

'Didn't you say your grandchildren might yet prove magical?' asked Hermione.

'It's not out of the question, but I don't really pursue that train of thought. I confess I was disappointed the first time around, mostly for my father's sake but for my own as well, and I'd rather not get caught up in "what ifs."'

She and Hermione left soon after, and Harry ate the last of the chocolate. _I'll see Alex tomorrow_, he thought with satisfaction, recalling the feel of her arms around him. _And maybe the next night as well, _he hoped fondly.


	84. Chapter 84

Darren joined Harry again during their laps the next morning. 'Hey Snitchbottom, have you heard of a new magazine called _Wandlore_?'

'Yeah, it's a wizarding lad mag. What about it?'

'They want to interview me for their inaugural issue,' replied Darren. 'Apparently I embody "Wandlore Cool."'

'Well done! I assume this dovetails with your man-about-town strategy?'

'It does. I had breakfast this morning with the publicist Jocelyn and Maryann engaged, and she says I have a lot of potential.'

'How much did she charge you?'

'Nothing, if you can believe it. She said that being photographed with you at the weekend catapulted me to the A-list, which means various restaurants and nightclubs will pay her to send me there. I'll get free meals and drinks just for showing up, and she'll make sure I'm photographed. With an attractive witch, of course, which is the best part.'

'Did she warn you that some of those witches might already have a partner?' asked Harry. 'That's how I met Laetitia, and she has a fiancé.'

'Yes, but I expressed a preference for "unattached and adventurous" witches. And she says there are plenty of those as well.'

Harry furrowed his brow. 'Restaurants are all right, but wizarding nightclubs? Now that I've listened to more Muggle bands, it's hard to get excited about wizarding music.'

'Haven't you heard? Thanks to your parties, there's been a huge surge in requests for Muggle music at wizarding nightclubs, so they're a lot better than they used to be.'

'Really?' said Harry with interest. 'I enjoy dancing, but I don't dare go to a Muggle nightclub while my Light magic is out of control. Can I assume that wizarding nightclubs are as tolerant of public displays of affection as their Muggle counterparts?'

'They are,' Darren assured him. 'Do you have a night in mind?'

'I don't know—I'll have to ask Alex. Are they any good on a weeknight? I already have plans on Friday and Saturday.'

'Thursdays are decent, and it'll be packed if word gets out you'll be there. Should I have the publicist set something up?'

'I'll keep you posted. But this could be a good opportunity to wear my foulard. I promised Alex I'd wear it in public.' Smiling, he added, 'I could even wear my floral shirt.'

Darren smirked. 'Admit it, Snitchbottom—you love attracting attention.'

'It pains me to say it, but you're right. I don't know what happened, because I used to hate it.'

'Of course you hated it! You were famous for a seriously shitty reason for most of your life. But now you're a league Seeker who's actually having fun on a regular basis. Not to mention all the glowgasms, which means you're a lot happier.'

'It's true. My life is completely different to how it used to be. But it's still weird that I want attention now.'

Darren was quiet for a moment as they ran. 'Forgive me for pointing this out, but you started life as a first-born child who probably got constant attention, and then your parents died and you were neglected for the next ten years. So you're bound to be a little needy in that department.'

Harry stopped running. 'Sweet Merlin, you're right.'

'Don't tell me no one has pointed that out to you before,' exclaimed Darren. 'I'm not that insightful.'

'No, I've heard it loads of times ... but for some reason it hit home just now. Hang on, let me think a moment.'

Harry ran ahead to give himself space. _I never enjoyed attention until recently_, he thought, _even though Snape and everyone else accused me of being an attention-seeker. But Darren's right—I seldom got attention for good reasons._

He tried to imagine how it must have felt to soak up attention from his mum as a baby. _I'm sure I was the centre of her world—I was completely dependent on her, and small enough to hold and to cuddle. _He imagined looking up at her, with her long hair hanging over him, and basking in boundless, overwhelming love. And then, in a flash of green light, it was gone forever. _All I had after that was her protection in my veins,_ he thought. _It probably kept me sane, and relatively whole, but it wasn't the same as having a mum._

His thoughts drifted to Ginny and how he'd lapped up her attention, particularly after the war had ended. _Being alone with Ginny was the greatest feeling in the world_, he 'd felt complete with her and, other than the vestiges of her old Boy-Who-Lived crush, she truly loved him and not just the person Voldemort had made famous.

_But then she dumped me, probably because I was so needy, and I went back to having only mates and people who saw me as the kid who defeated Voldemort. _He knew he was being unjust towards the adults who cared for him, like the Weasleys and Minerva, but their attention could never replace what he'd lost, first from his parents and then from Ginny.

_And then I joined the Cannons and became the Man Who Lived. _He remembered how he'd felt seeing his photograph in the _Prophet _that morning, and how different it had been to receive attention as a grown man and not as a boy. Furthermore, he'd seen his own power—the non-magical power Alistair, Helena, and others had remarked upon. And Harry could admit to himself that he loved wielding it.

Closing his eyes, he recalled his visit to the Dapperling Tea Shop on Sunday morning. Within moments of his arrival, all eyes were on him. _I was the centre of their world, at least temporarily, and it was like a tiny shot of heroin. _And it was even better with witches, because their attention came with the promise of physical satisfaction. _Between evolutionary programming, Light magic, and dead-mum trauma, it's no wonder I can't get enough sex._

The final piece was emotional connection, which he got from Alex and several of her predecessors—particularly Lydia, Helena, and Sophie. Fiona popped into his head, and Harry knew he'd already connected emotionally with the grieving young widow, who probably had deep, unmet needs of her own.

_But tonight I'll see Alex,_ he thought with satisfaction. W_e'll have dinner in public, and then I'll do the broadcast, and we'll go home together. _He felt a shard of discomfort when he recalled that his adversaries listened to the broadcast as well, but he'd always had enemies, and at least they couldn't hurt him anymore.

'Are you still with us, Snitchbottom?' asked Darren.

Harry was pulled from his reverie. 'Right, yes, of course. _Wandlore_—brilliant.'

Darren laughed and said, 'You really got lost, didn't you?'

'I did,' admitted Harry. 'But it's good. And I can't wait to see Alex.'

After the morning session, Harry ate lunch with the reserves, which was a new experience for him. He didn't know all of them very well, but they were comfortable with him and freely took the piss.

'Where can we eat without the Light Lord turning it into a circus?' asked Elspeth.

'Lordships are bollocks,' grumbled Harry.

'I'm sorry, remind me what you're doing tomorrow at the Wizengamot?' said Gemma. 'Something involving "lordly privilege" and a funny hat?'

'Stop hassling Lord Snitchbottom—he's preventing the next war,' said Lyle. 'And probably getting his wand polished for good measure.'

'At the Wizengamot?' asked Elspeth. 'I wouldn't describe the atmosphere as romantic.'

'It's all about power, baby,' said Lyle. 'And besides, Harry has Light magic, so he doesn't need atmosphere. All he needs is adequate oxygen, Cushioning Charms, and a suitably appointed female.'

'Oi! I'm right here,' protested Harry. 'And hungry—where are we going?'

They decided on the pub in Godric's Hollow, which was usually quiet at lunchtime. More patrons arrived after Harry turned up, presumably because word had got out, but his teammates and the barkeep did their best to protect him. 'You should wear your Invisibility Cloak next time,' suggested Waldemar.

Gemma rolled her eyes. 'Yeah, because it won't be at all suspicious when the Cannons reserves go out together and order a meal for someone who isn't there. Which he then eats.'

'Do you like curries?' asked Harry. 'Or pizza? My house-elf could cook something later this week.'

'Free food?' replied Elspeth. 'Yes, please!'

Harry looked around the pub and tried to imagine his parents there. Noticing the radio, he thought, _Maybe Dad brought me here to listen to a Quidditch match and give Mum a break._ But then he remembered his parents were in hiding, and that James would never have taken him out in public.

_I really did have all their attention_, he realised, and his heart sank with the sense of what he'd lost. _They gave up their freedom for me—they were under house arrest, just like Draco—and it still wasn't enough to save them._

'Are you all right?' asked Gemma.

Harry nodded. 'Yeah. It's just harder being here than I expected.'

'Can't you glow? That was the whole point of coming with us, wasn't it?'

'It was,' he replied, and he closed his eyes to expand into awareness. But there was a knot at the pit of his stomach. He couldn't make it go away, but his Light magic flowed around it and a sense of peace arose.

He opened his eyes and saw he was glowing only moderately. 'Thanks for not blinding us,' said Gemma.

Some of the other patrons applauded, and Harry enjoyed the meal without further maudlin thoughts about his parents. _Less than five hours until I see Alex_, he thought with anticipation.

That afternoon they took new team photos, featuring a glowing Harry. He felt sheepish, knowing his own merchandise sales would increase even further, but he was glad his teammates would benefit as well. They had particularly high hopes for a flying shot which featured all the starters, whizzing through the frame one by one with Harry glowing brightly.

'Snitchbottom, I'm half hoping when we see the printed photographs that you'll somehow have a witch up on your broom with you,' remarked Janet. 'And that you'll be doing something different to her every time you fly into view.'

'Was it really only three months ago that Harry was an earnest young Auror and not the Light Lothario?' mused Renée. 'It feels like another lifetime.'

'And to think, we owe it all to some eavesdropper who told the _Prophet _he was quitting his job and joining the Cannons,' said Ryan. 'Where was that anyway?'

'The Twisted Niffler,' said Harry. 'In fact, that's where I'm taking Alex tonight, before the broadcast.'

'Really, to a pub?' asked Darren. 'Clearly she's no C-squared.'

'She really isn't,' agreed Harry. 'And she says she loves going to pubs when she's in the UK, since British pubs in America are "completely cheesy."' He looked at his pocket watch and added, 'Only three hours until I see her.'

'Be careful,' warned Darren. 'You've only had two dates and you already sound hooked.'

'This is how I am. Dead mum, remember?'

'Fine, but don't forget she has a big American fiancé who could probably run you over with his pickup truck.'

Alex laughed that evening when Harry relayed the conversation to her. 'Rocky doesn't drive a pickup truck,' she said. 'It's actually a charmed Vespa.'

'Really? Sirius had a flying motorcycle—I used to dream about it when I was little, before I knew I was a wizard.'

To save time they'd met at the pub, which meant they had to duck into an alcove and cast a privacy charm to greet each other properly. 'You certainly had a busy weekend,' she laughed. 'And I confess I was a bit hurt you haven't done everything to me that you did in that photograph.'

'You probably won't believe me, but I missed you terribly this weekend. I actually sneaked into another bedroom to sleep that night, because I felt so uncomfortable afterwards.'

'Oh!' she exclaimed, and he could see the tenderness in her eyes. 'You poor dear!' She kissed him gently, and he felt himself melt as he hadn't done even once with Jocelyn or Maryann.

They sat in the secluded booth Harry had reserved for them, and as she talked about her weekend in Ireland he was mesmerised by everything he found attractive about her. 'How are you not everyone's type?' he blurted. 'You're so beautiful!'

She blushed and said, 'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and you have a very friendly eye. I'm certain you could be equally smitten by any number of women.'

'Perhaps. But why would I bother, when you're sitting across from me?'

After eating, they walked hand in hand to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, where a large crowd awaited them. More than a few witches looked disappointed when they saw his companion, but George greeted them warmly.

'You must be Alex,' he said, shaking her hand. 'I'm George Weasley, and you have the distinction of being the first of Harry's girlfriends who's been willing to attend a broadcast. But are you sure you won't join us in the booth?'

'Yes, I'm sure. Just showing up in public with Harry is enough notoriety for one day.'

'May I kiss you once for luck before starting?' Harry asked her. 'Or is that too much notoriety?'

'Just once,' she said, obliging him. 'And now I'll cast a Shield Charm to protect myself from your angry fan club.'

'Not to worry,' declared George. 'He'll just annihilate any attackers with his Light magic. You'll glow for the audience, right?'

'I probably won't be able to stop myself,' he said, starting to glow. 'Oh, bugger. Now do you see why I had to go public?'

'I do!' replied George. 'And I can't wait to share it with our listeners. Come on, into the booth with you!'

By the time Harry entered the booth he was glowing brightly. 'I can't thank you enough for giving me this opportunity. I trust you completely, after everything we've been through, and I'm so glad I know you.'

'Save it for the broadcast!' insisted Lee. 'Our listeners want to hear you get all gooey!'

'But I need to sound sane as well,' said Harry. 'I have an important vote tomorrow at the Wizengamot and people need to trust that the Malfoys haven't Confunded me.'

'Do you want talk about that tonight?' asked Lee.

'No—things are looking good and I don't want to ruin it.'

Lee struck the words '_Malfoy vote_' from the checklist in front of him. 'What about those two witches?' he asked.

'Yes, but not by name. And only in general terms.'

'Right. And Alex?' he asked, glancing at the front row.

'Yes, that's fine. I consider her my girlfriend, but strictly speaking we're not dating exclusively.'

'Fascinating! Obviously we'll have lots of questions about Light magic, but is there anything we should avoid?'

'Don't ask whether anyone else I know is experiencing it, or if I'm studying it with anyone.'

Lee and George both nodded. 'Understood,' said George. 'Not a peep about Hermione.'

Harry glared at him and added, 'There's another thing ... did you know they listen to your show in Azkaban?'

'Er, yes,' said Lee. 'We've known that for several weeks, actually.'

'And you didn't see fit to mention it?'

'What was the point? We didn't want to make you nervous, and it's not as if they wouldn't hear about it, even if they didn't have a radio.'

'That's true,' conceded Harry. 'Do you receive letters from Azkaban?'

'Yes, quite a few. In fact, I'm glad you brought it up, because we've had a lot of requests for a visit from Prongs.'

Harry's glow dimmed. 'Do you think he'd be all right there?'

'I don't see why not,' said George. 'If Patronuses can handle Dementors, surely they can handle some hostile prisoners.'

'I suppose I can ask Prongs what he thinks before sending him off,' said Harry.

Consulting his list, Lee asked, 'What about "Mothers Against Harry Potter?"'

'Yes, definitely,' said Harry. 'They're talking complete bollocks at this point, and I need to address it.'

Lee and George glanced at each other. 'George had an idea about that, but we'd rather spring it on you during the broadcast. Feel free to say no, though.'

'Er, all right.'

'What about the Harpies match?' asked Lee carefully.

'Are you referring to all the "Manwhore" banners?'

'Yeah ... do you want to address that?'

Harry sighed. 'Obviously I'm promiscuous, and I can't entirely blame the Light magic. So yeah, I should say something.'

It was several minutes before the broadcast started, and while Lee fiddled with the controls George updated Harry on the condom scheme. 'Percy has already outdone himself. He did extensive research into the market sector we're trying to infiltrate, and he's drafted a business plan.'

'Extensive research?'

'Not what it sounds like—I fronted him some Muggle currency and he bought one of every type of condom available at the chemist's.'

Harry couldn't help chuckling, picturing Percy at Boots with a trolley full of condoms. 'Did he have to Obliviate anyone afterwards?'

'He hadn't intended to, because he Polyjuiced himself as a random Muggle. Everything was going fine, but then the clerk recognised him and called him Father O'Malley. So yeah, he had to Obliviate him.'

'Thirty seconds,' said Lee.

'What's our next step?' asked Harry.

'Percy wants to refine the business plan, and Lee and I are tweaking the prototypes, but we think we'll be ready to talk to the goblins in a fortnight.'

Harry had a sip of water, and Lee held up his fingers for the final countdown. 'Good evening, and welcome to another episode of Weasley's Wizard Wireless! I'm Lee Jordan, and I'm here with my co-conspirator George Weasley.'

'And a very special guest,' added George. 'We heard from a lot of you last week, and apparently you weren't pleased just to hear Lee's and my dulcet tones. And frankly,' he said, sniffling, 'our feelings were hurt. Lee and I put a good deal of care and love into Weasley's Wizard Wireless, but it turns out you're primarily interested in the washed-up has-been who forces his way into the booth most weeks.'

'I'll have you know he begged us to appear on the show last week,' said Lee, 'but we sat him down and said, "_Harry, mate ... no one's interested. You need to move on._" And then he started crying, which was embarrassing for all of us. But we threw him a bone and said he could appear on this week's show if he managed to do something newsworthy between now and then.'

The audience was laughing hysterically, and so was Harry, but George continued. 'Lee and I were certain we were rid of him at last, but we should have remembered you can't count out Harry Potter. He's too addicted to the spotlight, and he'll always find a way back into it. I mean really, he's so afraid of obscurity that he's literally survived two Killing Curses, which is pretty pathetic if you think about it.'

'Anyway, without further ado,' said Lee, 'we'd like to introduce our pitiful old friend, Harry Potter.'

Harry was laughing so hard that he had tears in his eyes, and he said, 'You actually made me cry just now. That was a truly remarkable introduction. Normally I'd thank you for having me on the show, but that might make me sound even more desperate.'

'No need to thank us,' said George. 'Just transfer a hundred Galleons into each of our vaults, same as every week.'

'Oi!' cried Harry.

'Just kidding,' announced Lee. 'For the record, Harry does not pay us for the opportunity to appear on the show, and any begging has been the other way around. But we should really confirm your identity for our audience, just to make sure we haven't been slagging an imposter. Your Patronus, please.'

Bringing his feelings for Alex to mind, Harry raised his wand and cried, _'Expecto Patronum!' _When the bright stag appeared, Harry said, 'Prongs, Lee told me that people in Azkaban are asking for you to come visit. Would you be willing?'

Prongs looked at Harry for a moment and then nodded. But before galloping off, he cocked his head expectantly.

'I think he's waiting for a message,' said George. 'Is there anything you want to say to the inmates?'

'Apparently they're already listening, or so I'm told,' replied Harry. 'But yes, of course.' In a clear voice, he said, 'Hi, this is Harry Potter, and I mean no disrespect. I'm sending my Patronus because I was asked to, and I hope he cheers people up.' He waved Prongs away, and the stag flew off.

'Nicely done!' declared Lee. 'I'm certain you'll cheer up any number of prisoners. Maybe even some of the ones you sent there!' Harry scowled, and Lee said, 'Listeners, our esteemed guest just made a very unbecoming face at me. But I have the perfect way to lift his spirits! Harry, please tell us about Light magic.'

'What do you want to know? The article in Sunday's _Prophet_ was fairly comprehensive.'

'Yes, about that ... was it accurate? Rita Skeeter hasn't always been strictly honest when she's written about you.'

'She hasn't been, but in this case every word was true. The first time I glowed was in Paris, at the Sainte Chapelle, and it's been happening regularly since then.'

'But you can't control it?' asked Lee.

'Yes and no. I can usually start glowing if I want to, but I can't always stop it. That's why I couldn't put off announcing it any longer, since it happens a lot while flying, as everyone saw. And it also means I'll have to avoid Muggle settings for the foreseeable future.'

'Yes, you made quite a splash in a wizarding restaurant the other night!' remarked George. 'Not only did you send several diners to St Mungo's for emergency retina repair, but you also gave everyone a live demonstration of the noble art of witch-handling. Would you care to comment?'

Harry sighed. 'I'm very sorry we were so inconsiderate of the other guests. I have no excuse—I wasn't even drunk. All I can say is that I was thrilled not to have to hide my Light magic any longer, and I went way overboard celebrating.'

'And you even have a souvenir photo for your scrapbook! _"The Light Lord and His Ladies,"'_ quoted George. 'By the way, I have a feeling that nickname is going to stick.'

'It is now, you berk,' grumbled Harry, prompting laughter from Lee and George.

'So about that photo,' continued Lee. 'What was your reaction when you saw it on Sunday morning? Please tell me you were still in bed with the two witches.'

'I wasn't, and I had to rush out of the house to reassure some important people I hadn't lost my mind.'

'Did you at least shower first?' asked George.

'Yes, and I wish people would stop asking me that!'

'So you haven't lost your mind?' prompted Lee. 'I definitely heard some speculation on Sunday.'

'No, I haven't. Light magic makes me more impulsive around witches I'm attracted to, but otherwise I feel very clear-headed.'

'That's certainly been my impression,' said George. 'But you've reminded me of a question we've heard from numerous women: Should they feel insulted if you don't act impulsively around them?'

'Because that means I don't find them attractive?' asked Harry, and George nodded. 'No, not at all. In spite of what that photo depicted, Light magic hasn't turned me into a complete maniac. It mostly lowers my inhibitions, which under some circumstances means I act on impulse when I mightn't otherwise.' Looking out, he added, 'I see loads of attractive witches in the audience tonight, but the only one I'm tempted to start snogging is my girlfriend Alex, who's in the front row.'

'Now this is news!' exclaimed Lee. 'You have a girlfriend? Is it one of the witches from the weekend?'

'No, we started dating last week, but she was travelling at the weekend and encouraged me to see other people.'

'An instruction you followed to the letter, including the plural,' said George. 'But are you and Alex dating exclusively now?'

'We're not, for reasons that are private. But she's absolutely brilliant, and I'm happy whenever we're together,' said Harry, gazing tenderly at her.

'Listeners, you can't see it, but Harry looks like he's about to don a plumed hat and start reciting poetry,' announced Lee. 'Not to belittle Alex, but to what extent does your ardour come from Light magic?'

Harry closed his eyes and sighed blissfully. 'I don't know—probably a lot. I don't think it's normal to be completely smitten by one witch but be able to shag two others while she's out of town. Bugger, I probably shouldn't have revealed that.'

Lee and George laughed. 'Harry, please be so kind as to hold up your hands,' said Lee. 'They're glowing like torches.'

'I, for one, am shocked that you shagged those two witches,' declared George stiffly. 'I assumed that after posing for that photograph, you went to your house for a friendly round of Exploding Snap before getting them home before curfew.'

'George, you seem to have forgotten there was a fourth participant in Harry's evening,' said Lee. 'Harry, please say more.'

'That was my teammate, Darren Rogers. We're good friends, although he's a bit of a bad influence, as he'll readily admit.'

'Just how good of friends?' prompted Lee. 'Are you amending your statement made under Veritaserum that you don't fancy blokes.'

'I am not. For one thing, the Cannons have a strict rule against fraternisation, which Darren and I didn't technically break. And I think everyone knows by now just how large my bed is.'

'Yes, your enormous bed!' said George. 'Or as we call it, Walburga's Wonderland. Would you like to say hello to her?'

Harry grimaced. 'Oh dear. Just how much does she know about my recent exploits?'

'Not a thing, although she might notice your hands are lit up. But let's wait until you're fully glowing, since she really deserves the full display.'

'All right. But that reminds me—I've been accused of faking my Light magic, and while I don't particularly care what people think of me, I don't like being called a liar. Furthermore, a big reason I went public is because I want people to know that Light magic is possible and not just a myth.'

'Yes, Lee and I have an idea about how you might prove this isn't just a trick,' said George. 'But we're not sure you'll agree to it.'

'Not more Veritaserum?' asked Harry, looking for a previously hidden goblin.

'No, we specifically wanted to address the question of whether you were using a hidden amulet to fake your glow.'

'I wasn't, and if that letter writer were better informed she'd know that Quidditch players are thoroughly examined for hidden charms and amulets before a match.'

'Perhaps, but you're clever, and everyone knows the goblins like you,' continued George. 'So we were hoping you'll prove your innocence right now, for our audience.'

Harry took a deep breath, and his hands were no longer glowing. 'You want me to strip, don't you?'

The women in the audience started shrieking in apparent delight, and Harry could see that Alex was laughing uproariously. 'That's exactly what we're proposing. We'll ask you to cast a powerful _Finite incantatem_ to cancel any Concealment Charms and then remove everything but the, er, bottom layer,' said George, indicating Harry's lap. 'Admittedly you could be hiding an amulet down there, but I have no interest in confirming that.'

'So Harry, what's the word?' asked Lee. 'Will you do it?' Harry frowned, and Lee added, 'To promote the Light Arts, you know.'

'Fine,' said Harry. 'I'll do it. Right now?'

'Yes, please! And start with that _Finite._'

Harry cast a powerful _Finite omnes incantates_, which made his ring visible. 'I can't believe I'm letting people see this monstrosity,' he said, raising his middle finger.

'You're probably the first wearer of the Black family ring to reveal it for the express purpose of proving you're a Light wizard,' remarked George. 'But now let's see the rest of you.'

Harry began taking off his clothes, which mercifully had fewer buttons than the robes he'd worn to the Boudoir. There was more applause when he removed his shirt and vest, and the floor started to rumble when he unbuttoned his trousers.

'I have to say, Harry, you're surprisingly fit for someone who sits on his arse looking at the sky all day,' said George. 'But hang on, is that a crest on your boxer shorts?'

'Oh bugger!' blurted Harry, just as Lee and George burst out laughing.

'Why in Merlin's name is the Slytherin crest embroidered on your boxers?' asked Lee. 'Don't tell me you're wearing old underpants you found in a drawer somewhere.'

'No, these are mine,' said Harry. 'What happened is that I took Alex to Hogwarts last week to show her around, and the Sorting Hat said it wanted another look at me. And it reassigned me to Slytherin.'

'So you bought new underwear to celebrate?' asked Lee incredulously.

'No, Kreacher found out and decided to surprise me. He also redecorated my bedroom with Slytherin hangings, which I had him change back. But he was disappointed, so I let him leave my boxers and handkerchiefs like this.'

'I realise the whole reason we made you strip was for you to demonstrate you're not faking your Light magic,' said George, 'but I'm stuck on this Slytherin thing, and I suspect our listeners are as well. You were literally the most stereotypical Gryffindor since old Godric himself, but now you're a Slytherin?'

'Harry was a Parselmouth,' said Lee.

'But not anymore,' replied George. 'Do you reckon the Hat reassigned you so you might learn it again? Or maybe you got it back—try talking to your ring.'

Rolling his eyes, Harry looked squarely at the emerald-studded snake and said, 'Good evening, serpent. My mates think I somehow regained the ability to speak to you, but they're a pair of gobshites and have no idea what they're talking about.' He turned to Lee and George and said, 'How was that?'

'English,' said Lee. 'No, you're definitely not the Heir of Slytherin, in spite of your embroidered boxers. But getting back to the Light magic, I can attest to the fact the only charmed object on Harry's person is that hideous tumour of a ring. George, do you concur?'

'I'd describe the ring as more of an excrescence. But otherwise yes, we're in agreement.'

'Excellent,' said Lee. 'Is our in-store audience satisfied that Harry isn't hiding an amulet?'

Harry saw lots of people shaking their heads and frowning, and some of them made the thumbs-down gesture. 'They aren't impressed,' announced George. 'And I suspect the problem is that they can only see above Harry's waist. Sorry, Harry—you'll have to step out of the booth to prove you aren't lying.'

'Is this what it's come to?' asked Harry. 'I know I have almost no secrets left, but do I really need to stand in my underwear to prove I'm not faking my Light magic?'

'I'm afraid so,' replied George. 'You're just lucky they're not demanding you remove your pants as well. But perhaps Alex can vouch for you.'

Harry just stood there, and Lee said, 'Come on, Harry. Don't you want to prevent the next war? And really, those boxers are fairly modest, and Merlin knows you're not shy around, ahem, new acquaintances.'

'That's a good point,' said Harry. 'But please, no photographs.'

'Audience,' announced Lee, 'we will state now that anyone who tries taking a photo of Harry like this will have their camera Vanished from a distance, with no recompense. Understood?' The audience members nodded and Lee chivvied Harry out of the booth. 'Go on, now. Make Salazar proud.'

Carrying only his wand, Harry exited the booth to a chorus of hoots and squeals, and he was relieved to feel himself blushing. _At least I have some modesty left,_ he thought, as he turned around to show that there wasn't an amulet on his back.

After returning to the booth, he asked, 'May I get dressed now?'

'Not so fast,' said George, shaking a finger at him. 'You need to glow first. Otherwise it could just be an amulet you've hidden in your clothing.'

'That's a tall order,' replied Harry. 'You're asking me to expand into a vulnerable state when I'm already undressed in public. I'm pretty sure this is a common nightmare for most people.'

'It is, but you're not most people,' said George brightly. 'You're the Light Lord!'

'That's not helping,' said Harry.

'Think of Alex,' suggested Lee. 'Look, she's right there.'

Harry's heart softened, and he felt his Light magic begin to stir, but then George cried, 'Slow down there, sailor! Do you need to charm your boxers first? I realise we fought a war together, but there are some boundaries I'd rather not cross.'

'Don't worry, it's unlikely I'll get an erection right now. Light magic is about love more than anything, and that doesn't necessarily equate to sex.' He paused and added, 'But you've brought up a good point. Do you know I only learnt about the trouser charm a few months ago?'

'Surely you're joking!' exclaimed George. 'How on earth did you get through puberty without it?'

'Books,' replied Harry. 'I'm pretty sure I put the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3, to regular use.'

'They should really include that in their sales literature,' said George. 'But I feel remiss, as a surrogate elder brother, never to have taken you aside and told you how to manage things.'

'Just to clarify for our younger listeners,' announced Lee, 'there's a charm that boys can use on their trousers to hide what's happening underneath, and apparently the orphaned Boy-Who-Lived didn't learn it back when he most needed it.'

'You didn't ever embarrass yourself in front of Voldemort, did you?' asked George.

'God, no!' exclaimed Harry. 'That's about the least arousing situation I can imagine!'

'Yes, and I suppose we all learnt on Sunday morning that your tastes are rather vanilla,' said Lee. 'You were enthusiastic in that photo, certainly, but not shockingly deviant.'

'We digress,' said George. 'And Harry might be getting cold. Would you care to glow for us?'

'I'd love to,' he said, and Light magic surged through him. 'Oh! Everyone needs to experience this!'

'Listeners, you should know that Harry is currently glowing from head to toe, and that he looks extremely happy,' announced Lee.

'I am,' replied Harry. 'And thank you for giving me the opportunity to share this.'

'And here it comes,' said George. 'The embarrassing expressions of gratitude.'

'What could be embarrassing about gratitude?' said Harry sincerely. 'It's one of the most beautiful forms of communication, and we shouldn't hesitate to thank people when we have the chance.' Turning to Lee, he added, 'Did I ever thank you properly for Potterwatch? I only heard it once, but I can't tell you how much it meant to us.'

'You've thanked me loads of times. And it was the least I could do.'

'No, not at all,' said Harry. 'And George, I could spend the next hour thanking you for all the times you lifted my spirits back in school. You never believed for a moment that I'd entered the Triwizard Tournament on purpose.'

'No, but I also never would have believed I'd one day be in a broadcasting booth with a glowing Harry Potter who was wearing nothing but the Black family ring and Slytherin boxer shorts.'

'I suppose not,' chuckled Harry. 'May I get dressed now?'

'Audience, are you satisfied?' asked Lee, and everyone applauded wildly. 'Yes! Harry, please cover up!'

Harry was still glowing as he pulled on his trousers. 'I should probably talk to Walburga next,' he said fondly. 'You know, I've never thanked her for bringing Sirius into the world. I should do that.'

'Definitely,' replied George. 'But let's confirm for our listeners that you're not completely daft right now. Can you say anything to reassure us?'

'What should I say? Obviously I know Walburga isn't going to leap from her frame and hug me, but I don't see anything wrong with telling her how I feel. And I know revealing my Light magic isn't going to automatically prevent wars, but I can only see benefit from more people experiencing this. Admittedly the increased impulsiveness is a challenge, but I'll get through it.' He looked at George and asked, 'Did that sound non-daft enough?'

George nodded slowly. 'I'd say so. And now that you're mostly dressed, would you like to share your feelings with Walburga?'

'I would, yes,' replied Harry, pulling his necktie over his head. After tucking it under his collar and tightening it, he tapped the portrait with his wand. 'Walburga, it's me, Harry. How are you?'

'_Not you again,_' she croaked, slowly opening her eyes. '_Great Salazar!_' she cried in terror, holding up the caged mole rats like a shield. '_Don't hurt me!_'

'Walburga, don't worry,' said Harry soothingly. 'It's Light magic but it can't hurt you.'

'Because you're a portrait,' muttered Lee.

'_Shame beyond shame! The head of House Black is a Light wizard! Curse the foul memory of my son for inflicting this upon us!'_

'I'm so sorry we've never found common ground,' said Harry. 'Sirius really was like a father to me, and I'm awfully glad he existed.'

'_If only his grandfather had disinherited him the moment he was Sorted into Gryffindor,_' wailed the portrait.

'Actually, Harry was just re-Sorted into Slytherin,' George told her. 'Go on, Harry—show her your pants.'

Walburga was stunned speechless, and Harry pulled an embroidered handkerchief from his pocket. 'It's true,' he said, showing it to her. 'Not that it matters, of course, since I'm no longer a student, but last week the Hat said Slytherin.'

Assuming a haughty expression that reminded Harry of Sirius, Walburga said, '_I see the Black family magic has exerted its control over you, at least in part. But I insist you reject Light magic at once, lest it poison the bloodline forever_.'

'I shan't do that,' said Harry. 'Light magic is brilliant, and I hope all my descendants practise it—Blacks and Potters alike.'

Walburga threw back her head and cackled. '_Foolish half-blood! You won't be able to influence your children any more than I could influence mine! I laugh at your naiveté and look forward to witnessing your inevitable disappointment.'_

This time Harry was dumbstruck, and Lee tapped the portrait with his wand. 'She's talking bollocks,' Lee assured him. 'Obviously your children will like you better than Sirius liked her.'

'Maybe, but they might rebel,' observed George. 'We have a hard enough time being Harry Potter's mates, but it'll be a thousand times worse for his kids.'

Harry's glow was rapidly dimming. 'Are you saying I'll put too high of expectations on them?'

'No, everyone else will,' said George. 'Consider my family—Bill came first, and he was Head Boy and got twelve N.E.W.T.s. Next came Charlie, who was great at Quidditch, and then Percy was Head Boy with all the N.E.W.T.s again. When I arrived at Hogwarts, everyone expected me to do one or the other, but I refused and went my own way, and your kids might do the same.'

'But you didn't practise the Dark Arts. All you did was leave school early and start a joke shop.' Harry followed George's lead and didn't mention Fred.

'Yes, but that was a huge rebellion as far as my parents were concerned, and it was years before they accepted it.'

Harry shrugged. 'I suppose there's no point brooding over it, since I'm nowhere near starting a family.'

'That all depends,' said Lee. 'You claim you're careful about Contraception Charms, but you've been, shall we say, tireless about distributing the ingredients for a new little Potter/Black.'

'Is this a reference to the banners at the Harpies match?' asked Harry, knowing it was the remaining item on Lee's checklist.

'It is,' replied Lee. 'For our listeners who might have missed it, the stands at Harpies Stadium on Saturday were filled with banners calling Harry a "manwhore." How did that affect you, Harry?'

'I'd heard the term used in reference to myself several weeks earlier, and Owen Barrowmaker warned me before I flew out. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me.'

'And do you have a response to the people who called you that?' continued Lee. 'Perhaps in relation to your Light magic?'

'I understand why they made those signs. The Harpies are in contention for the league cup, and the fans can improve their chances by rattling the opposing Seeker. And it's a big part of my job not to let taunting or banners prevent me from catching the Snitch. Obviously I didn't catch it on Saturday, but I don't think the insults played a role.'

'No, I was there,' said George. 'Except for that one messy feint at the start, you flew brilliantly, and it was only bad luck you missed the catch.'

'Cheers,' replied Harry. 'I suppose this is a case where Light magic is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it's definitely played a role in why I've earned a reputation as a "manwhore," but on the other hand it's made me much more able to take the insult in stride.'

'So, in a sense, the people who insult you are wasting their time?' asked George.

'Honestly, yes. It's like Legilimency—as a Light wizard, my biggest weakness is through mind attacks. But Light magic has made me far more able to practise Occlumency than before, which is why I said flat out in the interview with Rita not to bother.' Harry felt a mental prod as he spoke, which he repelled automatically. 'Someone in the room is trying it on me now, and I promise it won't work.'

The prod strengthened, and Harry felt the familiar jab behind his scar. 'Seriously, knock it off,' he said, beginning to glow. The jabs deepened, which oddly made Harry's Light magic flow more strongly. 'Lee, George, someone here seems really determined to crack into my mind.'

George stood and looked around the room. 'That's bad manners,' he scolded. 'Don't make Harry smite you.'

'I don't want to smite anyone,' he said affectionately, and his eyes automatically found the wizard who was staring at him. He was very tall and standing in the second row, and everyone turned to see who Harry was looking at. Each prod drew forth more love from Harry, until he could no longer restrain himself. Standing, he said, 'Thanks for having me on the show. I should leave now. But I love you both, and I'm incredibly grateful you're in my life.'

Without another word, he exited the booth and extended his hand to Alex, and the crowd parted to let them pass. The attempt at Legilimency never wavered, but neither did Harry's resistance, and he deliberately allowed a message to escape. _I love you._

Everyone stared at him and Alex, and although he resisted the urge to kiss her, he turned and looked longingly at her before escorting her out the door. 'Is Side-Along all right?' he asked, and she nodded, seemingly unable to speak. He turned on his heel, and they Apparated straight into his bedroom.

As soon as they arrived, they began kissing feverishly, until a break when she said, 'Oh, Harry ... that was magnificent.'

'I was afraid I'd hurt him. He wouldn't stop, even though he must have known he wouldn't succeed.'

'Did you recognise him?' she asked.

'No. But he was probably the strongest hostile Legilimens I've encountered, other than Voldemort.'

Hermione's otter suddenly appeared in the room. '_Harry, are you all right?'_

Still glowing brightly, he cast a Patronus and sent a reply. 'Yes, I'm fine. I'm home now with Alex. The only reason I left was so I wouldn't hurt him.'

Ron's terrier appeared moments later, and Harry reassured him similarly. A reply came quickly: '_That was bloody brilliant! In the same breath you took down the Harpyheads and a wannabe Death Eater! Janet takes all the credit, by the way._'

Over the next few hours, Harry heard owls trying to find him, but Kreacher intercepted them. He knew he'd have heaps of letters by morning but he didn't care, because morning was ages away, and the present moment was already perfect.


	85. Chapter 85

_Author's Note:_

_Bonus chapter! This week _Loose Cannon_ passed one million words (the original series is 1,084,171 words), and I thought I'd celebrate. I should add that the end is nowhere in sight, and that __a good editor would probably take a chainsaw to my fic, __but hopefully you've figured out by now that _Loose Cannon_ is about the journey rather than the destination._

_Next update on Wednesday!_

-––—––—––-

'That has to be the most absurd hat I've ever seen,' declared Alex.

'I know,' grimaced Harry, 'but I have to wear it, and I don't dare insult the lords this morning.'

Alex tilted her head to examine it. 'It's as if the person who designed it decided to discard the accumulated wisdom of hatmakers since time immemorial and go off in a completely new direction. Or several directions, rather.'

'You're not boosting my confidence.'

'Does your confidence really need boosting? You seem downright cocky to me. And besides, you had about a dozen letters praising your performance last night.'

'But what did you think of my performance last night?' he asked, with a gleam in his eye.

'I think you know already.'

'Then why can't I see you again tonight?' he whinged dramatically.

'I told you—Rocky doesn't want me seeing you two nights in a row, and I don't blame him. But we can go to the nightclub on Thursday, and I'll attend your match on Saturday.'

'I know, and I can't wait. But I'll miss you terribly tonight.'

'Too bad,' she replied saucily. 'I still expect you to see other people, and I'd only get in the way.'

'Do you know how many propositions I receive? Scores of witches would do anything for my attention, and here you're discarding it.'

'I'm not discarding it—I'm just confining it to alternate evenings. And you've proven my point that your confidence doesn't need boosting.'

'Maybe not,' he admitted. 'But I'll be relieved when this bloody vote is behind me.'

They went downstairs together, and after a lingering goodbye in front of the fireplace Harry travelled by Floo to the Ministry. When he emerged in the Atrium, he saw everyone's eyes land first on his hat, and then widen in surprise when they saw who was wearing it. Several people glanced at his hand to see if his ring was visible, but he had decided not to reveal it until he entered the Wizengamot chamber.

He saw a handful of witches and wizards dressed in Wizengamot burgundy, but almost no one wore the traditional voluminous robes. The relatively fit wizards wore robes similar to his own, and a variety of other styles were represented as well. _This is much more interesting_, he thought, and he was proud to have caused the upheaval in the first place.

But then he corrected himself. _You need to toe the line, Snitchbottom. _He was confident he had more than enough votes, but he didn't want to blow it by antagonising anyone.

'Lord Black,' said Romulus Wynter, entering the lift after him.

'Lord Wynter,' replied Harry cordially, noting that Davina's father still wore the traditional robes.

Wynter glanced at Harry's left hand and raised a fluffy, white eyebrow. _For Merlin's sake, I'm not even in the chamber yet,_ he thought irritably. But he decided to appease the elderly wizard and cast a strong, wordless _Finite incantatem_, which caused the ring to appear.

Wynter nodded in satisfaction. _I suppose Wynter feels as strongly about tradition as I do about Light magic, _mused Harry. _And clearly he's stubborn, if he cut his own daughter from his life simply for marrying a Muggle._

The lift stopped at the lowest level, and Harry waited for Wynter and his companion to exit. He followed them into the chamber, but instead of heading directly to the lords' section, he looked for familiar faces among the clusters of wizards standing around talking.

'It's good to see you, Lord Black,' said Oscar Abbott. 'And congratulations on not wincing when I called you that.'

'Cheers,' replied Harry. 'But you don't believe in all that lordship bollocks, do you?'

'No, certainly not. But I respect Wizengamot rules—even recent ones—which means I'm to address you appropriately. And within these walls you're a Black, not a Potter. I could only call you Potter if you were dressed normally and seated in the gallery.'

'I'd be at Quidditch practice right now if I were only a Potter,' he grumbled.

'Yes, and young Malfoy would be looking at another ten months of house arrest.'

'Do I still have your support?' asked Harry.

'Of course you do. You had it already, but your radio performance last night was extraordinary. Do you know who it was?'

'I have no idea. But there were plenty of witnesses, so it's bound to come out.'

'You've dealt a crushing blow to the Dark Arts in Britain,' said Abbott approvingly, 'and I'm thrilled to witness it.'

'Are you only witnessing it?' asked Harry. 'Light magic is much more fun from the inside.'

'Surely I'm too old!'

'You'd have to ask Davina, but she hasn't said anything to that effect. The only problem would be if you'd spent decades practising the Dark Arts.'

'No, of course not.'

'Then you should owl her,' replied Harry. 'Certainly there's no harm in asking.'

Abbott was silent a moment. 'Perhaps I will.'

Harry scanned the gallery and saw Narcissa and Andromeda. Narcissa's appearance was startling—she sat rigidly, and her face wore the sneer he'd observed when he first met her. _She must be terrified_, he thought, and his compassion stirred as he approached them.

'Narcissa, Andromeda,' he said warmly. 'Good morning—I'm glad you're here.'

The two witches rose and Andromeda embraced him, but Narcissa only nodded. 'How are you?' asked Harry gently. 'Can I reassure you somehow?'

'You've worn the hat at least,' she said resignedly. 'And you didn't grossly insult any factions last night, other than Harpies fans.'

'I thought I was very understanding towards the Harpyheads.'

'Of course you were,' replied Andromeda. 'But Cissa's a nervous wreck—last night she kept sending Nitta over for reassurance, until I finally scooped up Teddy and joined her. And yes, you did fine. More than fine—did you get my owl?'

'Yes, thank you.'

'Who is this Alex?' asked Narcissa. 'Did she go to Hogwarts?'

'Her parents did, but they moved to America when she was a baby and she was educated there.'

'She's American!' exclaimed Narcissa, horrified.

'Not like you're thinking. She spent summers in England, and she scarcely has an accent. But we're not dating exclusively, and there's no chance we'll marry.'

Narcissa rolled her eyes. 'No, I suppose not.'

'Harry,' said Andromeda, 'is there anyone else you should talk to before the session starts? Shacklebolt, or Bode perhaps?'

'There's no hope I'll convince Bode,' replied Harry, 'but I should at least say hello.'

Narcissa grabbed his arm and said, 'Don't lose your temper.'

'I promise, I won't. I just had a civil exchange with Romulus Wynter, so surely I can get along with Merrick Bode.'

'Good luck,' said Andromeda, but Narcissa only nodded, her eyes still full of dread.

Harry approached the taciturn head of the DMLE. 'Bode,' he said simply.

'Potter. Or Black, rather,' was Bode's cold reply.

'Only within these walls.'

'That's not what I hear,' he said, glancing at Harry's ring and then at Narcissa. 'I'm told you're quite enamoured of your new relations.'

'I've known Andromeda for years, and she's raising my godson. As for Narcissa, we have a rocky history, but we've found common ground.'

'You mean when you betrayed the Department and kept her and Draco out of Azkaban?'

'I didn't betray the Department,' said Harry irritably. 'If it weren't for them, I'd be dead and the Death Eaters might still be in charge.' After a pause he added, 'You should know she also wanted me to help Lucius, and I refused.'

'I'm relieved to hear you have at least a sliver of respect for the law. But surely you don't expect my vote.'

'Of course not. Not after what Lucius did to your brother.'

'This has nothing to do with Broderick,' insisted Bode. 'This is about law and order, which you turned your back on several months ago.'

'I was a lousy Auror,' began Harry, but Bode interrupted him.

'You aren't now. With your Light magic, you could neutralise all the remaining Death Eaters. But you'd rather be a celebrity.'

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'I'd rather live my life. Surely Kingsley explained why I left.'

'Yes, because you never had a proper childhood. But neither will the orphans created by the Dark wizards you won't bother catching.'

Guilt rose in Harry's chest, but he tried not to let it sway him. 'I won't catch them, but other wizards will. And I like to think I've done my part.'

'You're only nineteen—you haven't even begun to do your part.' Sighing, he added, 'When I think about what you might have accomplished, it would have dwarfed what you did with Voldemort. But clearly you've made your decision.'

'I have done,' said Harry. 'And I'm sorry you don't understand it. Kingsley does.'

'Yes, he's always had a blind spot where you're concerned. And you'll be pleased to see how many votes he gathered for you. Or for Malfoy, rather.' Narrowing his eyes, he said, 'Don't expect me to go easy on you if he breaks the law. I'll send you to Azkaban right along with him.'

'He won't break the law,' said Harry firmly.

'Because he's your cousin?'

'No, because I have ironclad assurances—civil and magical. Believe me, if Draco continues his house arrest, he's more likely to turn out like Lucius, not less.'

'So you claim. But starting this afternoon he'll be free to visit his father and start carrying out orders, which undoubtedly include plots against you.' Bode's expression softened, and he said, 'Can't I talk you out of this? It's a trap, probably cooked up by Lucius himself.'

'I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. But you won't change my mind.'

Bode sighed. 'Your funeral, Potter. Or Black, rather.'

Harry inclined his head and walked heavily to his seat amidst the wizarding peers. They greeted him one by one with a terse, 'Good morning, Lord Black.'

Sandra had assembled photographs of the most important Wizengamot members, including all the lords and ladies, so Harry was able to acknowledge them by name. 'Good morning, Lady Greengrass,' he said to Daphne's mother. 'We've never met, but I've lately become friendly with Daphne.'

'Yes, Lord Black, so I've heard,' she said warmly. 'It's tremendous what you're doing for Draco.'

They chatted politely for several minutes until Chief Warlock Sledge took his seat and one of the lords banged the gong. There was a lot of ceremony, which Harry ignored, and he instead pondered his morning so far. _Abbott praised me for not wincing when he called me Lord Black, but I've actually got used to it_, he realised. The title still rankled, but the name Black sounded perfectly normal. _I'll never leave off being a Potter, but I've grown shockingly comfortable as a Black._

Everyone around him was wearing a ring, and he noted with dismay that his was the ugliest. _If I had a taste for jewellery, I'd probably be willing to wear Lord Yaxley's ring in public, _he thought, but he knew the most he'd ever wear visibly would be a wedding ring.

Alex had a sapphire engagement ring, but she deliberately wore it on her right hand so people wouldn't know what it was. 'It's hard to have a pocket romance when I have someone else's cuff on my left ring finger,' she'd told him. He closed his eyes as he recalled their night together, and his Light magic threatened, but another bang on the gong reminded Harry where he was.

The court secretary announced the individual Wizengamot members seeking votes, similar to Harry's request in August, and all of them were approved without difficulty. _The lords were a serious bunch of wankers to deny my request_, thought Harry bitterly, but he was also relieved it hadn't gone through. _Everyone says I won the day, and it's much better having Rita on my side._

Next came the more important measures, none of which were controversial. Sandra had briefed him in advance, and Harry voted with the majority every time. But his own request was of the greatest interest, based on how everyone sat up when his name was called. 'Lord Black,' said the secretary, 'please rise and make your request.'

Harry read from the document Sandra had prepared. 'I, Lord Harry James Black, hereby invoke lordly privilege and request a vote from the full Wizengamot. This is my sacred right, earned by my fathers and passed unerringly to me, and I supplicate my fellow judges to impartially evaluate my demand.'

He surveyed the chamber to gauge people's reactions, which generally seemed positive. Most of the lords were seated behind him, but Lord Rosier to his right nodded in approval. 'I am specifically invoking the right of _Promittam revertetur_, whereby I may petition for a convicted wizard's freedom based on my personal guarantee. Stated formally: I, Lord Harry James Black, seek immediate freedom for Draco Lucius Malfoy, and I offer my personal guarantee that no substantive wizarding law will be violated as a result of this boon. I swear on my honour and my magic that I will willingly accept any punishment earned by Draco Malfoy until the end of the term previously assigned by this chamber.'

His statement was followed by yet another bang on the gong, and Harry remained standing. Chief Warlock Sledge turned to face him. 'Lord Black, the court acknowledges your petition, and you may now state your case informally.'

Harry took a deep breath before continuing. 'My fellow judges,' he began. 'I addressed this chamber a year ago July to defend Draco Malfoy against charges of attempted murder against Albus Dumbledore, criminal conspiracy, and performing Unforgivable Curses. But it's not my wish to reopen that case and revisit the court's decision, which I believe was just, based on what was known at the time. I come instead to the court with a new request to commute Draco Malfoy's sentence to time served.'

'Based on what evidence?' interjected a wizard who was seated next to Bode.

'Wait your turn,' ordered the Chief Warlock. 'Lord Black, please continue.'

Looking at his prepared document, Harry read, 'My request is based on first-hand observation of Draco Malfoy under house arrest. Like me, Draco was dragged into the war at a young age. Younger than I was, in fact, since I didn't even know about Voldemort until I was eleven. And like me, Draco suffered from his participation in the war, and house arrest has impeded his ability to heal and move forward. If the ultimate goal of justice is to prevent future conflict and wrongdoing, I believe justice will be best served by granting Draco his immediate freedom and allowing him to build a life beyond his experience as a Death Eater.

'Speaking personally, I've only recently been able to build a life that's free from my experience as a child soldier. Draco already proved during the war that he wasn't fully committed to his role as Voldemort's servant, specifically by refusing to identify me when I was captured. I believe he deserves the opportunity to continue along this path, and I'm willing to risk my own freedom to ensure he gets it.' Lowering his parchment, he officially ceded the floor.

'The court invites questions, comments, and rebuttals,' announced the secretary. Several wands were raised, and she said, 'Director Bode, you have the floor.'

Bode rose and read from a parchment of his own. 'As Director of the DMLE, I vehemently oppose Lord Black's request for Draco Malfoy's early release. Draco willingly took the Dark Mark and spent months plotting the murder of Albus Dumbledore. You might claim he was underage and had been forced into the task, but I would argue that the Ministry was still free from Voldemort's control, and Draco could have sought assistance either from the DMLE or from Dumbledore himself, to whom he had ready access at Hogwarts. Furthermore, although he didn't kill Dumbledore with his own wand, he allowed Death Eaters and Fenrir Greyback entry into Hogwarts, placing the students in grave danger.'

Looking up from his parchment, he gazed directly at Harry. 'I acknowledge and even commend Lord Black's generosity in advocating for Draco Malfoy, but I don't trust his judgment. Stated bluntly, Black's behaviour has been completely erratic for months, and I believe this is simply the latest in a series of misguided stunts. But unlike his other outbursts, this one places him in mortal peril, because we all know what will happen to him if he goes to Azkaban. I therefore urge you to vote against Potter's request—beg pardon, Black's request, both to safeguard wizarding justice and also the young man to whom we owe our present freedom.'

Bode sat down, and the secretary invited Harry to reply. But Harry paused first to collect himself after Bode's harsh attack. 'Director Bode, I'm sorry you think this is just a misguided stunt. While I acknowledge my recent behaviour has been unconventional, I would argue that it's been anything but erratic. My performance with the Chudley Cannons has been entirely consistent, and numerous members of this chamber can attest to my level-headedness.' Addressing the full court, he added, 'I suspect most of you have formed your opinion about me already, and there's nothing I can say now to prove whether I'm rational or not. But let me assure you, there are protections in place that give me complete confidence that Draco and I won't appear together as defendants in this chamber. I won't reveal the details, which are private, but I've shared them with key individuals, including Kingsley Shacklebolt, and they agree that I have nothing to worry about. I therefore ask that you approve my request and grant Draco Malfoy his immediate freedom.'

Harry heard murmurs of agreement and saw nods among many of the other members. Bode's shoulders drooped, but his jaw remained firm. He raised his wand again, and the secretary gave him the floor. 'Lord Black claims we've nothing to fear from Draco Malfoy, but can he say the same about his father, Lucius? The Aurors assigned to Azkaban—Lord Black's erstwhile colleagues—report that Malfoy and his fellow Death Eaters obsessively plot revenge against both Lord Black and wizarding Britain as a whole. And with Draco's release from house arrest, these monstrous criminals will have a well-placed agent to execute their schemes. I beg you to deny Lord Black's request and keep Draco Malfoy from destroying everything we've worked so hard to rebuild.'

_Really?_ thought Harry incredulously. _Hermione's right that wizards are completely illogical._ He raised his wand and was granted the floor. 'Director Bode speaks passionately, and I'm touched by his concern for my safety. But he's overlooked an important point: Draco Malfoy is going to be released next summer regardless. The question then is whether to let him stew for another year before he can see his father and start taking orders, or to show mercy and give him a reason not to start a second career as a Death Eater. And really, he'd have to be pretty bloody daft to go that route, considering how well things worked out the first time around. Draco's no fool, and he has to realise that it's more sensible to work within wizarding society than to torch it like Lucius did.'

When Harry heard himself say 'bloody' he knew he should wrap things up. 'Thank you for considering my request, and hopefully I've convinced enough of you to allow Draco his freedom,' he said before sitting down. The lords murmured approval around him, and although Harry's heart was racing he felt a deep wave of calm.

Bode had no further comments, and his allies sat down as well. Chief Warlock Sledge said, 'Lord Black, please rise for the vote.' Harry stood, and the secretary asked all those who approved Harry's request to raise their lit wands. An overwhelming majority of wands went up, and Harry closed his eyes and exhaled. Only a handful voted against, including Bode and his allies, and several abstained. But even before the votes were counted, Narcissa threw her arms around Andromeda, and Harry could see she was crying.

'Lord Black's request is approved,' announced the secretary, and orders were given to remove the charms confining Draco to Malfoy Manor. Harry caught Narcissa's eye, and he was stunned by her expression of gratitude. _No wonder people say she's beautiful, _he thought.

He was tempted to leave, but he knew it would be bad form not to stick around and thank his fellow Wizengamot members. So he sat through several more gong intervals and participated in multiple uninteresting votes until the secretary called a recess. The gong rang once more, and the lords were upon him.

'Congratulations, Lord Black, and well done,' said Xanthus Fawley, and the others followed suit.

Harry acknowledged them, along with other key Wizengamot members. But Narcissa was waiting for him, and he found her near the exit. 'Harry, thank you,' she said, her eyes still shining with tears.

'You're welcome,' he said affectionately. 'I'm relieved it's over.'

'Well done,' declared Andromeda. 'You kept your temper, in spite of Bode's insults, and you were truly a credit to House Black.'

'You were,' said Narcissa. 'We mightn't agree on everything, but I'm proud you're Head of House.'

Harry was taken aback. 'Thank you, Narcissa. That means a lot to me.'

She closed her eyes and nodded, seemingly unable to speak.

'You needn't have stayed,' he told her. 'I'd have thought you'd want to tell Draco straight away.'

She smiled mischievously and pulled a small, ear-shaped device from her pocket. 'I believe you're familiar with these,' she said.

It was a niche product Lee had created, called Long-Distance Extendible Ears. They didn't have spying potential, since they required contact with a witch or wizard on both ends, but they were perfect for remote listening. 'I'm relieved you didn't show me in advance,' said Harry. 'I was already nervous, but knowing Draco was listening would have been too much.'

'He probably shrieked in terror when you said "bloody,"' said Andromeda, 'but fortunately you had the good sense to stop talking.'

He escorted the two witches from the chamber and waited with them near the lifts. Kingsley approached them and said, 'Harry, congratulations.'

'Cheers,' replied Harry, 'and thanks again for your support.'

Kingsley turned to Narcissa and said, 'Don't let Draco make a fool of us. You need to counterbalance Lucius.'

Narcissa stiffened, then nodded. 'I know,' she said simply. 'And I will.'

Harry rode upstairs with the sisters, and in the Atrium he said, 'Tell Draco I'll be over as soon as practice ends, which is usually around five o'clock. I promised we'd go flying.'

'Yes, just Floo to the drawing room and ask Nitta where to find him.'

She surprised Harry by embracing him—rigidly at first but then she relaxed. _She'll never hug like Molly Weasley_, he thought, _but that was pretty good for someone without a lot of padding._

After Narcissa and Andromeda left, several Wizengamot members invited Harry to lunch at Pratt's, but he turned them down. 'I should get back to practice,' he said. 'Coach Tuttle has been more than understanding, but I don't want to provoke her.'

The wizards laughed and made sly comments about Ludo Bagman, and Harry went directly to the training grounds. He emerged from the main fireplace just as his teammates were finishing their morning session.

'Lord Black!' cried Suresh. 'Your new hat becomes you!'

'Oh, bugger,' blurted Harry, removing it. 'I forgot I was even wearing the bloody thing. I should hide the ring as well.'

'Nonsense,' said Janet. 'You should come to the pub with us just as you are—robes, ring, and all. We'll tell Candice it's the traditional regalia for Albanian aristocrats.'

'And what will you say when I start glowing?' asked Harry.

'_Obliviate!' _she replied. 'Next question?'

He shook his head. 'I think I'll change clothes and eat with the reserves.'

'Hang on, don't leave us in suspense ... how did your vote go?'

'Draco Malfoy is free, or he will be as soon as they remove the charms confining him.'

'Excellent!' she said cheerfully. 'Not only aren't you an Auror any longer, but now you've freed a Death Eater.'

Harry's face fell. 'It's not like that. I really believe this is the best way to prevent him from harming wizarding society.'

'I'm sorry, it was just a joke—I didn't mean to criticise you,' said Janet, her expression earnest.

'I know,' he sighed. 'I'm just sensitive because the head of the DMLE tore me a new arsehole for not using my Light magic for combat.'

'That's not your responsibility. If he wants to snap wands using Light magic, he can bloody well learn it himself.'

'Technically he's a bureaucrat and not an Auror,' said Harry. 'But even so, he has a point. If I were still an Auror, I'd be tremendously useful in the field.'

'Except you probably wouldn't have developed Light magic in the first place. Haven't you said it's because you're on a broomstick all day?'

'Yeah. There's no way I'd be a Light wizard if I hadn't quit the Ministry. But maybe I should go back.'

'Is that what you want?'

'No,' he said dully. 'Not even remotely. I was miserable there.'

'Then why are we even talking about this?' she asked. 'Clearly you were meant to show the wizarding world that Light magic is possible, and then they can clean up their act. It's not your job to fix everything.'

'Sorry, you're right. I think I was just having a prophecy flashback—thanks for talking me off the ledge.'

At lunch he tried wearing his Invisibility Cloak, as Waldemar had suggested, but the plan backfired. A nearby diner noticed Harry's food disappearing into thin air and yelled, 'Oh my god, it's Harry Potter and he's wearing his Invisibility Cloak!' A frenzy ensued, with strangers asking him to sign autographs without removing the Cloak, and he finally excused himself and Apparated back to the training grounds with his uneaten food.

Lara found him sitting cross-legged near her desk, eating his lunch. 'Did you and the reserves quarrel?' she asked.

'No, but I was too conspicuous, so I decided to come back here.'

'I'm sorry, Harry. It must get tiresome having no privacy.'

'It's not usually that bad. When I'm out on a date people usually let me alone. But all it takes is one over-exuberant stranger, and then I'm overrun.'

'Is your Light magic getting any easier to control?' she asked. 'I know the starters miss you, and apparently the waitress has been asking after you.'

'No, it's getting harder to control. I have no idea when I'll be able to eat with the starters again, unless they all come to my house.'

'That sounds like fun—I'm sure they'll want to do that at least once a week.'

He liked her suggestion, and he decided to have Kreacher serve lunch several times a week for whoever wanted to turn up, and to go to Pratt's the rest of the time. Presumably his Light magic would eventually settle down and he could return to the village pub, dropping ominous hints to Candice about his long secret mission.

When the starters returned, Darren pulled him aside. 'Snitchbottom, I have to thank you for the shout-out last night. I was with Maryann and Jocelyn at a swanky cafe, and they were playing your broadcast of course, and everyone cheered when you mentioned my name and called me a bad influence. And I got an owl from Fenella this morning saying she's received more offers on my behalf.'

'Is that the publicist?'

'Yeah. And it goes without saying that she'd love to work with you, but I assume you're not interested.'

Harry grimaced. 'Generally speaking, no. Although I would like to go to a nightclub tomorrow night, as long as there's good music and a decent crowd.'

'Brilliant! Do you need a date, or will Alex join you?'

'She'll be with me,' replied Harry, smiling.

'Will she mind if I bring Maryann and Jocelyn?'

'Not at all, but make sure they know I'm not up for a fivesome.'

'But that would officially push us over the orgy threshold,' argued Darren. 'I looked it up.'

'No,' said Harry firmly. 'I'd just ignore them and focus on Alex. And besides, the bed isn't endless.'

'Fine—I'll owl Fenella after practice and set things up.'

Harry flew on the Silver Arrow that afternoon, since they hadn't yet heard back from Randolph Spudmore. 'You were right and I was wrong,' he said to Gemma during the practice match.

'I'm sorry, could you repeat that?'

'You were right and I was wrong. The Firebolt Ultra is better than the Silver Arrow. Now that I know how to fly it properly, I'm addicted to the extra kick. I should probably owl Krum and tell him as well.'

'This is what's so much fun about you, Toffer,' said Gemma. 'I've more or less forgotten how awestruck I once was by you and just see you as another teammate, but then you casually mention your old friend Viktor Krum. Will you be knocking about next with Prince William?'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Prince William has never heard of me.'

'Don't be so sure. I've heard the Queen knows about magic and has a court wizard, mostly for protection.'

'That might actually be true,' admitted Harry. 'One of Kingsley Shacklebolt's duties during the war was protecting the Muggle Prime Minister.'

'So they do know about you!' she cried. 'You need to leverage this somehow!'

'Er, why?'

'To hobnob with the Muggle elite! You could fly on private jets to the Swiss Alps and seduce Bavarian princesses!'

'But I'd just be some random Brit with a common name and uncontrollable hair. Unless you're proposing I completely violate the Statute of Secrecy.'

'Of course not. But Prince William would vouch for you, and you could call yourself Harry Potter-Black.' Her eyes grew wide, 'Or the Queen could knight you! You totally deserve it, and she gives out knighthoods like sweets nowadays.'

'Brilliant, just what I always wanted—another bloody title.'

'But you'd have earned this one, as opposed to the Blacks just buying it. And besides, it'll come in handy if there's ever a Squib in the family ... they'd get the Muggle title as a sort of consolation prize. They'd be Lord or Lady Potter-Black and slide seamlessly into the Muggle elite.'

Harry shook his head in disbelief. 'I think you've gone way overboard. First off, you just upgraded my imaginary knighthood to some kind of hereditary peerage.'

'Yes, you'll need to be an earl at the very least.'

'Right. And you've also massively increased my net worth, to the point where even my descendants have enough gold to enter the Muggle upper class.'

Gesturing dismissively, she said, 'You're bound to have at least one kid who decides to rebel against Hero Dad by bribing Ministry officials and selling charmed corsets. They'll make a fortune, even if you don't, and since they'll be doing it in a desperate bid to win your approval, you can demand they establish a vault specifically for any Potter or Black Squibs who might come along.'

Harry, who was finding the conversation deeply disturbing, was sorely tempted to feint. But instead he asked, 'Do you really think my kids will be that fucked up?'

'News flash, Toffer: All kids are fucked up. Yours will just be uniquely fucked up because you're such a bloody weirdo.'

Frowning, Harry took off at top speed towards his own Beaters, snaking though them unerringly before shooting upwards towards the rings. He then raced across the pitch several times before resuming his circling pattern.

Gemma joined him and said, 'It seems I touched a nerve. I'd apologise, but technically that's my job as reserve Seeker.'

'It is your job, and yes, you touched a nerve. It's one thing to be a freak, which I know I am, but then to hear it'll screw up my kids ...'

'You weren't listening, Toffer. All kids are fucked up, full stop. I'm Rees fucked-up, you're Potter fucked-up, and your kids will be Potter-Black fucked-up. They'll spend their whole lives overcoming it, just like you're doing bit by bit.'

Harry thought about Gemma's statement. _Ron is definitely Weasley fucked-up, but he's already come a long way._ He couldn't say whether Hermione was Granger fucked-up, since he still didn't know much about her parents, but clearly she had her own issues. _Merlin knows Sirius was fucked up, and I probably got a dose of that as well. And then there's Draco. _Harry paused to consider what it must have been like to be Lucius Malfoy's only child. _Draco was probably told he was better than everyone else but also unworthy of the Malfoy name. No wonder he's such a headcase._

'I suppose in addition to the Squib support vault I should set aside gold to pay Mind Healers to un-fuck-up my kids.'

She looked at him in surprise. 'Does this mean you're planning to bribe Ministry officials and sell charmed corsets?'

_Bugger!_ he thought. 'No, of course not. Women don't even wear corsets anymore, right?'

'You've probably seen more naked women than I have by now. But no, we don't.'

He let the conversation drift away from dangerous waters, and not long afterwards Gemma made the catch. They'd spotted the Snitch simultaneously from different ends of the pitch, but her broom was faster. 'Congratulations,' said Harry. 'I'm sure the team observers took note.'

'I know,' she said smugly. 'As much as I love being a Cannon, they're my ticket to starterhood.'

'Don't leave too soon,' he urged her, but she shook her head reassuringly.

'I won't—Owen convinced me it's worth spending a year learning all your tricks. And then one day we'll be legendary arch-rivals, which means our old Cannons photographs will have huge resale value. Which reminds me—I need you to slap your autograph on a pile of photos. I'll do the same and then stash them somewhere for safekeeping.'

'Will you at least buy me dinner on the eventual proceeds?' he asked.

'Yes, but only if you buy me a castle with your corset profits.'

After practice, Harry changed into robes and brought two broomsticks to Malfoy Manor. He emerged from the fireplace into an empty drawing room, where he tentatively called Nitta. 'How may Nitta help Mr Potter?' she asked, appearing before him.

'I'm looking for Draco,' he replied. 'Do you know where I can find him?'

'Master Draco is outside—Nitta will show the way.'

Moving much more quickly than Kreacher, she led Harry to what she called the breakfast room and through a pair of French windows to a patio. There he found Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Daphne Greengrass, who were nibbling on crudités and drinking what looked like champagne.

'Well, if it isn't Harry Potter-Black,' declared Pansy. 'Wearing robes, flowers, and everything. If only I'd placed that wager.'

'What wager?' asked Daphne. 'Nobody took you up on it.' Turning to Harry, she said, 'Do sit down, and have a drink. You're the man of the hour, after all. Not counting the other man of the hour.' She indicated Draco, who was flying far overhead.

'Did he really abandon his guests to go flying?' asked Harry incredulously.

'Believe me, he's being an ideal host,' said Pansy. 'He's been miserably earthbound for the last fourteen months, and perfectly ghastly to be around. If Malfoy Manor weren't the loveliest house in all of England, I should have left off visiting ages ago. But now I get to enjoy its comforts without listening to Draco whinge the entire time.' To emphasise her point, she called, 'Nitta! I'd like more champagne. Harry, what will you have?'

'Do you have any fruit pressés?' he asked.

'Bring Harry champagne too,' ordered Pansy, and the elf disappeared. 'Really, Harry ... fruit pressé? That's positively Muggle! I thought you were a Slytherin now.'

'He's a Light Slytherin,' said Blaise. 'Uncharted territory.'

'No it isn't,' replied Harry. 'My teacher Davina was in Slytherin, and there are bound to be others as well.'

'I still don't believe you were re-Sorted,' said Pansy. 'Go on, show us your boxers.'

He pulled out a handkerchief. 'Will this do?'

'For now,' she said. 'But I insist on seeing your taut Seeker's body one of these days.'

Harry's eyebrows shot up, and Blaise explained. 'Pansy's what's known as an _"Everything but"_ pure-blood. She's still suitable marriage material, if you know what I mean, but she has plenty of experience.'

'Yes, I'm familiar with the type,' replied Harry, thinking of Vanessa.

'Unfortunately for Draco, Pansy withdrew access aeons ago,' said Daphne. 'So he's had to make do with imports for the last year.'

'There's nothing wrong with imports,' remarked Blaise. 'Wouldn't you agree, Harry?'

'I'm sorry, I'm completely gobsmacked right now,' admitted Harry. 'Imports?'

'Yes, Narcissa negotiated with Madame Lalouche herself—a conversation I'd have loved to witness,' said Blaise. 'But now Draco is free to visit France directly, as part of his—what did you call it? Healing process?'

'He was furious about your night of six times,' interjected Pansy. 'First he thought it was a lie, and then he was sure you'd taken some kind of potion. But in the end I convinced him it was just emotional trauma and Light magic. So if you think about it, he's halfway there.'

Befuddled, Harry asked, 'Does Draco still have access to Pratt's, even with Lucius in Azkaban?'

'Of course he does,' replied Daphne. 'They won't kick a wizard out, as long as he keeps paying the dues.'

'That's what Harry was counting on,' observed Blaise. 'You really had them over a barrel with your Light magic.'

Harry finally tried the champagne Pansy had forced on him. 'Sweet Merlin, this is good!' he exclaimed. _Much better than Prosecco_, he noted internally.

'You can't beat the Malfoy wine cellar,' declared Pansy. 'It's easily the best in Britain, and it's probably the other reason Draco didn't go completely around the bend this past year. Although Narcissa might send him somewhere to dry out if he doesn't change his ways.'

'I'd have thought the Death Eaters would have cleaned out the wine cellar during the war,' said Harry, trying to get into the swing of the conversation.

'They did,' replied Pansy. 'But when word got out the Ministry was going to confiscate half their gold, Lucius ordered Narcissa to owl their wine merchant and buy everything worth having. He scoured the Continent, so it's probably even better than before.'

'Weren't there still Dementors in Azkaban then?' asked Harry.

'Yes, but apparently the burning desire to have the best wine cellar in Europe doesn't count as a happy thought, so Lucius was able to hang onto it.'

Harry looked up at Draco, who was still swooping about. 'Should I go join him?'

'Probably,' said Pansy. 'But don't let this be the last time we gossip without Draco around. I'm part of your club now, right?'

_My club?_ thought Harry. 'Er, if you like.'

'Good, I want to go to your next party. I still can't believe you invited Theo, Blaise, and Daphne, but not me.'

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I was new to hosting parties and wanted to take things slowly. Is there anyone else I left out?"

'Millicent, but that's no matter. Her parents sent her to live with cousins in Australia—they're hoping she'll find a husband there. And of course Greg's in Azkaban, poor thing. But he was alarmingly fond of torturing people, so he'd have landed there eventually.'

Harry finished his champagne and stood up. 'Right. Time to pay my respects to our host.'

'Go easy on him,' cautioned Pansy. 'He's still unhappy you're the league's best Seeker.'

Harry reached into his pouch and pulled out the Firebolt Ultra he'd borrowed from the Cannons. _Oh yes,_ he thought with excitement, stepping over it. In an instant he was aloft, and he zoomed after Draco. 'Malfoy!' he cried. 'How does it feel to be on a broomstick again?'

'I practically need to charm my trousers,' replied Draco exultantly. 'By Salazar, I missed this! What are you flying?'

'The Firebolt Ultra. What about you?'

'Nimbus 2200. When it came time to replace my Nimbus 2001, before seventh year, I refused to buy a Firebolt on principle. Furthermore, they hadn't released the Ultra yet, and I didn't want a three-year old model. Spudmore is terribly slow to release new brooms.'

'It was worth the wait,' said Harry. 'Although you'll hate it.'

'Will I?' said Draco defiantly. 'What makes you so sure.'

'Because I used to hate it, until I learnt how to fly on crap brooms.'

'That's not a glowing endorsement,' said Draco.

'I could glow if you like.'

'No thanks. I'm still recovering from Sunday's _Prophet. _Shall we race?'

'I'd love to, but how far do the wards extend?'

'Just beyond that elm tree,' replied Draco.

'Blimey!' exclaimed Harry when he saw how far it was. 'You could have a full pitch out here!'

'We do, on the other side of that wood,' said Draco, pointing in the opposite direction. 'But I assumed you'd rather show off for the girls.'

Harry ignored Draco's insinuation. 'Let's just race to the elm, straight shot. And then we can try it again, only we'll trade brooms.'

'Fine, but I know what you're doing.'

'What am I doing?'

'You don't want to embarrass me with what you assume is your superior flying.'

'I'm smaller than you,' replied Harry. 'You're not going to win a race, particularly if it involves turns. Gemma beats me all the time.'

'So I've heard—she's apparently the next big thing. But can't we just measure our weight difference and give you some ballast?'

'We could do, although I might need to get used to it.'

'That's fine—I'm still getting used to flying,' said Draco. 'We'll land and have Nitta fetch the scales.'

They landed on the patio and Draco called the house-elf. 'Why are you back already?' Pansy asked Harry. 'We've only just begun gossiping about you.'

Harry explained their plan, and Pansy scowled. 'I told you to go easy on him!' she hissed.

'But I'd have won easily if I weighed less—he'd just get frustrated.'

'He could have used your size as an excuse,' argued Pansy. 'Which would have the added bonus of making him feel superior for being so much taller.'

'I'm not going to coddle him,' replied Harry. 'I'm certain he'll cope if I'm the faster flyer.'

'Can't you slow down?' she whispered. 'He won't know.'

'Yes he will. And he'll be far more upset if I let him win than if I just beat him.'

'Fine, but don't come crying to me when he blows up at you.'

'Potter,' called Draco. 'Come here, I have the scales.'

They weighed themselves, and then Nitta transfigured Harry's clothing and shoes to make them heavier. 'Blimey, how do you carry this around all day?' he asked Draco.

'Superior breeding,' he drawled. 'All you have is a Black strain and a whiff of Peverell.'

Harry rolled his eyes before mounting his broomstick again. Fortunately his added weight was less burdensome in the air, although it required some adjustments. 'I'm sure my weight wouldn't be distributed like this if I were taller,' said Harry.

'Are you already making excuses? That's just pitiful.'

They flew upwards, and Harry took a minute to adjust to his new physics. _This isn't so bad_, he thought, flying a tight solo drill. Rejoining Draco, he said, 'Race to the elm?'

Draco nodded. 'On three.' He counted down and they were off.

The distance was long enough that Harry felt his Light magic arise as he flew, and it was thrilling to feel the Firebolt kick into overdrive. Unsurprisingly, he beat Draco by a healthy margin.

'Well done, Spudmore,' said Draco. 'That's some impressive acceleration. Shall we swap?'

Harry nodded, and they flew to the ground and switched brooms. 'Try some turns,' Harry suggested.

Draco took off and tested the Firebolt Ultra, and even from a distance Harry could see him scowl. 'How did this make it past testing?' he asked.

'I know, I used to hate it too. But let's race again.'

They identified a new target, and Draco counted down. _This broom isn't bad_, thought Harry, _but it's not particularly interesting either._

Draco was frustrated when Harry won again, albeit by a smaller margin. 'That should have been a straight comparison,' he exclaimed in disbelief. 'We didn't even turn, and I was at maximum acceleration.'

'It's because you never learnt to squeeze the last bit of speed from a crap broom,' said Harry. 'And neither had I.' He explained all the tweaks Bruce had taught him, and Draco rolled his eyes.

'This sounds like a deliberate attempt on the part of broom makers to give poor people an unfair advantage,' he grumbled.

'Please tell me you're joking.'

'What do you think?'

'Honestly, I'm not sure,' replied Harry.

'Neither am I,' admitted Draco. 'But why does flying have to be this complicated? It's supposed to just work.'

'Yes, because you're a natural, or you learnt so early that you might as well be. But believe me, learning those tricks is worth the effort. Do you want to try the Silver Arrow now?'

Draco did want to try it, so they landed again and Harry reclaimed the Firebolt Ultra. 'This is good,' declared Draco after taking some sharp turns. 'No wonder you all but endorsed it.'

'I know, but I'm relieved I didn't.'

'You really should have done,' scolded Draco. 'At the time I thought you turned it down because you didn't need the gold, but then it turned out the Blacks left you next to nothing.'

'Next to nothing?' exclaimed Harry. 'Just how spoilt are you?'

Draco ignored his question. 'Obviously it's enough for one person, if you live modestly enough. But you're a Head of House—the idea is to pass down a fortune so the family doesn't crumble into obscurity. How familiar are you with the Gaunts?'

'More than I'd like to be,' replied Harry. 'I saw where Voldemort's mother grew up, and it was hardly more than a shack.'

'Yes, and I'll wager there was a Gaunt generations earlier who turned down the equivalent of Silver Arrow because he didn't need the gold.'

'Because he was too busy shagging his sister, more like,' said Harry, and Draco chuckled.

'At least there's no risk you'll do that,' he scoffed, before looking at Harry to gauge his reaction.

'I've heard every possible orphan taunt,' Harry assured him.

'Oh well, you can't blame a wizard for trying. But back to your appalling financial status: even if you don't marry your non-existent sister, you could easily turn the Blacks into the Weasleys.'

'Why are you harping on this?' asked Harry. 'I already agreed to rebuild the Black fortune, and I've taken steps.'

'Have you? Anything good?'

Harry knew better than to tell Draco about the condom scheme. 'On Friday after practice I have a meeting at Gringotts, where Blaise will present his business proposal. It sounded good to me, but I want the goblins to look it over.'

'I suppose that's not awful,' said Draco, 'but it's rather tame. Didn't Andromeda tell you to take risks?'

'You mean risk going to prison for bribery?'

'No one goes to prison for that. You just need the right connections, and believe me, you have them.'

'Not interested,' lied Harry. 'Next topic?'

Draco was quiet for a moment. 'I should probably thank you at some point.'

'Oh right. I risked my freedom for you this morning and irreversibly antagonised Merrick Bode. How frightened were you during the session? Your mother showed me the Extendible Ear.'

'Let's just say I alternated between swigs of Firewhisky and Calming Draughts. Same with during your broadcast last night ... did you really need to strip naked?'

'I kept my boxers on.'

'Now there's a sentence you probably don't say very often,' he said dryly. 'I was impressed you didn't mount your newest girlfriend then and there.'

'I'm still waiting for you to thank me.'

'I was hoping you wouldn't notice that. Give me a few more minutes, all right?'

'Of course, take your time.'

Draco flew aggressively for a minute before returning to Harry's side. 'You made me sound like I'm damaged.'

Harry sighed. 'What should I have said?'

'I don't know. I was hoping you could just bat your eyelashes and they'd all vote in my favour.'

'Bode was out for blood,' said Harry. 'I talked to him before the session and it was clear he was going to fight tooth and nail.'

'You had the votes already,' argued Draco.

'And how would you feel if I hadn't made an effort, but instead said, "Hi, Harry Potter here! Vote to free Draco, as a favour to me. And no, I won't say why."'

'I'd want to curse off your well-travelled bollocks. Only my wand doesn't work.'

'_My well-travelled bollocks_,' quoted Harry. 'That would be a good name for my first memoir.'

'Please tell me no one has approached you to write a memoir.'

'No one has approached you to write a memoir.'

Draco glared at him. 'I still hate you, Potter.'

'I know.'

They flew together to the Quidditch pitch, and Draco tested the handling on the Silver Arrow by attempting sharp turns around the rings. 'Have you ever tried Plocking from the back of the rings?'

'No, but that's a brilliant idea. Which reminds me, do you want to attend the match on Saturday? It's against Pride of Portree.'

'I know—I could recite the entire league schedule for you. And yes, I'd love to attend.'

'I have five tickets left,' said Harry. 'Do you want all of them?'

Draco nodded. 'I won't have to hold a banner for you, will I?'

'I don't know ... do you still have those "Potter Stinks" badges?'

'No, but I could make some more, assuming my wand will let me.'

'I can't believe you'd have more fun practising Dark magic than you're having whinging about your wand.'

'How would you feel if you couldn't practise Light magic for two years?'

'I'd hate it. But I refuse to accept that there's any comparison between the two.'

'At least Dark wizards don't embarrass themselves telling strangers how much they love them,' sneered Draco.

'Yes, that's been positively mortifying,' said Harry sarcastically. 'But fortunately I have the intense bliss to console me.'

'Get a room, Potter.'

'If you insist, but don't tell Pansy where I've gone.'

'Did she throw herself at you already?' asked Draco.

'She did. But not to worry, I'm used to it.'

Draco looked at him appraisingly. 'I thought you gave up arrogant taunting. That's what you told Rita Skeeter.'

'I did,' replied Harry, 'but you seem to draw it out of me.'

'That's a relief. I was afraid I'd missed my chance.'

'Your chance at what?'

'Unrestrained verbal sparring. We'll never have a proper battle with wands, and as much as I hate to admit it, you're probably the better flyer. But I bet we could rip each other to shreds verbally.'

'Were you always this warped, or is house arrest to blame?'

'It's been a gradual process,' replied Draco. 'Although it accelerated when Aunt Bella escaped from Azkaban.'

'I'm hard pressed to say which of us had the worse aunt,' observed Harry. 'But at least you have Andromeda as well.'

'So do you.'

'She's not technically my aunt.'

'No, but you're obviously her favourite, now that you've bribed her.'

'Do we need to go over this again?'

'Not really,' admitted Draco. 'But let's land—I'm parched.'

They flew back down to the patio, where the party had grown to include Theo Nott. 'Draco, congratulations!' he said warmly.

'Yes, I got away with it. Father was delighted.'

'You saw your father already?' asked Harry.

'Of course I did. I hadn't seen him in over a year.'

Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable. 'Has he changed much?'

'Yes, for the better. The last time I saw him they still had Dementors at Azkaban. But now it's just a holiday camp for Squibs.'

'He's exaggerating,' said Theo. 'The maximum-security level is dismal, to say the least.'

'True, but he has all his mates with him. Speaking of which, I have a message from Travers.'

'Do I want to hear it?' asked Harry.

'Probably not.'

Harry sat back and listened while the others spoke. They arranged to attend the Cannons match together, and toasts were made to Draco's freedom. Everyone except Draco thanked Harry for making it happen, and Harry decided not to press the issue. Narcissa had thanked him that morning, which had touched him more than he'd anticipated. _It's almost like having a third aunt,_ he admitted to himself.

The group started debating where to get dinner, and no one protested when Harry bowed out. On a whim, however, he invited them to join him at the nightclub on Thursday. 'It'll probably be mayhem,' he warned, 'and there'll definitely be photographers, but you're more than welcome.'

'I'm in,' declared Blaise. 'Wizarding nightclubs are an outpost of Muggle debauchery, which I strongly support.'

Daphne declined, stating that she was 'the other kind of pure-blood witch,' but Pansy eagerly assented. 'Draco, you have to come,' she insisted. 'You need to prove that no one can pull off Death Eater robes like an actual Death Eater. Perhaps you can even roll up your sleeve to reveal your Mark.'

Harry caught Draco's eye, and Draco shook his head minutely. _Interesting,_ he thought. _I wonder why he hasn't told them._

He excused himself, and everyone rose to see him off. Daphne gave him her customary air-kiss, and Blaise and Theo shook his hand. Pansy did her best Romilda Vane imitation with a full-contact hug, then Draco was before him.

'See you tomorrow, Potter,' he said, not extending his hand. 'And thanks for letting me try those two brooms. I'm tempted by the Silver Arrow.'

'I don't blame you,' said Harry. 'See you tomorrow.'

Harry returned to Grimmauld Place, where he ate dinner alone and responded to fan mail. He kept thinking about his conversation with Draco, which was unlike any they'd had before. _Blaise was right, _he thought. _He sees me as an equal._ Harry sensed that risking his own freedom had been essential, and later, when Light magic overtook him, he knew in his bones that he and Draco had crossed a new threshold.

_He's hungry for this friendship, _Harry realised. _And frankly, so am I._


	86. Chapter 86

The morning _Prophet _was full of Harry from start to finish. Draco's release—and Harry's role in securing it—made the front page, along with a photo of Narcissa hugging Harry in the Atrium. The article emphasised their family relationship and suggested that Sirius had unwittingly sown peace by uniting Harry and the Malfoys. And to Harry's relief, the _Prophet _made no insinuations about Narcissa and himself, which he knew Rita was fully capable of doing.

There was also an article about how investigators had been unable to identify the wizard who'd attempted Legilimency on him during the broadcast. Numerous witnesses had offered their memories, but it seemed likely the wizard had disguised himself using Polyjuice Potion. _That would explain his height_, thought Harry, who was curious but not particularly worried.

He turned to the letters section, where 'Mothers For Harry Potter' were prominently featured. Lucinda's letter was signed by half a dozen witches, including Molly Weasley, Octavia Wind, and, to Harry's surprise, Augusta Longbottom. _I should thank them_, he thought, and he resolved to visit Mrs Thwip before practice that morning.

Next, the gossip column announced that 'a top-tier celebrity' was expected 'to light up' a wizarding dance club called Stardust that night, along with a large retinue. Harry's name wasn't revealed, but the column dropped broad hints involving boxer shorts, flowers, and a mysterious girlfriend whom he wasn't dating exclusively._ 'He is by no means averse to entertaining multiple witches at once, so aspirants to his enormous bed are encouraged to make an appearance. Furthermore, wizards are invited to tenderly console those not selected for the main event.'_

Harry stared at the newspaper in shock. Setting aside the fact that he didn't intend to go home with anyone except Alex, he was appalled by the suggestion that he was going to choose amongst club-goers 'like a creepy count,' as Darren had once phrased it. He was tempted to owl Narcissa an explanation, but he knew that constantly reassuring her was a losing battle. Nevertheless, he dashed off a note to Andromeda, knowing she'd relay the contents to her sister, and had Kreacher deliver it.

Kreacher returned with Andromeda's reply, in which she thanked him for setting the record straight. _'I'll let Narcissa know, although she mightn't even have noticed, since she's still on cloud nine about Draco. But perhaps we'll meet Alex on Sunday?' _She was referring to their tea at Grimmauld Place with the other members of the Black family. Harry hoped Alex would be willing to meet Andromeda, not least because she was clever and would surely reflect well on him.

Finally there was an article in the sport news about how he'd been observed using different brooms. They correctly surmised that he was experimenting with the Firebolt in an attempt to boost his speed, but his switch back to the Silver Arrow seemed to confirm that he still preferred it. _'When Potter eagerly touted the Silver Arrow after being given a Firebolt Ultra the year before, he all but announced that the Firebolt was the inferior broom. At the time, Firebolt released a statement calling broomstick preferences "highly subjective," and emphasising that there were "no hard feelings" over Potter's choice. But a source close to Randolph Spudmore told the _Prophet_ that the reclusive broom maker was "livid" that Potter had spurned his creation and that Spudmore had "lost respect" for the Cannons Seeker.'_

Harry felt terrible, although he wasn't sure what he could have done differently. Ironically, he now wanted desperately to use the Firebolt Ultra, but until Spudmore was willing to talk he was stuck with the Silver Arrow.

Between the gossip column and the quotes from Spudmore, Harry was in low spirits when he arrived at practice. 'Why the long face, Snitchbottom?' asked Janet. 'Not enough press coverage this morning?'

'Very funny. No, I just get tired of always having to put out some new fire.'

'Are you talking about how you're going to a nightclub tonight with a clipboard and callipers to pick out the most nubile bedmate? Or the bit where you said Randolph Spudmore is a gormless idiot and you could shit out a better broomstick than the Firebolt Ultra?'

Harry couldn't help laughing. 'I can always count on you to paint a picture. And yes, those are the fires I'm talking about.'

'Don't give them a second thought. You can clean it all up on the radio next week, same as every other week.'

'So that's a standing commitment now? Won't I ever stop screwing up, or leaving disaster in my wake?'

'How exactly did you screw up? This is just the usual bollocks surrounding you, and it'll blow over as always.'

'I guess. But it's pretty bloody frustrating that no matter what I do, it'll get misinterpreted one way or another.'

'Sorry, that's just the price you pay.'

'The price I pay? For what?'

'For being Harry fucking Potter,' said Janet. 'You get to be the league's best Seeker, and Saviour of the Wizarding World, and a legendary shagmonster, but you also get a heaping scoop of pain-in-the-arse.'

Furrowing his brow, Harry asked, 'Does "heaping scoop of pain-in-the-arse" include dead parents and abusive relations?'

'No, that's separate. I'm referring to things like hideous family rings and misbehaving photographs and your completely mental house-elf. They're the price you pay.'

'Got it.' He was silent for a moment and then said, 'That doesn't help. I'm still irritated.'

Janet rolled her eyes. 'I don't know, then glow or something. Or get up on a broomstick—I've heard they're fun.'

Harry glared at her and walked to Mrs Thwip's office. 'Good morning, Mrs Thwip,' he said tentatively.

'Good morning, Mr Potter.' Her tone was less frosty than on Monday but far from warm. 'Is there something you require?'

'Er, I replied to more fan mail,' he said, pulling a stack from his pouch. 'And I'm also hoping you can send some personal letters on my behalf.'

'Of course, Mr Potter. That's my job.'

_Did she put special emphasis on the word 'job?' _he wondered. _And does that mean she's planning to quit? _'Er, am I in trouble about the item in the gossip column, about the nightclub? It wasn't accurate.'

'That's not my concern, Mr Potter. Shall I take dictation for those letters?'

He dictated a thank-you note for everyone who signed the 'Mothers For Harry Potter' letter and promised to sign them before lunch. But Mrs Thwip was still making him nervous. 'Have I done something wrong?' he asked.

'You compromised your own safety for that young man!'

'Do you mean Draco Malfoy?'

'Yes. You should know from looking in the mirror that nineteen year-old boys aren't to be trusted, and yet you've endangered your life and your freedom for one of them.'

Harry's tension eased. _I thought she was angry at me, but she's just worried. _'I'm sorry, Mrs Thwip—I should have warned you. But there's really no need for concern. I have ironclad assurances that Draco won't commit a crime.'

'There's no such thing as "ironclad,"' she warned.

'Then these are the next best thing.' Looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening, he said, 'Do you want to know what they are? I'm sure you won't tell anyone.'

'Of course not, Mr Potter.'

He leaned over her desk and told her about the civil contract and also the blood oath. Afterwards, her jaw relaxed just a bit.

'Yes, those are the next best thing. Thank you for telling me.' She was quiet for a moment, and her expression was more tender than he could recall seeing before, but then it returned to normal. 'You received a new business proposition,' she said, handing him a folder.

'Don't you have a form response?' he asked, taking it from her.

'Perhaps you should read it first.'

He opened the folder and read:

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_I represent a clothing manufacturer called CDR Enterprises. You probably haven't heard of us, but you're almost certainly familiar with our merchandise, as we supply numerous wizarding clothiers with men's undergarments. Benedict Thimble, for example, carries our vests, boxer shorts, and Y-fronts._

_If you've visited any Muggle men's shops, you're probably aware that they have a far wider selection of underwear than wizarding shops do. We believe this disparity represents a tremendous business opportunity, which we hope you'll find interesting._

_As with any new product or market sector, the primary way to generate demand is through advertising. We therefore ask you to consider representing our yet-unnamed product line as both model and spokesman. Amongst other things, this would involve appearing in our advertisements wearing only our products, which admittedly would challenge wizarding norms but has long been accepted in Muggle society. _

_We are aware of your reluctance to promote merchandise, and obviously this would be far more provocative than your current endorsements. However, we're prepared to offer not only modelling fees but also a share in the profits. This arrangement is virtually unheard-of in the modelling world, except at the tier Muggles refer to as 'supermodels.' I should add that Britain would only be our initial market, as we believe our products and your image have worldwide appeal._

_If we've piqued your curiosity, please reply at your earliest convenience and we'll provide more details. And I urge you to do so, as even our most conservative projected earnings are, to put it bluntly, staggering._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Dominic Runnion_

_CDR Enterprises_

Harry ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. 'They want me to be an underwear model?'

'So it seems, Mr Potter. How should I proceed?'

'I can scarcely wrap my brain around it,' he said. 'My instinct is to refuse, of course.'

'Shall I do that then?'

He was about to say yes, when a small part of his mind wondered just how much money Dominic was talking about. 'Not yet,' he said sheepishly. 'May I have a copy of the letter? I'd like to run it past a few people.'

'Of course,' she said, duplicating it with her wand.

He tucked the letter into his pocket. 'Thank you, Mrs Thwip. As always.'

'You're welcome, Mr Potter.'

He had only a few minutes to dash into the locker room and join his teammates near the benches, where Tuttle glared at him before starting her lecture. 'Potter, I didn't give you a hard time about missing practice yesterday morning because you had a good excuse. But make no mistake—if you turn up even a second late tomorrow morning and don't give me top performance, I'm putting in Rees on Saturday. Unless she turns up late too. Do you understand?'

He nodded, and she continued. 'You've all done a good job adjusting to our celebrity Seeker, but that doesn't mean you're immune to temptation. So if any of you misbehave in public and then play poorly on Saturday, the fans will know exactly what happened. Fortunately, we've a strong set of reserves who are eager for a pay rise, which means the Cannons will be just fine if you decide to torch your career by living the high life.'

She looked straight at Darren. 'Rogers, you haven't let me down lately, but I have a long memory. Do we agree that the team comes first?'

'We do,' said Darren confidently.

'All right, then. Fifteen laps.'

Darren found Harry and said, 'That went better than I expected. Are you ready for tonight?'

'No,' said Harry, trotting alongside him. 'Apparently I'm to assemble a retinue.'

'Right, Fenella says you can get fifteen people in for free, including you and Alex.'

'What about you, Jocelyn, and Maryann?'

'We're already covered. You and Alex get free drinks, but your mates will have to pay. And there's a VIP section, for when you want to get away from the crowds.'

'Sounds good—I'll have Lara owl some of my mates. But who do I blame about that item in the gossip column?'

'What's the big deal? Do you want a crowd or not?'

'I do want a crowd, but not a bunch of witches getting all Romilda on me.'

'Don't worry—just snog Alex for a bit and they'll get the hint.'

After their laps and calisthenics, Harry approached Bruce. 'Any word yet from Spudmore?'

'Not a peep, and apparently his publicity team is furious with him. They're dying to get you back onto a Firebolt, but Spudmore won't budge.'

'Why is he being so petty? You'd think he'd want to hear me grovel.'

'You would think that, but rumour is he took it hard when everyone didn't fall in love with the Firebolt Ultra like they did with the original model, since he considered it a huge improvement.'

'It is, once you get past the learning curve.' Harry sighed. 'So where does this leave me?'

'Our next step is to bring in a league referee and show them what's happening, to see if it's a violation.'

Harry's eyes widened. 'Could that get Spudmore into trouble?'

'I doubt it, since there haven't been any other reports of the Firebolt Ultra behaving weirdly. But if it has something to do with your Light magic, then the league has the power to forbid only you from using it.'

Harry nodded glumly. 'When can you get a referee here?'

'They'll observe this afternoon's practice match.'

'Nice.' said Harry. _I can try out that reverse Plocking manoeuvre,_ he thought with anticipation.

All of Harry's teammates joined him for lunch at Grimmauld Place, and he showed a few of them the letter from Dominic Runnion. 'Oh my god, you have to do this!' exclaimed Janet.

'She's right,' said Suresh. 'Wizarding adverts are way behind the times when it comes to male nudity, and you need to change that.'

'You're kidding, right? I can't possibly appear in an underwear advert.'

'No, you definitely can't,' said Ryan. 'You're a Head of House and you want to push legislation in the Wizengamot. Darren could get away with it, but you can't.'

'Killjoy!' scowled Janet. 'And you're wrong—the rules don't apply to Lord Snitchbottom.'

'Yes, they do,' said Titus. 'You can't do it, Harry.'

'I know,' he said. 'I'm just under a lot of pressure to rebuild the Black finances, and I didn't want to dismiss it out of hand.'

Gary was reading the letter. 'What about foreign adverts?'

'Foreign adverts?'

Gemma's eyes shot open. 'He's right! A-list film stars who would never appear in adverts at home make a fortune flogging shit in Japan.'

'Is there a large magical population in Japan?' asked Gary.

'It's huge,' said Suresh. 'At least twice the size of wizarding Britain.'

'I suppose a Japanese advert wouldn't be too bad,' mused Harry. 'Have they heard of me over there?'

'Of course they have,' said Janet. 'And besides, you're an Englishman with spiky hair and big green eyes—you were made for Japan.'

Harry looked at Ryan for confirmation. 'I suspect you could get away with it,' said Ryan, 'as long as you don't do it here, or some other English-speaking country.'

'What about the Continent?' asked Gemma.

'No, too close,' said Titus. 'Japan's his best bet.'

'But what if people here find out?' asked Harry, frowning. 'There have to be British wizards with friends or relations in Japan.'

'Of course there are. But as long as you're not doing anything pornographic in the adverts, they can't be worse than that photo with the two witches.'

'Actually, that's an important point,' said Ryan. 'These would be wizarding photographs, not Muggle. So you'd have to be careful not to do anything too provocative.'

'He'll be wearing nothing but Y-fronts,' said Gemma. 'That's provocative by definition.'

'No, there's a fine line,' said Suresh. 'I'm something of a connoisseur when it comes to men's underwear adverts, and some are more porno-y than others. It's all in the facial expression.'

'Harry, do you reckon you can turn off your bedroom eyes for ten minutes?' asked Janet.

'I do not have bedroom eyes!'

'You do when your Light magic is flowing,' said Renée. 'And I'm sure they'll want you to glow in the pictures.'

'Bugger, you're right,' said Harry. 'This can't possibly work.'

'Just write back and tell them you're willing to hear their proposal for Japan,' said Darren. 'You can worry about how your picture behaves later.'

That afternoon two referees observed Harry on the Firebolt Ultra, which behaved erratically when Harry started to glow. 'No, definitely not,' said the senior referee, Serena Flyte. 'Potter's Light magic in combination with the broom gives him an unfair advantage.'

'What about his Light magic in general?' asked Tuttle.

'We had a meeting about that on Monday,' said Flyte, 'and it turns out there's league precedent for Light Arts practitioners. It does appear to provide an advantage in a chase, but as long as the player doesn't use his or her wand it's not a violation. But if Potter flew on the Firebolt Ultra, it would be considered an illegally charmed object because of how it interacts with his magic.'

'Maybe my accidental magic is the problem,' suggested Harry. 'Once I get past this phase, would you be willing to reconsider?'

'Yes. But any irregular behaviour by your broomstick would be considered a violation.'

Harry was disappointed but not surprised, and the good news was that they didn't give him a foul for his reverse Plock. 'But don't try that next season,' Flyte warned him. 'There's already draft language making it a foul for Seekers to deliberately fly through the rings. The only reason it's currently permitted is because the Snitch occasionally turns up there, but you abused a loophole. So they're going to make it a foul when it's obviously a feint.'

'Will you call it Plocking?' asked Gemma hopefully.

'I'm not permitted to say,' she said stiffly, but then she winked.

'You're not going to start penalising Seekers for Blatching, are you?' asked Owen.

'No, as long as you don't deliberately crash into anyone.'

'That's fortunate,' said Gemma, 'otherwise Lord Blatch over here would be out of a job.'

Harry greeted Alex at Grimmauld Place an hour later, and she nodded approvingly at his outfit. 'Not just a foulard, but a floral shirt! With any luck, American wizards will start dressing like this as well.'

'Would Rocky wear a floral shirt?' he asked.

'Yes, in a heartbeat. He's a dandy too, you know.'

'Is he? Then I suppose you have a type.'

'Apparently I do. I haven't figured out what yours is yet, but I'm sure I'll find out tonight when you audition our plus-one.'

Harry's face fell. 'I hope you didn't take that seriously.'

'No, I didn't. From what I can tell, you rather enjoy my undivided attention.'

'I love it,' he said, gazing longingly at her. 'It's probably dead-mum trauma, but I don't care.'

After an enjoyable interval on the sofa, they decided to go to a pub again for dinner. Harry protested, not wanting people to think he didn't like her enough to take her somewhere nicer, but Alex just laughed. 'It probably reflects better on me if you don't take me to posh restaurants, since I won't look like a gold-digger.'

'I'm afraid you've perfectly described Jocelyn and Maryann. Speaking of which, you'll meet them tonight.'

'Oh dear, they'll probably be appalled I'm not more glamorous.'

'What are you talking about? You look like you belong in a Muggle painting, like the ones I saw at the Musée d'Orsay.'

She smiled. 'Not every witch would consider that a compliment.'

'That's because they're ignorant. Muggle paintings are much more beautiful, precisely because the subjects don't move or talk. Wizarding portraits are hardly better than the telly.'

They went to a pub near the nightclub, and the older patrons stared at Harry's outfit. 'What in Merlin's name are you wearing?' exclaimed an elderly wizard. 'Is that Muggle women's clothing?'

'No,' replied Alex. 'Muggle men dress this way. Very stylish Muggle men.'

The wizard frowned. 'Now I've seen everything,' he said, shaking his head.

Harry and Alex found a secluded table and ordered drinks. 'That was an inauspicious debut for my foulard,' he said. 'I hope Madam Rosmerta didn't buy too many for the Hogsmeade weekend.'

'That wizard isn't her target audience,' said Alex. 'I can guarantee the students will love them. In fact, it's probably better if old people don't approve.'

'Good point. I guess I'll wait a little longer before Apparating home and changing.'

They were amused to see a steady stream of elderly bar patrons sneaking past their table to peek at Harry's outfit, including one who Disillusioned herself poorly and got within a foot of him for a closer look. 'You've at least made a splash,' said Alex. 'But the nightclub will be the real test.'

After eating, they arrived at the club, which already had a long queue out front. He attracted attention, of course, and he was self-aware enough to realise he enjoyed it—temporarily. But then it felt intrusive, and he was relieved when the doorman ushered them inside.

The club was noisy and crowded, and Harry wished he and Alex could disappear somehow, but no such luck. Their arrival drew stares, first at him and then at Alex, who looked flustered by all the attention. 'Are you all right?' he said into her ear.

'Yes, but I can't decide whether to hide under your Invisibility Cloak or have you snog the hell out of me to prove I'm the one you want.'

'I know which one I'd prefer,' he said, kissing her tenderly. 'But let's save the snogging for later—I want you to meet my friends.'

He led her by the hand towards a large alcove that appeared less crowded. A witch with a clipboard allowed them past a velvet rope, and Harry felt Alex relax. 'The broadcast on Tuesday wasn't so bad, but that was a nightmare! I could practically hear everyone asking _"What does he see in her?"' _

'Darling, I'm sorry. Honestly, I didn't hear anyone say that, so it's probably your imagination.'

'Perhaps you're right,' she admitted, and he gave her another kiss for good measure.

'Look, there's Hermione,' he said, tugging Alex's hand. Hermione was talking with a young witch who looked familiar but whom Harry had never met. 'Hermione, I'm so glad you could make it. Where's Ryan?'

'He's talking to the disc jockey. Apparently the publicist ordered him to play the same music as at your parties, so there's a knowledge transfer occurring right now. But what are you wearing? Did you get those in France?'

'Yes, and Alex made me wear them. Please tell me now if I've made a grave mistake.'

'No, I love it!' she said. 'You're really putting your swagger to good use.' She turned to Alex and said, 'But forgive me for ignoring you—I'm Hermione Granger, and clearly you're Alex.'

The two women began to chat, and Harry introduced himself to Hermione's companion, a friend of Ryan's named Annie. But soon other people appeared.

'Harry!' cried Neville, who was red-faced and perspiring. 'This is brilliant! Hannah and I got here early and have been dancing for ages already.' He looked around and said, 'Luna's here too, but I haven't seen her lately.'

Gemma and her mate Caroline arrived, and Ron and Janet turned up as well. 'Flowers and a scarf!' cried Janet. 'You've outdone yourself yet again!'

'It is all right?' asked Harry nervously.

'It's fantastic—they'll love it in Japan! Promise me you'll wear the scarf in your adverts.'

'Adverts?' asked Alex.

'I'll explain later,' said Harry, embarrassed. 'Ron, I'm glad you could make it.'

'Yeah, but not for long. Murdoch assigned me pre-dawn surveillance tomorrow, almost certainly to prevent me from hobnobbing with you.'

'Have you and I ever hobnobbed?' asked Harry. 'And what does that even mean?'

Janet said, 'Murdoch is afraid Ron will be lured into your celebrity lifestyle and quit the Department. I'm sure they've pegged him as a potential Light wizard, and they want to keep him on staff.'

'Then they can give me a bloody pay rise. Harry, did you really invite Malfoy?'

'Yes. Is he here yet?'

'No, but I saw his name on the list, along with Pansy Parkinson. Blimey!'

'Harry!' cried Darren. 'There you are! Have you been on the dance floor yet?'

Darren arrived with Jocelyn and Maryann in tow, and before Harry could reply the two witches were upon him. 'You naughty, naughty boy!' scolded Maryann. 'That photograph of yours needs a good spanking!'

'Er, this is my girlfriend, Alex,' said Harry, drawing her close. 'Alex, this is Maryann and Jocelyn.'

Awkward greetings followed, and Harry saw the two witches size Alex up and exchange glances. Alex suddenly looked younger and less confident, so Harry asked if she wanted to dance.

'I'd love to,' she said, and he led her to the floor.

At first they danced without touching, but too many witches attempted to come between them, so they either maintained contact or danced so near to each other that no one could step in. Unsurprisingly, this led to snogging, which eventually discouraged the other witches.

'Do I finally have you to myself?' asked Alex, after they got through a song without interruption.

'Or vice versa,' he said. 'You probably haven't noticed how the other wizards are looking at you.'

'Are you jealous?' she asked saucily.

'Yes, but of Rocky. If only you'd attended Hogwarts and I'd met you first.'

She looked around and said, 'If these witches had any idea how intensely romantic you are, they'd weep with envy.'

'Then why won't you stay over two nights in a row?'

'Because I have more than my fair share of romance,' she replied, glancing at her ring. 'But let's sit down.'

The VIP section was much more crowded than before. 'Laetitia!' cried Harry. 'And Eric ... what a fantastic surprise.'

'It's like we're back in Paris,' she said, admiring his outfit. 'But you're missing an essential part of the look,' she added, gesturing towards his eyes.

'Not in England,' he said, and he introduced them to Alex. She seemed more at ease now that the other witches were leaving him alone, and Jocelyn and Maryann were busy fending off admirers on the dance floor.

While Alex and Eric were talking, Harry told Laetitia about the modelling offer he'd received. 'A share in the profits?' she exclaimed. 'They're right, that's practically unheard-of. But your instinct about Britain is spot-on—you'd never live it down. Japan, on the other hand ...'

'Have you been there?'

'No, but in my previous incarnation as a Muggle party girl I met a couple of celebrities who endorsed products there, and it's a goldmine. You just need to decide if it'll bother you when it gets back to England. Because it will get back here, no question.'

'Right,' said Harry, furrowing his brow. 'If someone had told me two years ago I'd have a dilemma like this, I'd have thought they'd gone mental.'

Hermione and Ryan arrived, and Alex and Eric rejoined the conversation. _This is what I hoped my parties would be like,_ Harry thought, although he supposed they had been like that for everyone but him. Eric and Ryan were hitting it off, and Alex, Laetitia, and Hermione were gabbing like old friends. Laetitia marvelled over Hermione's ringlets, and Hermione pulled out her wand to show Laetitia the charm she used.

Harry was still holding Alex's hand, and Light magic rose within him. _Here it comes_, he thought blissfully, and within seconds he was glowing brightly. The nightclub exploded with cheers, and a generous supply of Weasley's Self-Cleaning Confetti fell from the ceiling. Alex turned and kissed him, and Harry was overcome with gratitude and joy.

'The Light Lord and his Lady,' proclaimed Pansy. 'You must be Alex,' she said, extending her hand. 'I'm Pansy Parkinson, Harry's fellow Slytherin.'

'It's nice to meet you, Pansy,' she said, and Harry added, 'Alex was educated in America but she was Sorted into Ravenclaw last week.'

'Really? I would have thought only a Gryffindor would be brave enough to accompany Harry tonight. Practically every witch here wants a piece of him,' she said, running her hand along his bicep.

Harry gently shook her loose. 'Is Draco here with you?'

'Yes, he's negotiating with the cocktail waitress, whom he's been keeping busy. But why aren't you drinking anything?'

'That's a good question,' said Alex. 'It wasn't very generous of them to comp our drinks if the waitress avoids us the entire time.'

'Yoo-hoo! Cocktail waitress!' called Pansy. Turning to Harry and Alex she rolled her eyes and said, 'House-elves are so much easier.'

The waitress arrived and took their order, and Pansy began interrogating Alex. Harry shot Alex a questioning glance, but she nodded as if to say,_ 'Don't worry, I can handle her.'_

Harry was still glowing, so he decided just to enjoy the music and ambience. But Draco approached, holding what looked like a mixed drink. 'Potter,' he drawled. 'Or Black, I can't remember. Or perhaps now it's Malfoy even—everyone says you want another Wizengamot seat.'

'How are you doing?' asked Harry. 'Have you been here long?'

'An hour, perhaps. And we had dinner first at Dunnings, where they know how to keep the wine flowing.'

'Dunnings? Of all the wizarding restaurants I've been to, that was probably the least interesting.'

'The food perhaps, but that's not why people go there, as you know from your post-coital brunch with Lydia Travers. Did you sneak off to the loo with her between courses?'

'No,' said Harry, unsure how to handle an intoxicated Draco. _I'd love to hear his unvarnished opinions, _he thought, _but he'll be furious if he reveals too much. _'How's freedom treating you?'

'Brilliantly. Oh my god, there's nothing like the Boudoir. Mother kept me supplied, of course, but there's no substitute for the atmosphere. And now I have to earn a fortune to make up for it. But that's my new life's mission: Earn back what Father lost.'

'That's a tall order,' said Harry.

'Gods yes. It took centuries to build, and Lucius wiped it out in one stroke. If I were sober I'd blame the Ministry, but we both know it was Father's fault.'

'Why not blame Voldemort?'

'Because today is Thursday. On Mondays and Thursdays I blame Father. Tuesdays and Fridays I blame Voldemort, and on Wednesdays and at the weekend I blame you. Which could make your Quidditch match awkward.'

'Yesterday was Wednesday and you were perfectly civil.'

'True, but you got a free pass for springing me from my gilded cage. Speaking of which, I was surprised Bode didn't claim that being confined to the Manor wasn't a proper punishment.'

'I would have argued otherwise,' said Harry.

'Yes, you were quite the barrister! When did you become so clever? Surely you didn't start out this way.'

'It's all Hermione's influence—especially the vocabulary. At some point I decided to ask when I didn't understand a word, and I sound much more clever as a result.'

'That's fortunate. I suppose you didn't learn much from your Muggle relations, other than every use of the word "freak."' Harry's glow dimmed, and Draco said, 'Aha, another weak point. I won't tell Gilstrap about tattered curtains, but I might tell him about that.'

'Is he here?' asked Harry, looking around.

'Yes, but I kept him at arm's length, just as I was taught. Mustn't let commoners get too close, because they always want something. But surely you've learnt that by now.'

'I thought I was a commoner.'

'Sadly no, not anymore,' said Draco. 'Even without the Black connection, you've upgraded the Potters, and as long as you don't marry like your father did, Potters will be wizarding gentry in a generation or two.'

'Do you really still believe in blood purity?'

'Not as far as magic is concerned,' said Draco. 'Granger is proof of that, to say nothing of the Dark Lord. But family names still matter, as Miss Travers can tell you. She was on my short list, you know.'

'I'm sorry it didn't work out,' replied Harry.

'Some people say she's still acceptable, since her family took her back and she has mountains of gold. But of course Mother would never approve, and I couldn't settle for your leavings.'

'She's not my "leavings,"' said Harry. 'And besides, she dumped me.'

'Yes, it's ironic that the man they call "Desirable Number One" can't keep witches around. Although who can blame them, with your appalling vow. I was certain you'd made that up.'

'No, I don't lie.'

'Oh yes you do. You probably lie a hundred times a day, only you tell yourself those don't count. But that's fine—I lie too.'

'Are you lying when you say you won't carry out your father's orders?'

'When did I ever say that?' snapped Draco, more alert than before. 'Was that a Slytherin attempt to discover if I'm plotting against you?'

'It was, but I admit it was sloppy. I'm still new at this.'

'It would have worked on some people, but I'm not some people. I'm Draco Lucius Malfoy, Slytherin supreme.' He paused and added, 'Mother says I was mis-Sorted, but she's wrong. I'll do anything to promote House Malfoy. Although I'm grateful you blew the lid off the lordships, because it infuriated Father that the Malfoy seat in the Wizengamot was in the third row. But now we can argue that the Malfoys were clever not to give the Ministry more than was required, and that the Blacks were already displaying their profligacy.'

'You avoided my question, so I'll ask you point-blank: are you plotting against me?'

'Father is. He gave me nearly a yard of parchment yesterday, detailing his plans to destroy you and the Ministry. It has diagrams and everything.'

'Do you intend to follow orders?'

'Not at present. As you put it, I'd have to be pretty bloody daft to follow in Father's footsteps. Although it's tempting to take you down a few dozen pegs.'

Harry had made progress with his beer, but he wasn't anywhere near as intoxicated as Draco. 'How did your father react when he heard about the contract your mother signed.'

'She said he bellowed like a troll. But thank Salazar he doesn't know about my Mark.'

'Yes, about that. Why haven't you told anyone?'

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'Because I want to play both sides. I can't very well convince Dark wizards I'm one of them if everyone knows my Mark is gone.'

'But you are a Dark wizard, or you will be once you get a new wand.'

'Potter, there are two kinds of Dark wizard,' Draco explained. 'There's Magnus Travers, who lives to a ripe old age and is incalculably wealthy, and there's Ursinus Travers, who winds up in Azkaban. Most Malfoys have been in the former category, but Father was in the latter.'

'And you need to convince the second category of Dark wizards you're not just a sell-out like old Magnus?'

'Yes, and my Mark was invaluable in that respect. But I also need to convince Dark wizards that, despite appearances, you and I aren't mates, and that I'm just using you.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Does this mean we're mates?'

'I couldn't say,' said Draco coolly. 'Perhaps I am just using you. I've done a brilliant job, if you think about it. First you gave me back my wand, even if you ruined it, and now you've got me my freedom. All Mother and I did was stop telling people you weren't a true Black.'

'When you put it like that, I look pretty thick,' said Harry. 'But personally I hope we're mates. Merlin knows we were enemies long enough, which wasn't much fun.'

'No, the best part was the taunting, but you claim we can keep doing that.'

'Absolutely. I'll insult you from here to Sunday if you like.'

'Saturday will be fun, when I get to blame you for everything,' said Draco.

'Couldn't you loosen up the rules now that you're no longer under house arrest?'

Draco frowned. 'Not right away. The rules kept me sane, if you can call this sanity. So has alcohol ... speaking of which, the waitress seems to be avoiding us.' He lifted his empty glass and called, 'Excuse me, I need a refill over here.'

The waitress didn't notice him, and Draco said, 'Harry, can't you light up or something?'

'To call a waitress over? That would be a first.'

Draco continued waving his empty glass in the air and said, 'Come on, Potter, what are you waiting for?'

Chuckling, Harry closed his eyes and invited his Light magic to resurge. It wasn't as bright as the previous time, but it nevertheless triggered cheers and another round of confetti, and the waitress soon arrived.

Draco ordered a gin and tonic, and Harry asked for an elderflower pressé. 'Potter, we'll never be friends if you can't handle your liquor,' said Draco.

'I can handle my liquor,' retorted Harry. 'That's why I'm not having any more.'

'Is that your secret for going six times in a row?' asked Draco conspiratorially.

'It didn't hurt, but it was mostly Light magic and a relentlessly demanding partner.'

'Yes, I suppose you were always desperate for approval. But you seem to be ignoring your current girlfriend—where is she?'

'Good question,' said Harry, looking around. He quickly spotted Alex talking with Luna, who was wearing an extraordinary headdress that was held up at the corners by actual glowing fairies. 'She's over there, with Luna Lovegood,' said Harry, pointing them out.

'Oh, she's lovely,' said Draco. 'Far less common than those two C-squareds. What's her Blood Status?'

'I think she's what you'd call "the right kind of half-blood," but I'm not sure.'

'How can you sleep with someone without knowing something that important?'

'I've slept with people without knowing their surnames,' said Harry. 'And so have you, if you've been to the Boudoir.'

'_Filles de joie_ don't count.'

'Then by that logic you're probably still a virgin.'

Draco frowned. 'Good point. But you know what I mean.'

'I don't think you understand what it's like not to care about Blood Status,' said Harry. 'It really and truly doesn't matter, as far as I'm concerned.'

'So you'd date a Muggle?'

'If Secrecy weren't a concern, yes.'

'What about marriage?'

'Honestly, I'm not sure,' said Harry.

'Ha! I knew it!'

Harry sighed. 'I don't think it's unreasonable to want magical children. And of course I might still have magical kids if I married a Muggle. But I'd hate to have one who was magical and another who wasn't. My mum's family was like that, and it was a disaster.'

'Unlike my mother's family, which was a model of sisterly love.'

'Your mum and Andromeda seem to be getting on well,' said Harry.

'They are. Obviously Mother doesn't visit her "cottage," but Andromeda brings her little half-breed round regularly, and I'll admit he's amusing. I suppose if you had to give away half the Black vault, he wasn't a bad choice. And this way Andromeda won't have to ask Mother for gold, which would have been awkward.'

More people had crowded into the VIP section, to the point where Harry and Draco were starting to get jostled. 'I think half the Quidditch league is here tonight,' said Harry.

'Yes, and it looks like Gilstrap is headed our way. I think I'll take his side this time.'

'As you like.'

'Potter,' said Gilstrap. 'I confess I'll be disappointed when you change your name, since "Potter-Black" doesn't roll off the tongue the same way.'

'How are you, Gilstrap?' asked Harry.

'I'm doing brilliantly,' he replied. 'The Magpies are still in second place, in spite of your failure to beat the Harpies. But really, couldn't you have extended your streak by one more week?'

'Apparently not. I assume you've met Draco Malfoy?'

'Yes, we met earlier, as I'm sure he told you.' Gilstrap looked back and forth between them and said, 'The family resemblance is uncanny. You're both bipeds and everything.'

'Thank Merlin we're only distantly related,' said Draco. 'Although I seem to be stuck with him regardless. Congratulations on getting him to punch you, by the way. It took me years to get him to snap like that.'

Harry wasn't glowing but his Light magic was still present, so he was able to casually observe their conversation without getting upset. 'I could kick myself for not closing the deal,' said Gilstrap. 'My only excuse is that I had no idea he'd been abused like that. Neglected, perhaps, but not what he was hiding. Were you as surprised as I was, Malfoy?'

'Yes, but I shouldn't have been. He dressed horribly at Hogwarts, except for his school robes and such. But I assumed it was out of pity for Ron Weasley.'

'Which reminds me, what on earth are you wearing?' said Gilstrap, indicating Harry's outfit. 'I assumed you'd wear your usual robes and flowers.'

'I bought these in France,' said Harry. 'My girlfriend Alex insisted I wear it.'

'Yes, I saw her—she's lovely. And presumably less grasping than those two C-squareds. But I suppose you didn't want to embarrass yourself by wearing your faux-aristocrat costume around an actual aristocrat.'

'No, he embarrasses himself all the time,' said Draco. 'This is the first time I've seen him in anything but robes lately. It's sad, really.'

'You should take it as a compliment, Malfoy,' said Gilstrap. 'Clearly you were his role model when it comes to the wizarding upper class.'

'That's a good point—his godfather hardly counts.' Draco turned to Harry and asked, 'Have you modelled yourself after me as you try to claw your way up from the middle class?'

'I once imitated your accent to convince a Muggle I was a lord,' admitted Harry.

'Did it work?'

'No, because I didn't keep up the accent long. But my clothes convinced her.'

Gilstrap surveyed the packed nightclub. 'I have to admit, Potter, you draw a crowd better than anyone I know.'

'Nonsense,' said Draco. 'Potter's overexposed. Everyone's here to catch a glimpse of me.'

'That may be true!' said Gilstrap. 'I've never met an actual Death Eater before. May I see your Dark Mark?'

'No,' said Harry. 'Even I know it's bad manners to ask to see a Death Eater's Mark.'

'Of course you can see it,' said Draco. 'What's the use of being stuck with it for my whole life if I can't show it off in bars?' He pulled back his left sleeve and revealed a prominent Dark Mark.

_Clever_, thought Harry, supposing Nitta had glamoured him.

'Fascinating,' said Gilstrap. 'And yet you're still at the pinnacle of wizarding society.'

'And here it comes,' said Harry. 'Gilstrap is obsessed with unearned privilege.'

'Only yours,' said Gilstrap. 'Malfoy doesn't pretend to be a man of the people.'

'That's exactly it!' said Draco. 'Potter's unique talent is that he's had nearly everything handed to him, except family of course, but he's still sympathetic somehow.'

'Not this again,' said Harry. 'I should find Alex and dance.'

He had to stand on tiptoes to see past the crowd, but it turned out Alex was nearby talking with Cho Chang. 'Your first girlfriend has been telling me stories,' said Alex when he arrived.

'Oh dear, I'm going to need more alcohol if this continues. Cho, are you here with Wainwright?'

'Yes, thanks for introducing us. And it's been lovely meeting Alex.'

'She is lovely, isn't she?' said Harry, looking at Alex affectionately.

'Oh my god, it's the Look!' exclaimed Cho. 'I remember that look, the first night we kissed! That was more or less the only time I saw it, but it kept me going for nearly two months until our so-called relationship cratered.'

'I'm sorry, I was completely useless back then—you mustn't take it personally. But do you mind if I steal Alex away? I desperately need to dance with her again.'

Cho excused them, and Harry leaned close to Alex to ask how she was doing. 'I'm having a great time,' she said. 'Your friends are awesome, although Pansy was a bit odd. And "odd" doesn't even begin to describe Luna. But everyone's made me feel welcome—more than I can ever recall feeling in England, to be honest.'

'Really? That's unfortunate.'

'I've always been an outsider here, but not American enough to seem exotic. And I didn't go to school with anyone, so we didn't have that in common. But now I'm in Ravenclaw and I'm dating Harry Potter, which is about as English as it gets.'

'I'm glad you're having a good time. And I'll have you know, wizards keep telling me how pretty you are. I'm sure you're doing wonders for my reputation, as far as taste is concerned.'

She blushed and said, 'Thanks, and sorry to freak out earlier. It was just overwhelming at first. By the way, everyone loves your scarf, although several people expressed concern that wizarding robes are now "out."'

'Did you reassure them?'

'Yes, not to worry.' She looked over his shoulder and said, 'Uh oh, the cameras are here. I suppose this was part of the agreement.'

'It was,' he said, turning around. 'Is my foulard straight?'

She adjusted it, and they posed together for photographs. 'Potter, will you glow for us?'

'That depends on whether you promise to discard the photo if I misbehave.'

'Yes, Fenella insisted,' said one of the photographers, and the others nodded.

'No one wants a lawsuit,' said another. 'Particularly now that the lords won't shut it down like last time.'

'Then all right,' said Harry, turning towards Alex with what he suspected was the Look. His Light magic arose, and there were more cheers and confetti. 'Make sure the photographs show how graceful Alex is,' he insisted. 'And the correct description is "gazelle-like."'

They posed for more pictures before heading to the dance floor, where nobody tried to intrude. 'This is what I hoped my parties would be like,' he said. 'I can dance with a witch I'm crazy about, and I don't need to worry about Light magic.'

'When should we leave, do you figure?'

'Ugh, soon.' He looked at his pocket watch. 'Yeah, after the next song.'

As it happened, the next song was a slow one, 'Purple Rain,' which reminded him of Lydia. But all his attention was on Alex, and they were fully snogging before it ended. Afterwards, they drifted hand in hand through the main door, and he Apparated her back to his bedroom at Grimmauld Place.

Although Harry wanted to jump straight into bed, she stopped him for a moment. 'When I decided I wanted a pocket romance while I was in England,' she began. 'I never imagined it would be with you. But I can't think of anyone more perfect. Not that you're perfect, mind you—not even close. But the fact that you'll never marry me is ideal, because there's no need to burden ourselves with real life. I should really thank whoever made you take that vow.'

'It's been torture for me,' he said. 'Because I fall in love so easily, and I can't bear the thought of not being with whoever I'm with. When it's someone like you, anyway.'

'Then really it's just the transition,' she said, but Harry didn't understand. 'You're happy when we're together, and so am I. But is it really so hard when we're apart?'

'I miss you when we're apart.'

'But are you miserable?'

'No. Except for when I couldn't sleep on Saturday night, when Darren and the two witches were there.'

Alex nodded. 'I know the feeling. Not from being in bed with three people, but from being with someone I didn't feel close to. It's far more lonesome than just being alone.'

'I'm close with Darren,' said Harry. 'But I didn't fancy a cuddle.'

She walked towards the bed. 'Do you fancy a cuddle now?'

'Always,' he said, giving her the Look and untying his scarf.


	87. Chapter 87

Harry offered Ron breakfast when he arrived at Grimmauld Place on Saturday morning, but Ron shook his head. 'I had breakfast hours ago, thanks to that bastard Murdoch. Bloody pre-dawn surveillance.'

'Are you serious?' exclaimed Harry. 'On a Saturday?'

'Yes, because oddly enough, Dark wizards have no respect for the five-day work week,' grumbled Ron. 'But believe me, I got off lucky—they gave Harper a twelve-hour overnight shift at Azkaban.'

'Ugh, has that part of training begun?'

'It has, but at least I'm exempt from Azkaban duty, on account of my association with you. So cheers, mate.'

'Would you like something other than breakfast?' asked Harry.

'Do you know how to cook anything other than breakfast?'

'Er, not really. But Kreacher can make you something when he gets back, which should be any minute.'

'Where is he?'

'He's grocery shopping for Hermione's birthday party tonight, which is becoming rather more elaborate than I'd intended.'

Ron smirked. 'Did you lose control of your house-elf again?'

'Not exactly. But I had to compromise after the French pastry fiasco yesterday.'

'You had a French pastry fiasco?' exclaimed Ron with mock alarm. 'Why didn't you notify the Department? They could have sent a team of Aurors!'

'Very funny. No, the problem was that yesterday morning I owled the French bakery Fleur discovered and asked them to deliver a selection of pastries for the end of practice, but then I remembered we can't have outside foods so soon before a match, so I had Lara Floo-call them to change the order to Monday. Which they somehow misinterpreted, due to the language barrier, and a huge basket of pastries showed up here instead, and Kreacher was beside himself because I never warned him.'

'French pastries? Were they any good?'

'I don't know, in theory because it was too soon before the match for me to try any, but mainly because Kreacher performed weird house-elf magic on all the pastries in an attempt to reverse-engineer them, and it went horribly wrong.'

'House-elf magic gone horribly wrong?'

'Yes, apparently the bakery employs a French house-elf who uses her own magic to prevent reverse-engineering, and it clashed with whatever Kreacher did, resulting a massive, Vanish-proof explosion. Kreacher was still trying to hide the evidence when I got home, and at first he wouldn't even say what happened, so I had to threaten to punish him, which I obviously didn't want to do. But the kitchen was absolutely coated in butter, flour, and fruit, and I was dead curious why, so I bluffed about punishing him, which led to a tearful confession. But he was stingy with the details, so I had to Floo-call the bakery to get an explanation. And that wasn't easy, since the shop assistant's English is nearly as bad as my French, and that's pathetic because all I really know how to say is "nice arse, my dear."'

'You didn't say that, did you?'

'No, although it definitely applied. Anyway, Kreacher insisted on being punished anyway, so I had him clean up the kitchen and called it a punishment. The important part, however, was the negotiation, whereby I'll get authentic French bread and pastries from now on, in exchange for Kreacher preparing a completely over-the-top dinner for Hermione's birthday tonight. Hence the grocery shopping.'

'Er, maybe I'll just have you make me a second breakfast,' said Ron. 'I'd hate to bother Kreacher when he has his hands full.'

'That's for the best,' admitted Harry, and he returned to the work area of the kitchen. 'But how are you doing, besides being knackered from pre-dawn surveillance?'

'Pretty good. Other than Murdoch, everyone at work is treating me great because they're convinced I'm the most likely to develop Light magic. Although I can't say I'm confident.'

'Why not?'

'Because you and your teacher are probably the only people in all Britain who have it, and I don't know what she's like, but you're not exactly typical.'

'That's not true,' said Harry. 'First off, I've received several dozen letters from people who are experiencing Light magic but never knew what it was until I went public.'

'Really? Did they say how it started?'

'Some of them did. But there are other people as well ... You have to keep this secret, but last week Hermione started experiencing it.'

'Blimey! Does she glow?'

'No, her hair starts sparking blue. I haven't seen it myself.'

Ron frowned. 'She doesn't have the libido side effect, does she?'

'I don't know—she didn't say.'

'I still can't get over how she is with Ryan Bellamy,' he grumbled. 'People used to complain about me and Lavender, but they're far worse.'

'No, they aren't,' said Harry. 'You're just remembering wrong because you didn't have to watch like the rest of us.'

'Well, they're bad enough. I still don't know what to make of it.'

'Is it really a problem? Honestly, you and Janet seem like a far better match than you and Hermione were.'

'We are,' admitted Ron. 'And there's no bedroom problem like there was with Hermione. But I still don't like seeing them together.'

'I get it. I went out of my mind picturing Ginny and Blaise together, even though she and I never had problems in that department.'

'Oi!'

'Get over it,' said Harry. 'Ancient history.'

'Yeah, I suppose so. But you and Alex seem happy.'

Harry smiled. 'I'm crazy about her. She's the full package, no question. The only problem is she has a fiancé.'

'Why's that a problem? It's not like you can get serious with anyone—not for two years almost.'

'That's not strictly true. All I promised Helena was that I wouldn't propose marriage before my twenty-first birthday, but she specifically said I can fall in love and even move in with someone.'

'Harry, I think you're missing the point. You fall in love really easily. How long have you and Alex been dating?'

'Almost two weeks.'

'Yeah, it's not normal to start thinking about marriage that soon. Not for blokes, anyway.'

'I know,' sighed Harry. 'This has dead-mum trauma written all over it. But is that such a bad thing? Maybe I'm more able than most men to commit to a relationship. I was certainly committed to Ginny—I didn't even notice anyone else while we were together.'

'Again, that's weird,' said Ron. 'I'm only interested in Janet right now, but I definitely notice other witches.'

Harry shrugged. 'We already knew I was weird.'

'You're not joking! I still can't believe you wore that scarf out in public.'

'The _Prophet _loved it,' said Harry, serving Ron his breakfast. 'Their fashion editor called it _"the boldest new look since the pointed hat."'_

'And you just quoted the _Prophet_ fashion editor. God, I wish Fred were around to witness this. Although we probably wouldn't have Weasley's Wizard Wireless if Lee hadn't taken his place at the shop.'

'I hadn't thought of that, but you're right. Still, it seems like it would have happened anyway somehow.'

'George says it's done wonders for business—everyone's heard of the shop now, even wizards visiting from abroad, to the point where they'll probably need another employee soon. And Walburga is huge! People have even started making regular appointments with her, on the advice of a Mind Healer.'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'Don't tell me Walburga gives good advice!'

'No, the opposite. She gives people a safe way to express their bottled-up emotions towards an abusive parent. George says there are people who spend up to an hour in her booth and come out looking like they just survived the Battle of Hogwarts, only they give him a big hug and buy about fifty Galleons worth of merchandise.'

Kreacher suddenly appeared with a loud _crack,_ and crates of groceries covered nearly every horizontal surface, including the table where Ron was eating. 'Master!' cried the elf joyfully. 'Kreacher is planning the best of all possible feasts! It is far better than anything the Kammy or the Hogwarts elves could prepare!'

Harry blanched when he saw all the crates. 'Please don't tell me you're going to cook anything from the family recipes.'

'No, Master was most insistent. Kreacher will instead serve all of Master's and Miss Hermione's favourite foods!'

'Er, I'm not sure they all go together,' replied Harry, trying to imagine such a meal.

'They will when Kreacher prepares them!' cried the elf triumphantly. 'Treacle vindaloo! Balti pizza! Steak and kidney tikka masala!'

'I don't recommend treacle vindaloo, although the others might work. But perhaps you could just make a wide range of foods and serve it buffet style. That way people can mix and match.'

Kreacher's ears drooped. 'Yes, Master. But Kreacher will require more flowers to decorate a buffet.'

'That's fine,' said Harry. 'I'll call the florist and increase your allotment.'

After Harry finished talking to the florist via Floo, he and Ron went to the sitting room to get out of the way. 'It's a good thing you're rich,' said Ron, 'because Kreacher must be costing you a fortune.'

'He does go overboard,' said Harry, who had started replying to fan mail. 'But look how happy he is, especially compared to when we first met him. And besides, I get free labour out of it, which is pretty sweet. Don't tell Hermione I said that, by the way.'

'Trust me, I won't. But I understand you have an exciting new potential source of income.'

'Janet told you about the endorsement offer, I gather,' said Harry sheepishly.

'That goes way beyond an endorsement—that's a full-body commitment. Boxers aren't so bad, but Y-fronts? They don't leave a lot to the imagination.'

'I know,' grimaced Harry. 'I bought a Muggle magazine yesterday to see what the adverts are like, and they definitely gave me pause. And I don't know how it'll work with Light magic.'

'Did they get back to you yet about your Japan proposal?'

'Yeah, but they need to rework the numbers. He'll show them to me tomorrow over lunch.'

'Bangers and mash?'

'Very funny. No, we're meeting in a private room at Pratt's—it turns out he's a member.'

'I'm certain this won't be the first in-depth discussion of male genitalia in a private room at Pratt's,' said Ron. 'Surely not everyone there is a fan of the Boudoir.'

'No, probably not. And then I'll come back here for tea with all the newly-discovered Blacks, and Narcissa and Andromeda of course.'

'No Draco?'

'Unclear,' replied Harry. 'We arranged the meeting before he was released, so we never discussed whether he'd be there.'

'It'll be interesting if he does come, particularly if he's as wasted as he was on Thursday.'

'Did you talk to him?'

'Yeah, but he was mainly interested in Janet.'

Harry's eyebrows shot up. 'He didn't come onto her?'

'No, she's far too common, and not nearly virginal enough. But Malfoy really knows his Quidditch, and I think he wanted to show off. Once he found out about all the other schools, he started researching all the players' histories, which teams were the strongest, and so forth. I was pretty impressed, to be honest.'

'Did he say much to you, or was it all Janet.'

'He asked whether I'd be Sorted into Slytherin next, in which case you and I could officially replace Crabbe and Goyle. I said, "Not bloody likely," and he said, "Of course not, because Harry's too short and you're both too skinny, although your IQ might be in the right range."'

'And you didn't hex him?'

'No, because he was obviously drunk and even I could tell he was just trying to get a rise out of me.'

'In spite of your low IQ?'

'Amazing, I know. And Janet said something like "Ron has his faults, but he's actually more clever than you'd think, which was frankly a disappointment when we started dating. But I've got resigned to it."'

'That was diplomatic of her.' After a silence, Harry asked, 'Will it bother you if I become friends with him? Obviously he'll never replace you—not even close.'

Ron shrugged. 'You're a Slytherin now—who am I to get in the way?'

Harry looked up from the photograph he was signing. 'Hang on, are you actually upset?'

'Not really. I just worry a little you're going to change too much. Between Pratt's and the Slytherins, you're definitely more comfortable with posh wizards than you used to be.'

'I am,' admitted Harry. 'But I also spend all day getting slagged by my teammates, including Gemma.'

'I know. And I'm not actually scared you'll become one of them—particularly with your Light magic—but obviously I'll never fit in.'

'Have you talked to Theo Nott lately? He's recently had to learn how many Sickles make up a Galleon.'

'I talked to him on Thursday, and you're right, he wasn't bad.' Ron sighed. 'Just don't let Malfoy lure you in too deep.'

'Not to worry. I've sworn off prostitutes, and Pansy Parkinson isn't my type.'

'Doesn't she have a pulse?' asked Ron, and Harry raised two fingers at him.

They passed the rest of the morning talking Quidditch, then Harry left for the Cannons training grounds. He wasn't particularly nervous about the match—Sarah Trent, the Pride of Portree Seeker, tended not to track her opponents, and he didn't anticipate many hostile banners at home. Bludgers were his biggest concern, but Suresh and Gary were considered superior to the Portree Beaters.

'See how much you can fuck with their Chasers,' Tuttle advised. 'But not literally.'

'My girlfriend will be in the stands!' he protested. 'And I'm not a complete maniac!'

'Talk to me after you've gone a fortnight without getting your wand polished,' retorted Tuttle.

'Perish the thought!' exclaimed Janet. 'That's bound to unleash some kind of apocalypse. Admit it—that's what the prophecy was really about.'

After lunch they travelled to Chudley Stadium, where Harry was examined thoroughly for illegally-charmed objects. 'Are you sure you don't need for him to strip down to his pants?' Gemma asked the referee. 'He's pretty good at it already, but he could probably use more practice.'

Harry gestured for her to be quiet, not wanting word of his possible endorsement to get out. 'How's the weather?' he asked Owen.

'Sunny, which is unfortunate for everyone who made a glowing banner,' replied Owen. 'But it's perfect spotting conditions, so if you're lucky we'll have a quick match.'

'No, my mates will kill me,' said Suresh. 'Short matches are the worst.'

'You're just saying that because we always used to lose,' said Darren. 'And besides, you're wrong—short matches are fantastic. The fans have a lot of pent-up energy, and so do I.'

'Was it after a short match that you shagged a fan in the alley behind the Spyglass?' asked Harry.

'Again, that was more than once. But yes.'

'Are the two witches from last weekend in the stands this afternoon?' asked Gemma.

'They are indeed,' replied Darren. 'But not near my family, who doesn't entirely approve of me right now.'

'Right now?' said Gemma incredulously.

'Yeah, it recently got worse because one of my cousins got married last spring, and now she's preggers. So I'm under more pressure than usual to settle down.'

'There's always Romilda,' said Harry.

'Thank you, no. My mum actually asked whether I was serious about Jocelyn or Maryann, and she expressed concern that if they were already pregnant the baby mightn't be mine.'

'They don't seem inclined to ruin their figures just yet,' observed Suresh. 'At least that was my impression, based on what they wore to the nightclub.'

'Are you, a gay man, criticising witches for being too slutty?' asked Janet accusingly.

'Not at all. I think people should dress however they like, and those outfits certainly suited them. And Harry deserves another Order of Merlin for his influence on men's fashion—I still can't get over that article in yesterday's _Prophet.'_

'"_Evolution of a Fashion Icon,"' _quoted Gemma. 'But Harry, why aren't you more upset they re-ran your old primary school photos?'

'He was upset,' said Janet, 'but Alex had never seen them before, and she smothered him with affection. At least that's my theory.'

Harry said nothing, but Janet was right. Alex had been horrified when she saw his early photos, and she enfolded him in her arms to comfort the both of them. Her ardent attention completely overwhelmed his feelings of shame, and it was a surprisingly sweet start to his day.

A staff member told the starters it was time to fly out, so they proceeded down the corridor and emerged one by one. Harry flew out last into the bright sunshine, and enormous cheers greeted him. Scanning the stadium, he saw a smattering of purple banners for Pride of Portree, but otherwise it was a sea of orange. Numerous signs extolled _'The Light Lord,'_ prompting Harry to roll his eyes. _This is all George's fault,_ he thought irritably.

But he was cheered by the number of _'Mothers For Harry Potter'_ banners, which vastly outnumbered their counterparts. Lucinda held one of them, but he saw strangers holding the banners as well, and he waved his thanks. Finally, he approached Alex, who wasn't holding a sign but was wearing a bright orange foulard, and he blew her a kiss. And he laughed when he saw her companions: Pansy, Daphne, Blaise, and Theo held a banner that said _'Slytherins for Harry Potter,'_ and Draco held a sign that said, _'Get a room.'_

_Which of my dead mates is in the stands today?_ wondered Harry, and he decided on his parents. _Mum is clearly holding that 'Mothers For Harry Potter' sign with the animated blooming flowers—she was good at Charms. And Dad is right next to her with the banner that says, 'Take no prisoners! Blatch like you mean it!'_

The balls were released, and Harry commenced circling. His gut told him it was going to be a short match, so he resisted the urge to feint, lest he miss the Snitch. And he was right: less than fifteen minutes in, the Snitch appeared only twenty yards from him and the match was over. 'Cannons win, 160-0,' cried the announcer, and although the Cannons fans cheered, Harry sensed everyone's disappointment.

'You did your job,' said Tuttle when he landed. 'You're here to win matches, not promote beer sales.'

'Quidditch needs a bloody clock,' he grumbled.

He shook hands with Sarah Trent on the pitch. 'Sorry it was such a boring match,' he said. 'I didn't even feint.'

'Neither did I,' she replied. 'I also had the feeling it was going to be a short one. Speaking of which, did you ever hear back from Viktor Krum?'

'Yes, finally. He sent me a parchment that's linked to a petition he's circulated among Seekers. Every time someone signs, it appears on everyone's copy.'

'Really? How long is it?'

'It's long, and he says the team owners have a petition of their own. I'll bring it to Seekers' night out a week from Monday, and we can discuss our next move.'

'Shouldn't you and Krum figure that out?' she asked.

'No, he doesn't want to be the face of the movement because he's sure it'll fail. He suggests I coordinate with the owners and make a presentation at the World Quidditch Conference later this year.'

'Good luck! I mostly agree with Krum, but we have to at least try. This afternoon was pathetic.'

When the reporters entered the pitch, someone asked, 'Potter, is it true you're behind the effort to change the Quidditch scoring rules?'

'It wasn't my idea—lots of people think the rules should be changed—but I agreed to use whatever influence I have to move it forward. And as you may have heard, more than a hundred Seekers worldwide agree with me, and team owners as well.'

'But what about the fans?' asked another reporter.

'Go ask them,' said Harry, motioning to the stands. 'My guess is they were disappointed to pay good money for a match that ended so quickly. I'll certainly apologise to the friends I invited and offer more tickets to make it up to them.'

'Is it true you tried the Firebolt Ultra again?'

Harry and Bruce had discussed the matter, and they decided he should reply honestly. 'Yes, and I've revised my opinion. It has a learning curve, but otherwise it's first rate. The only reason I didn't fly on it today is because it interacts with my Light magic and gives me an unfair advantage.'

'Is that why you had league referees at the training grounds on Thursday?'

'Yes, but they agreed to revisit the question after I'm through the accidental phase.'

The reporter from the _Prophet_ had spotted Draco Malfoy in the stands near Alex and correctly surmised he was Harry's guest. 'Does this mean you and Malfoy are friends now?'

'From my side, yes, but you'll have to ask Draco what he thinks. At the very least, I hope we'll remain civil and never be on opposite sides of a war.'

Next, invited guests were allowed on the pitch, but Draco kept his distance until after the photographers were gone. 'That was a seriously crap match, Potter,' he snarled. 'Thanks for nothing.'

'You can come to the next one. Who's it against anyway?'

'Your next home match is against the Banchory Bangers. Selden Puttick's the Seeker—you can probably take him easily, unless he has a vicious streak I'm unaware of.'

'No, he's fine. Did you have a good time with Gilstrap after I left?'

'Yes, I've invited him to the Manor this week.' Harry's eyebrows shot up, and Draco said, 'Just kidding. He may be a league Seeker, but he's still a nobody.'

As much as Harry disliked Gilstrap, he loathed Draco's snobbery. 'Are you serious? By rights you and Gilstrap should be best mates, between your shared interest in Quidditch and your hatred of me. But you're going to let his ancestry get in the way?'

'I told you, Potter. Mustn't let commoners get too close. They always want something.'

'And so? Why not use your influence to help someone along?'

'Nobody in my circles is going to be interested in the son of two Mudbloods, no offence.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Do you want to join us at the Cracked Spyglass? It'll be a bunch of Cannons fanatics getting plastered to make up for not drinking enough at the match.'

'No thanks, I can get plastered at home. But I'll see you tomorrow at the Black family reunion.'

'So you're coming?'

'Of course I am. There might be pure-bloods among the branch that's not descended from a Squib.'

'Are you going out of your way to be extra revolting today?' asked Harry.

'No, it comes naturally. But remember I blame you at the weekend, so I'm not editing myself as much as I might do otherwise.'

'And you're sure you don't want to come to the pub with us?'

'No, I'm not going to insult the great Harry Potter while he's surrounded by his worshipers. But I'll owl you if inspiration strikes.'

'Patronuses are faster,' suggested Harry. 'I could teach you.'

'I'll keep it in mind. See you tomorrow.'

Tuttle's notes were brief, and the players soon arrived at the Cracked Spyglass. Alex accompanied Harry, and they were greeted enthusiastically. 'That was a seriously boring match, Potter, but at least you won it for us,' said a fan. 'And now we're playing drinking games to make up for it. Speaking of which, could you give us a glow?'

'Will everyone be required to drink?' asked Harry.

'Yes, they have to drain their current pint and pour another one. Come on, Potter, it's the least you can do after not feinting even once.'

'I had a feeling the Snitch was coming early, and I was right,' argued Harry.

'Of course you were right,' said another fan, who was holding a full glass. 'So celebrate by glowing.'

Harry shrugged his shoulders and turned to Alex. 'What do you think?'

'They'll get hammered regardless,' she said. 'And you owe them.'

Smiling, he gave Alex the Look and then kissed her, and even with his eyes closed he knew he was glowing brightly. He turned back to the fan and said, 'Satisfied?'

The fan was draining his beer, as were all his neighbours. But then glasses hit the table, and there was a loud chorus of belches. 'Cheers,' said the fan, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. 'Hit us again in a quarter hour.'

'I make no promises,' replied Harry, and he and Alex found a table. 'I'm doing my best to ensure you won't miss British pubs when you return to America,' he told her.

'It's working,' she said. 'And I'm glad you're not a big drinker.'

'No, I'd rather go six times in one night. Shall we go home and get started?'

'You said it was exhausting and that you'd never do it again!'

'You're right, I won't. But we have nearly twenty-two hours until I have lunch with the underwear bloke, and then I won't get to see you for two whole nights, which is not what we agreed to.'

'It's not my fault you have your Light magic lesson on Monday and can't have me over before a match. You'll just have to cope.'

'Are you trying to make me fall out of love with you?' he asked.

'You're not in love with me. You're just incredibly romantic and eyeball-deep in Light magic, and I happened to turn up at the right time. And quit giving me the Look.'

'I can't help it—you bring it out in me.'

'Is this man bothering you?' asked Ryan, sitting next to Alex with Hermione.

'Yes! He's hopelessly romantic and I'm afraid he's going to portkey to America this afternoon to duel my fiancé.'

'I'm not that good at duelling,' said Harry. 'Voldemort was a fluke. But you're making me wish I still had the Elder Wand.'

'I don't think I'd fancy you much if you murdered Rocky with the Elder Wand, or any other wand for that matter.'

'Then maybe I can Confund him so he changes his mind.'

'Harry,' whispered Alex. 'I'm not breaking up with Rocky. I'm flattered, but I'm also starting to wonder if seeing you every other night is too often.'

Harry frowned. 'Sorry, I'll behave. I think I'm just edgy because I didn't get to feint this afternoon.'

'Isn't there something we can do to distract you? Besides the obvious?'

'How long has it been since you bought new robes?' asked Hermione.

'Very funny,' said Harry. 'Although I would like a three-piece suit.'

'A Muggle suit?' asked Ryan. 'Is this the pressure to keep evolving as a fashion icon?'

'No, I talked to Thimble about it weeks ago.'

'Not Savile Row?' said Hermione.

Harry shook his head. 'Too expensive.'

'Yes, and you're liable to start glowing around all that bespoke menswear.'

'You're making me sound like I have some kind of fetish!'

'Don't you?' said Hermione pointedly.

'Maybe a little,' he mumbled. 'It's probably the Light magic—when I'm done with the accidental phase I'll probably want to wear Dudley's old trainers again.'

'Does this mean we can go clothes shopping together?' asked Alex. 'I get bored doing it myself, but it'll be fun dressing you up like a little doll.'

'Oi!'

She leaned forward and kissed him in a way that suggested she did not, in fact, see him as a little doll. 'Is that better?'

'Yes. And let's go before the fans get drunk enough to start demanding autographs.'

'You should really sign a few, after everyone shelled out for the new glowing photographs,' said Ryan. 'They're paying for your wardrobe, after all.'

'Fine,' replied Harry, and he dropped his _'Leave me alone, I'm with my girlfriend'_ wards.

To his surprise he was asked not only to sign photographs but also bright orange foulards. 'Were these for sale?' he asked a fan.

'Yes, and it's much brighter than the one I tried making myself,' she said.

Harry knew Alex had Conjured the bright scarf she was wearing, and he was proud of how talented she was. _Rocky is a seriously lucky wizard_, he thought for the thousandth time.

After half an hour, he and Alex went to Thimble's shop, where Harry selected a three-piece suit. 'Everyone wants scarves now,' the tailor told him. 'Do you suppose you'll keep wearing them, or was that a one-time occurrence?'

'I only have the one,' replied Harry, 'and I only know one way to tie it.'

'I can help you with that,' Thimble assured him. 'There are dozens of ways to wear a scarf, so it needn't become repetitive.'

Alex perused the shop while she was waiting, and Harry wondered if she was looking for a gift for Rocky. 'Do you need help picking something out?' he asked after his fitting.

'Is it that obvious?'

'Only because I know how thoughtful you are. Are you looking for something in particular?'

'Not necessarily. He'll appreciate anything from a London tailor—as a dandy you couldn't have chosen a better city to live in.' She looked at a mannequin and said, 'But that outfit would be fantastic for the wedding.'

They were the robes Thimble had modelled after the portrait of Robert de Montesquiou, only the fabric was different to what Harry had bought. 'I have the same ones,' he confessed.

Her eyes lit up. 'I'd almost ask you to wear them tonight, but surely they're too formal.'

He explained he had two sets, one of which was more casual, and she insisted he wear them. 'As you know, I'm a sucker for a well-dressed man, and I can only benefit from you and Rocky trying to outdo each other.'

'It's pleasanter than duelling,' said Harry.

Alex needed to stop at Gringotts. 'I don't have a vault here,' she said, 'but they can withdraw from my account in Chicago.'

'Is there a branch in the Zero Block?' he asked, remembering what she'd told him about the magical district there.

'Yes, but it's nowhere near as old as this one. Honestly, it's hardly more interesting than a Muggle bank.'

'Do you want to see a really old vault?' he asked. 'When I was here for my meeting with Blaise yesterday, I meant to enquire about removing the curse from an old tiara, but I didn't have time.'

'Is that in the Black family vault? Yes, please!'

Embarrassed, Harry said, 'I realise it's a bit crass to show you my vault, but it belongs to the Blacks and I don't really consider it mine. So please don't tell people I tried impressing you this way.'

'I'm sure Jocelyn and Maryann would have loved to see it,' she said impishly.

'Ugh, you're probably right.'

Harry went to the counter and asked for assistance. 'Yes,' said the goblin, 'we can inspect the artefact and remove the curse if at all possible. Right this way.'

Another goblin was summoned, and the banker gave him a special box for handling cursed items. They climbed into a cart and began the dizzying journey into the depths of the bank. 'This is horrible!' cried Alex, who looked a bit green. 'Can't they improve it somehow?'

'Just wait for the Thief's Downfall,' he warned her, and a minute later they were drenched.

'Was this really the only way to reveal hidden enchantments?' she exclaimed, pulling wet hair from her eyes.

'Trust me, it works,' said Harry, showing her his ring. She cast Drying Charms on both of them, and soon they were standing in front of the Black vault.

'I swear this isn't an attempt to appeal to your inner gold-digger,' he said before opening the vault.

'Come on, let's see it, fancy-pants.'

'Is that some kind of American insult?'

'Yes, and quit stalling.'

Harry opened the vault using the ring. 'Don't touch anything,' he said. 'It's almost certainly charmed against Americans.'

Her eyes widened, but like Hermione she bypassed the gold and went straight for the books. 'Look at these!' she exclaimed. 'Are there any about Transfiguration?'

'I don't know, but we can look.' He gingerly pulled out one volume at a time, and her jaw dropped when she recognised one.

'_Alchemical Transmutation,_ by Wilfrid Murdough! Do you have any idea how rare this is?'

'No, but I'm guessing the answer is "very."'

'It's practically one-of-a-kind,' she said, awestruck. 'May I look at it? In your house perhaps?'

'Of course, as long as there aren't any curses on it.' Harry turned to the goblin and asked, 'Can you check it?'

He nodded, and Harry placed it inside the box. He also used his wand to levitate the tiara into the box, pointing out the chalices Andromeda suspected were also cursed. 'But I think two cursed items in one afternoon is plenty, and Gemma isn't interested in wearing the chalices to my next party.'

'You're planning another party?'

'Not exactly—my teammates want me to host a top-secret drag party, which I've been resisting because people are bound to find out. But I said Gemma can wear the tiara regardless, even though it's not technically drag.'

'Strictly speaking, if it's a drag party, you should wear the tiara.'

'Right, because no one will call me "Harry Toffer" if that happens.'

They climbed back into the cart, which the goblin zoomed back to the lobby with complete disregard for their comfort. He led them to an office, where he set down the box and then left. 'I can't tell you how helpful that book would be for my research,' said Alex. 'That alone would make my trip to England worthwhile.'

'Is that all I am to you? A source of old books?'

'I'm afraid so. I should have warned you how heartless I am.'

A new goblin entered. 'Good afternoon, Mr Potter. My name is Bartok, and I specialise in cursed items.' Harry nodded politely, and Bartok, who wore a monocle, looked inside the box. 'The tiara is cursed,' he said.

'You can tell just by looking?'

'Yes,' replied Bartok, indicating his monocle. 'I'll have to run tests, but at first glance I believe it's a Skin-Boiling Curse.'

Harry shuddered. 'Can you remove it?'

'Yes, but not immediately. It may have layered curses, which means I could remove this one and it would be safe to touch, but two days later a new curse would form. And so forth.'

'How long will it take, do you reckon?'

'Depending on the number of curses, up to a fortnight. But it's a fine piece and well worth the effort.'

Harry frowned. 'Is it goblin-made?'

'No, but it's not wizard-made either. I suspect it's mermish.'

'Mermish!' exclaimed Harry. 'The only jewellery I saw them wearing were ropes of pebbles!'

'You're referring to British merpeople,' said Bartok with a sneer. 'I was speaking of Sirens, native to Greece, and far more refined than their cold-water cousins.'

'Oh! That's another thing entirely,' said Harry, recalling the beautiful Siren whose portrait was in the Prefects' bathroom. 'Yes, I'd like you to remove the curses, if at all possible. And what about the book? I was able to open it, but Alex is the one who wants to read it.'

'At first glance it's fine, but please be so kind as to place it on this mat.' Harry removed the book from the box, taking extreme care not to touch the tiara. 'Just so,' said Bartok. 'Now open it.'

Bartok continued ordering Harry to turn pages until he finally pronounced the book safe. With his permission, Alex tentatively handled it, with no ill effect.

'Thank you,' said Harry, and Bartok had him sign a parchment authorising payment. 'The Blacks can bloody well pay for it,' said Harry, designating their vault on the form.

Alex hugged the book to her chest as they walked out. 'If you were clever, you'd demand favours from me in exchange for access to the book.'

'I may be needy and demanding, but hopefully I'm not that manipulative.'

'Some Slytherin you are,' she scoffed. 'Draco Malfoy would probably insist I stay over every night this week.'

'Draco? Did he seem interested in you?'

'Not like that. But he declared me "the right kind of half-blood" and said he couldn't fault your taste.'

Harry grimaced. 'And how did you feel, being talked to like that?'

'I decided to take it as a compliment,' she said. 'And at least he didn't press me for bedroom details like Pansy did.'

'Merlin, I hope not!'

'Honestly, I wouldn't put it past him, but I think his obsession with you is just platonic.'

They returned to Grimmauld Place together, and she reverently set the book on the library table. 'Will you be terribly offended if I take half an hour with it right now?'

'Instead of shagging, you mean?'

'I'd only be distracted,' she admitted.

'That's fine—I can reply to fan mail. But set a timer.'

After half an hour of silent activity, the bell rang and Alex looked up from her reading. 'Harry, I can't thank you enough for allowing me access to this book. It's not particularly old—it's from the eighteen-hundreds—but only a handful were printed and they're very closely guarded, as you saw.'

'What's so special about it?' he asked.

'People believed—falsely, I think—that the author successfully produced a Philosopher's Stone, and that he hid the instructions in the text.'

'A Philosopher's Stone! What makes you think he didn't succeed?'

'From what I've read about Murdough, he wasn't particularly modest, and if he'd produced a Philosopher's Stone he'd have erected a solid gold statue of himself for everyone to admire. Furthermore, in spite of the book's title, it doesn't cover the same branch of alchemy Flamel was known to have used, and Flamel said as much. And based on my first pass through the book, I have to agree.'

'But it's still useful?'

'Tremendously. Might I borrow it until I see you again on Tuesday?'

'I don't know,' said Harry. 'Maybe I should insist you read it here ... in my bedroom.'

'Is this what happens when a Slytherin fancies a Ravenclaw?'

'Yes, we lure you into vice with rare books.' He grabbed it from the table and deliberately held it out of reach. 'Come on,' he said, backing towards the door. 'You know you want it.' Laughing, she followed him upstairs, and they set the book aside for the next hour.

Afterwards, lying in his arms, she said, 'I don't know why, but things move faster with you.'

'Are you criticising my performance just now?' he asked, feigning offence.

'Of course not, silly. But it's like there's some kind of acceleration field around you, making things advance more quickly than they might otherwise.'

'How do you mean?'

'Like on Thursday, at the nightclub. When we walked in together, it was like a compressed version of my entire adolescence, as far as insecurity was concerned. When Jocelyn and Maryann looked down their noses at me, they embodied all the scorn I experienced from the popular girls growing up.'

'I'm so sorry,' began Harry, but she interrupted him.

'You didn't do anything wrong. On the contrary, you chose me over them, which was the best possible way to soothe my ego and grant me petty victory. And it was petty—a not-so-small part of me wanted to gloat.' Blushing, she added, 'I'm half-hoping the _Chicago Beacon_ reports that we're dating, just so Jodi Schiller and Heidi Binkowski find out.'

Harry smirked. 'Were they the popular girls?'

'Yes, they were basically the Jocelyn and Maryann of Westwind Academy. Whereas I was that gawky English girl who was always carrying too many books.'

Harry smiled, thinking of Hermione. 'I'm sure you weren't gawky.'

'Trust me, I was. But I'm not fishing for compliments—my point is that in the short time we've been dating, I feel like I've had several layers of protection peeled away. I can't pretend I'm invisible when we're in public together, which means I need to deal with my old insecurities instead of burying them. And it hasn't been easy—it was a bit of a relief when Rocky asked me not to see you so often.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry. 'I shouldn't have suggested we go out in public.'

'No, it's been useful. And I know this sounds crazy, but I can't help thinking there's a connection between shedding my protective layers and having that book turn up. I didn't even ask whether you had it—it just fell into my lap.'

'I know what you mean,' he said. 'Ever since I quit the Ministry and joined the Cannons, things have accelerated in my life as well. During August, in the space of about a fortnight, everything I've ever kept private became common knowledge, to the point where I have hardly any secrets left. It was agonising, but I don't think I'd have developed Light magic otherwise. At least not this quickly.'

'That's your acceleration field,' she said. 'I'm sure it's not easy for you, even now that you're out of secrets. But if I've already experienced several impossible things since we've been together, I can only imagine where you're headed.'

Harry was tempted to suggest she come along for the ride, but he knew his clinginess had annoyed her. So he just held her until it was time to prepare for the party.

'Have I mentioned how happy I am not to have to greet people for hours?' he said later, while tying his cravat.

'Yes, several times. But I'm disappointed there won't be an article tomorrow about your decadent house party.'

'I'm not. Now that wizarding nightclubs play decent music, I don't know if I'll bother throwing another big party at the house.'

'But everyone talks about your bizarro guest rooms! Personally, I'm hoping you'll host a big blowout after you and I split up, so Rocky and I can see what they're like.'

Harry frowned. 'Do you talk about me to Rocky as much as you talk about him with me?'

'No, he doesn't want to hear it.'

'Then how will he feel if the _Chicago Beehive_ prints our photograph?'

'It's the _Chicago Beacon_,' she laughed. 'And he knows it's a risk. But we aren't planning to announce our engagement until I return in February, which means no one will be angry on his behalf.'

'So I needn't worry about seeing banners for _"Americans Against Harry Potter?"'_

'Probably not, but with Americans you never know.'

They went downstairs and entered the dining room. 'Oh my god,' exclaimed Alex. 'That is truly an appalling amount of food. Aren't you worried it'll go to waste?'

'No, because my teammates will eat all the leftovers. The reserves in particular are voracious, and their favourite cuisine is "free."'

'Harry?' came Hermione's voice. 'Are you in the dining room? Oh my god!'

Hermione and Ryan were standing in the doorway, their eyes wide. 'Did you lose control of Kreacher again?' asked Ryan.

'It's a long story,' said Harry sheepishly. 'I hope this is all right.'

'It's lovely,' said Hermione. 'I'll go down and thank Kreacher.'

_Crack!_ 'Yes, Miss Hermione!' said the elf, who had apparently been lying in wait. 'Is Miss Hermione pleased?'

She thanked him profusely and said, 'I don't think anyone has made this big a splash over my birthday before, not even my parents. Although they're not to blame, since I never wanted a party, and I usually just asked for books.'

'I was the same way,' said Alex. 'Furthermore, my birthday's in June, so I always had exams. Although there's something satisfying about taking an exam I've prepared for properly. I'm reluctant to call it fun, but that's the word I'm tempted to use.'

Hermione's eyes lit up. 'I know exactly the feeling!'

'She's lying,' said Harry. 'I saw her during exams, and not only was she a nervous wreck, but she dragged the rest of us down with her.'

'That's because I was afraid you hadn't studied enough,' said Hermione. 'If it had just been me I wouldn't have worried.'

'Exactly!' said Alex. 'That's why taking the actual exam is so much fun, because I can finally stop worrying about my friends and enjoy it.'

Hermione looked like she wanted to hug Alex, but instead she just beamed at her. 'Hang on,' said Harry. 'Is that your Light magic?'

'It is,' said Ryan proudly, pulling gently on a sparkling ringlet. 'It's happening more often now.'

Harry was delighted for her. 'Can you feel anything?' he asked excitedly. 'Or is it just the sparks?'

'It feels lovely. It's like sinking into a pool of compassion.'

'Now you've done it—Harry's glowing too,' said Ryan. 'Amazing ... there seems to be a resonance effect when you're together.'

Harry was unable to speak, overcome by a strong wave of Light magic. He turned to Alex and began kissing her, and Ryan and Hermione laughed. 'Do you need some privacy?' asked Ryan.

'No,' said Alex, pulling away from Harry. 'He needs to learn how to behave, particularly if anyone brings a camera tonight. I'm not interested in starring in his next porn film.'

Hermione's hair continued to sparkle, and Ryan said, 'Show them what it's like when you uncharm your hair. It's much brighter that way.'

She cast a silent _Finite incantatem_, and a glittering blue cloud suddenly framed her face.

'It's like a halo!' gasped Alex. 'You're impossibly lovely like that.'

'Isn't she?' agreed Ryan, looking affectionately at her.

Harry was awestruck. He knew Hermione was pretty, but with her cloud of sparkling hair she was like an exquisite stained glass window, with the sun shining through it.

'I love you!' he cried spontaneously.

Hermione smirked. 'I love you too, Harry. But my heart belongs to a certain Ryan Bellamy,' she said, turning to embrace her boyfriend.

Harry looked at Alex and said, 'Are you certain we can't slip upstairs? No one will notice if we arrive late.'

'Young man, behave yourself!' she chided. 'Or else I won't sit next to you.'

'It's a good thing he wasn't like this during the war,' said Hermione. 'Then again, he might have defeated Voldemort without trying and spent a year shagging Ginny in the tent.'

'That bed was horrible—the Room of Requirement was much nicer,' said Harry, his glow fading. 'But Ginny would have just dumped me sooner.'

'Are you sure it's all right I invited her and Wendy?'

'Yes, of course. I'm still relieved she's not seeing Blaise Zabini, and I'd like to get to know Wendy. Besides, I miss our friendship, and I'm hoping to reestablish it.'

'I know she feels the same way,' said Hermione. 'And she's keen to meet Alex.'

'I'm keen to meet her too,' said Alex. 'I'm sure she has far more stories than Cho Chang did.'

'Don't ask her about me,' said Harry. 'I hate how people constantly ask my friends about me and not about them.'

'It's because you're preternaturally entertaining,' said Alex, and Harry scowled. 'Poor dear, but it's a cross you'll have to bear.'

'It comes in handy,' said Hermione. 'In a pinch, I can always steer the conversation away from myself by mentioning you.'

'Oi!'

Ryan pointed out that it was nearly six o'clock, so they went to the reception hall to await the other guests. Hermione re-charmed her hair, which had stopped sparkling, but Harry noticed she kept her distance. _I hope I didn't make her uncomfortable_, he thought, recalling his outburst of affection. _Surely she realises it's the Light magic and that I'm not actually in love with her._

He stood back with Alex as the guests arrived, allowing Hermione and Ryan to greet everyone. They all thanked Harry, but he told them to thank Kreacher instead. 'All I did was stop him from making treacle vindaloo.'

'And pay for everything,' said Ginny. Harry grimaced, and she added, 'Sorry, Harry, but you're hopelessly generous on top of everything else.'

'What's the point of having an enormous dining room if I don't actually feed people?' he said, as everyone gathered in front of Padfoot. People took turns throwing him treats, and Kreacher used house-elf magic to float trays of champagne among the guests.

'Is this elf-made?' asked Bill.

'Yes,' said Harry sheepishly. 'I had it for the first time last week, and even I could taste the difference.'

'You have become very sophisticated,' said Fleur. 'This is good, but do not mention it on the radio, or else Gabrielle will find out.'

'Gabrielle listens to Weasley's Wizard Wireless?'

'Yes, it is very popular in France, and her English professor assigns it to teach vocabulary and oral comprehension.'

'I'm sure they've learnt all sorts of useful idioms,' said Ginny. 'Like "one-night stand" and "mega-shagathon."'

'Excuse me,' said Harry indignantly. 'If you hadn't broken up with me, I'd still be a well-behaved young wizard, and I probably wouldn't need to go on the radio every week.'

'Then clearly I made the right decision, because the world needed slutty Harry Potter,' retorted Ginny. Harry's face fell, and she said, 'It's a compliment! You're finally famous for the right reason!'

'It was a disaster when Gabrielle read that article in _Sorceress,'_ continued Fleur. 'She is convinced that you alone are worthy of her.'

'Harry's not the only one who does that,' said Hannah, and Neville turned bright red.

'Don't you see?' said Ginny. 'This is why we had to split up! Otherwise you'd still be a mopey Auror, and we'd miss out on fantastic conversations like this one.'

'And I'd have an unrequited crush on Harry Potter's fiancée,' said Wendy. 'Because you'd definitely be engaged by now.'

'I'd never have been Sorted into Ravenclaw,' said Alex. 'I'd have gone my entire life without talking to a thousand-year-old hat. So thank you, Ginny.'

Harry wasn't sure what to make of the conversation. He was still hurt by Ginny's rejection, and he worried that other witches might reach the same conclusion. Then again, he was far happier as a Seeker than he was at the Ministry. _And I mightn't have developed Light magic otherwise._

Everyone drifted into the dining room. 'I knew I should have skipped lunch!' cried Hannah. 'How can I possibly try everything?'

'Did you lose control of Kreacher again?' asked Ginny.

Harry explained what had happened, including the French pastry fiasco. 'Again, I take all the credit,' said Ginny after she stopped laughing. 'I'm sorry, my dear Harry, but clearly I was guided by fate. There was probably a prophecy and everything.'

'The centaurs mentioned it,' said Luna calmly.

'The centaurs predicted our breakup?' asked Harry, astonished.

'Not in so many words,' replied Luna. 'But last spring they kept telling me Uranus was surprisingly bright.' Ginny, Wendy, and Harry all started sniggering, but Luna continued. 'I finally asked Lythian what it meant, and he said it represented great change, specifically regarding personal growth and freedom. And he was right.'

Wendy turned to Ginny. 'So you broke up with Harry because of Uranus? Should I be concerned?'

'Can we please change the topic?' said Harry.

By that point, people were loading their plates and finding seats. Harry and Alex sat with Bill and Fleur, and he was delighted by how well they got along; Alex spoke French, which made him admire her even more. In addition to the champagne, Harry had instructed Kreacher to purchase elf-made wine, which everyone praised. _I should find more excuses to hang out at Malfoy Manor_, he thought, only half-jokingly.

During the sweets course people switched seats, and Harry and Alex sat with Ginny and Wendy. Everyone was relaxed from the abundant food and wine, and conversation flowed smoothly. 'Alex is perfect,' said Ginny. 'She's much better for you than I was.'

'You may be right,' he replied, 'but there's just one problem.'

Alex explained her situation, but Ginny shook her head emphatically. 'No, you need to throw over your fiancé and stay with Harry. Otherwise he's liable to wind up with some bimbo, and we can't let that happen.'

'I beg your pardon!' said Harry. 'Why would I end up with some bimbo?'

'Because you fall in love so easily! Really, I'm almost offended it took you so long to fancy me,' said Ginny. 'One skilful C-squared could wrap you around her finger ... I'm surprised it hasn't happened already.'

'I've sworn off C-squareds,' he said. 'I need an emotional connection.'

'Believe me, I know,' said Ginny, rolling her eyes.

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Oops, did I say that out loud?' she said with mock regret.

'This is because I'm needy, isn't it,' he said knowingly.

'When did I ever say that?'

'You didn't, but I finally worked it out. I'm an emotional black hole thanks to dead-mum trauma, and I probably sucked the life out of you.'

Ginny and Wendy exchanged glances. 'It wasn't like that,' she began.

'Yes, it was,' replied Harry. 'I'm already doing it to Alex, aren't I?'

Alex made a show of looking elsewhere before smirking at him. 'You're incredibly devoted, and incredibly demanding.'

'See!' he insisted. 'It's dead-mum trauma. I had all her attention for fifteen months—they were basically under house arrest—and then she was dead and I was thrown to Aunt Petunia. It's no wonder I'm a bottomless pit of need.' Harry's tone was light, but his words were completely serious.

Ginny frowned. 'It wasn't like that. Yes, you were needy, and yes, it's probably dead-mum trauma. But you're also extremely caring, and you gave at least as much as you got, if not more.'

'But that's why you left, isn't it? I want to know the truth, so I don't keep chasing women away. I'm too needy.'

She took a deep breath and looked down. 'I'm sure with the right witch it won't be a problem.'

Harry closed his eyes. _So it's true,_ he thought sadly. _I drove her away with my sucking pit of need._ 'Do you really think so?' he asked sceptically.

'Yes, absolutely,' said Ginny. 'There are women who want nothing more than to feel needed, but also to feel cared for, and you'd be perfect for them.'

'What about you?' he asked Alex. 'Obviously you're with Rocky, and I'm not asking you to change that. But if you weren't, would my neediness drive you away?'

'That's not a fair question,' she said. 'Our relationship isn't serious, and Rocky is already meeting my underlying needs. So I really can't say.'

'Can't you, or won't you?'

'Ahem,' interrupted Wendy. 'I think you're being a little demanding. Some dead-mum trauma perhaps?'

Harry smiled. 'Yeah, most likely. What do you recommend?'

'How about a Mind Healer?'

He rolled his eyes. 'Why does everyone suggest that?'

Alex laughed and said, 'Maybe because of the word "trauma." I don't know—I'm just guessing.'

Harry ran his hands through his hair. 'But I don't want to,' he whinged. 'They'll just tell me it's Voldemort's fault and then make me describe every minute I spent with the Dursleys.' Looking at his empty glass, he added, 'Can't I have more wine instead? This elf-made stuff is fantastic—I should spend more time at Pratt's.'

'That sounds like a fine plan,' said Ginny approvingly. 'Just don't turn up late for practice.'

'Not to worry, I have Tuttle watching me. She handled Ludo Bagman, you know.'

After dinner, Harry called Kreacher upstairs, and everyone stood up and applauded. The house-elf feigned humility, but Harry could see the gleam of triumph in his eyes. _That was much better than anything Kammy could have prepared,_ Harry thought indulgently, and Kreacher's ears curled with pleasure.

Photographs were taken, and Harry was careful not to glow, partly to keep from embarrassing Alex, but also because Hermione hadn't mentioned her Light magic, and he suspected she wanted to keep it private. The guests lingered for a while, still enjoying the wine, and then everyone but Hermione and Ryan departed.

'Harry, I can't thank you enough,' she said. 'This was absolutely perfect.'

'I'm so glad you enjoyed it,' he said, finally allowing himself to glow.

Hermione's hair began sparking as well, and Ryan said, 'I was right—you definitely have some kind of resonance effect.' Smirking, he asked Hermione, 'Should I be jealous?'

She looked up at him adoringly. 'Not at all. In fact, let's go back to your flat so I can prove it.' She hugged Harry and Alex goodbye, and then she and Ryan disappeared through the fireplace.

'Privacy at last,' said Harry. 'Can I lure you to the master bedroom? There's an extremely rare book up there.'

Smiling, she followed him. 'Ginny was lovely,' she said. 'But I have to admit, I can't picture you together.'

'You've said I could fall for nearly any witch in my age range!' he protested. 'What's wrong with Ginny?'

'I didn't say you wouldn't fancy her. On the contrary, I can see you're still stuck on her, at least a bit. But Ginny's more earthy than you are, which was probably a great match physically, but I suspect she felt trapped after too many hours of the Look.'

Harry frowned. 'Why would she feel trapped?'

'The Look is intoxicating. I have a feeling it's what makes women want to become mothers, to have a baby gaze up at them with that kind of love and surrender. But it's a huge responsibility as well, to feel like someone's entire well-being depends on you. And if Ginny didn't fully need what you were offering, it was probably too much for her.'

'But what does that have to do with being earthy?'

'You need someone who's also a dreamer. Obviously she has dreams, and she isn't just a mindless drone, but she doesn't seem as romantic as you are.'

Harry sighed, remembering Ginny's years-long crush on the Boy Who Lived. 'No, she isn't. She was as a girl, but she grew out of it. My romantic gestures mostly just embarrassed her, unless they were overtly physical.'

'It's ironic that people think women are more romantic than men are,' she said. 'You're terribly romantic, and so is Rocky.'

'But he's less needy,' said Harry.

'I didn't say that. But we've known each other a long time, and I think we fit together.' They arrived in his bedroom, and she stood facing him. 'You won't have a problem finding women who want to go out with you, or who fall in love with you even. Your challenge will be finding someone who meets you on every level: physically, emotionally, romantically.'

'I know you're taken, but why aren't you a good match?'

She averted her eyes. 'I'm not as physical as you are. Obviously I enjoy when we're together, but I could never keep up in the long run, and I'd eventually disappoint you.'

'I find that hard to believe,' said Harry sincerely.

'I'm on my best behaviour,' she admitted. 'But I don't require sex as often as you do, and I'm generally satisfied with a quickie before reading in bed together.'

'Have I been too demanding?' he asked sheepishly.

'Not at all, and you certainly haven't heard me complaining. Furthermore, I'm glad to be learning this about myself before entering a marriage bond with Rocky. This really has been the perfect pocket romance.'

'"Has been?"' he asked with alarm. 'Are you ending things?'

'No, of course not. But I'd still encourage you to make the most of our two days apart.'

With a gleam in his eye, he asked, 'What about right now? I can try to be quick about it.'

'Not too quick,' she laughed, and they said no more.


	88. Chapter 88

_Author's note:_

_Several reviewers have complained that the story is "meandering" and that the pacing is too slow. And I'll admit that it's kind of absurd that my million words (so far) only cover a few months of Harry's life. Then again, it's absurd how quickly time passes in canon. For example, why didn't Harry and Cho Chang have a date between their Yule makeout session and Valentine's Day? They were at a frickin' boarding school, for Merlin's sake!_

_In _Loose Cannon_, I'm trying to depict something analogous to a university experience, which was an extremely dense time of my life, both in terms of interaction and personal growth. Fanfic is a great medium for this, IMO, because there's no strict limit on story length, other than what the writer (i.e., me) is willing to churn out, and what the readers are willing to endure. __So yes, the pace is slow, but I'm doing my darnedest to keep the story entertaining. The slow pacing is probably exacerbated by my publishing only one chapter a week, since that means it takes more than a month of real-world time to cover a week in _Loose Cannon_. If that bothers you, consider letting several chapters pile up before reading what's new._

_In response to the complaints about the story meandering, I spent several hours last night really thinking about how I want this fic to resolve, rather than just trusting the process (which has been my approach so far). And it was time well spent, since I have a much clearer picture of where things are going. I'm still not going to commit to Harry's final pairing, since ultimately the characters will decide, but I've narrowed it down to two candidates. One is Hermione, and one ... isn't. (*Cue evil laugh*)_

_Thanks for reading, and stay safe!_

-––—––—––-

On Sunday morning, Alex disappointed Harry by declining to meet his relations that afternoon. 'Meeting your family is a bit much for what's supposed to be a fling.'

'But I want to prove I'm not just interested in bimbos,' he argued.

'Surely Draco will have told his mother I pass muster. I'm the right kind of half-blood, after all.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I wish you'd meet Andromeda at least—I'm certain you'll love Teddy.'

'Metamorphmagi are fun,' she admitted. 'But I've encountered one before, so you can't lure me with your poor, innocent godson. And besides, I'd only get in the way at your family reunion. Aren't the Blacks famous for inbreeding?'

'Oi! I'm not pulling at a family reunion!'

'You underestimate yourself, and don't rule anything out. If any of the women are single and look like Sirius, I insist you make a move. And besides, I thought you weren't closely related to them anyway.'

'I'm not. The branch descended from a Squib are mostly my fourth cousins, and the branch who renamed themselves White are fifth cousins, I think.'

'Exactly, you're hardly related at all. Promise me you'll turn on the charm and give at least three witches the Look.'

'I'll make no such promise,' said Harry. 'I'd invite you to my underwear meeting, but Pratt's doesn't allow witches.'

'Don't reject anything out of hand. The only thing more impressive than telling people I'm dating Harry Potter would be telling them I'm dating an underwear model.'

Harry frowned. 'I realise this sounds arrogant, but are you saying that defeating Voldemort is less impressive than being paid to be photographed in Y-fronts?'

'That's exactly what I'm saying. Jodi Schiller and Heidi Binkowski will have a fit.'

'Will I meet them at your wedding?'

'God no! They were my arch-enemies—I'd never invite them to the wedding.'

'But if they were at your wedding, I could get pissed and make a scene about how despondent I am that you won't have me. And with any luck one or both of them would try to console me, and I could reject them. That could be my wedding gift to you.'

'Actually, I'm getting the impression Rocky doesn't want you at the wedding.'

'Because I might get pissed and make a scene?'

'No. But he says it's supposed to be my day, and that you'd draw attention from me.'

'Then what if I don't attend, but I stand vigil outside, and that's what lures Jodi and Heidi?'

'That could work. I'll run it past Rocky—he doesn't like them either.'

Harry got dressed for his lunch at Pratt's. 'Is this all right?' he asked. 'I don't think even Lydia would know what the appropriate outfit is for this kind of meeting.'

'Does it come off easily?'

'I am not stripping today.'

'You'd best get over your shyness,' she said. 'Because everyone in the wizarding world will see those photos if you go through with it.'

He shook his head. 'I can't possibly go through with it. Why am I even going?'

'Because you're head of House Black, and it's your responsibility to rebuild the family fortune by any means necessary. I saw that vault and there were practically tumbleweeds blowing through it. Frankly, I was embarrassed for you.'

She left with the book, promising to return with a Philosopher's Stone if at all possible, and Harry travelled to Pratt's. 'I have a private lunch with Dominic Runnion,' he told the young wizard at the front desk.

'Yes, Mr Potter, right this way.'

Harry wasn't sure what to expect as he was led to the meeting room, but certainly not the silver-haired, grandfatherly-looking wizard who awaited him. _Sweet Merlin, he looks like Dumbledore! _thought Harry. _If his eyes twinkle, I'm out of here._

'Potter, I'm very pleased to meet you. Thank you for coming,' he said, standing and extending his hand. 'I'm Dominic Runnion.'

'It's nice to meet you, Runnion,' said Harry warmly, in an attempt to hide his discomfort. They shook hands and sat down, and Harry ordered lunch before getting to business. 'I confess this is weird for me—I've never considered this kind of endorsement before.'

'No, I imagine not, which is why we're grateful you wrote back.'

'Who is we?' asked Harry.

'My brother Claudius and two of our children. Together we run CDR Enterprises.'

'And do they agree with the plan to hire me?'

'Very much so. My nephew Randall identified the market opportunity—he's partial to Muggle society—and my daughter Estella did extensive research to learn whether the wizarding population is large enough to generate adequate demand.'

'And is it?'

'Yes, although it's not just a question of numbers. At first glance, the population is more than sufficient. But wizards have different habits regarding underwear, and we needed to determine what effect that might have.'

'Habits?' asked Harry uncertainly.

Runnion nodded. 'As you know, there's more than one style of wizarding robes, and not all of them require trousers. A substantial proportion of British wizards prefer not to wear anything down there. The good news is that those are mostly older wizards, and young wizards are more modern. As a rule, they either prefer Muggle clothing or, more recently, what are known as "Harry Potter robes," which include trousers.'

'Yes, but that's Britain. What about Japan?'

Runnion tented his fingers in a way that reminded Harry disturbingly of Dumbledore. 'Japan is interesting,' he said. 'The traditional undergarment, _fundoshi_, has several different forms, ranging from a loincloth to a thong.'

Harry shook his head emphatically. 'I'm not wearing a thong.'

'No, of course not. _Fundoshi _have fallen out of fashion amongst Japanese Muggles, and even wizards tend to wear Western-style boxers or briefs.'

Recalling a lecture from Hermione, Harry asked, 'What about cultural imperialism?'

Runnion looked surprised. 'What about it?'

'Wouldn't this just be another example of the British telling foreigners that their own culture isn't good enough, and that if they want to be civilised they need to act like us?'

'In a sense, yes,' said Runnion. 'But most of the damage was done ages ago, and young Japanese wizards are mad for all things British. We're still working out brand names, but it'll definitely include "London" or "UK." But let me show you the numbers,' he added, opening a notebook. 'Until we received your letter, we hadn't considered starting with the Japanese market, but it actually makes a lot of sense. They have more than twice our population, so we'll have economies of scale to cover the start-up costs.'

Harry tried to make sense of the parchment Runnion showed him. 'What am I looking at?'

'There are three columns,' explained Runnion. 'They represent three sets of projections, ranging from conservative to what we'd consider fairly successful. I haven't included the outcome we're hoping for, which is "wildly successful." This line here represents your share of the profits during the first year, not including your modelling fees, which I've noted here.'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'These can't be accurate!' he exclaimed. 'For just one country?'

'Japan is no ordinary country,' said Runnion. 'It's particularly consumer-oriented and, as in Britain, no one in the wizarding clothing business has exploited this niche.'

'But do you have a foothold in that market? In Britain you're at least in the shops already.'

'That's a good question, and the answer is that we don't currently sell in Japan. But on this line here you'll see the percentage we've already negotiated with a Japanese company, who's willing to partner with us,' he said, indicating another section of the parchment. The number was higher than Harry's share, but not by as high a margin as he would have expected.

'I see you're offering me a large cut,' said Harry. 'How much of this venture depends on my participation?'

'Obviously we're hoping you'll participate, otherwise we wouldn't offer you so much. But if you decide against it, we have several options. One would be to hire a local celebrity. Another is to identify another British or European celebrity, probably from the Quidditch world.' He paused. 'And the third is to hire a look-alike.'

'A look-alike!' exclaimed Harry. 'You mean someone with black hair and green eyes?'

'He wouldn't be a dead ringer for you, and he wouldn't have a scar,' said Runnion. 'But yes.'

Harry sighed. 'I suppose I can't stop you, if that's what you decide.'

'We'd rather not go that route,' said Runnion. 'That's why we're making such a generous offer.'

After a silence, Harry said, 'Even if I said yes to Japan, you could still use a look-alike in your other adverts.'

'No, we would never cheapen your image like that—not after paying so much for it in the first place. In fact, we'd have an incentive to seek action against other brands that try the same tactic.'

'Are you saying that if I appear in your Japanese adverts, you'd sue any other underwear makers who use a look-alike in their adverts?'

'Ideally we wouldn't have to file a lawsuit, but yes, we'd take steps against infringement of that nature.'

Harry thought for a moment. _On the one hand, I'd be opening myself up to ridicule by appearing in Japanese underwear adverts. But on the other hand, they'd stop people from impersonating me in other underwear adverts. And I'd earn a shit-ton of Galleons for just a few days' work._

Remembering a potential problem, he asked, 'What about my Light magic? Would you expect me to glow in the photographs? That could be problematic.'

'Yes, Randall and I discussed that,' said Runnion. 'We would strongly prefer for you to glow, but we'd have to thoroughly scrutinise any photographs to make sure they behaved acceptably.'

Harry sighed and shook his head. 'I don't see how that could possibly work. Photographs behave differently depending on who's looking at them, which means that if an attractive witch were to look at my photo, I can't guarantee I wouldn't do something shocking.'

Furrowing his brow, Runnion asked, 'You don't have a predilection for underage Japanese schoolgirls, do you?'

'Sweet Merlin, that would be a disaster! I mean, no, I don't think so, but I'd hate to find out by accident.' After a silence, he added, 'I should mention that my first major crush was on a fifteen-year old witch of Chinese descent. I was fourteen, so there wasn't anything wrong with it, but I did spend a lot of time, er, thinking about her.'

'How much time?'

Avoiding Runnion's Dumbledore-blue eyes, Harry said, 'I fancied her for more than a year.'

Runnion took a deep breath. 'We can't risk it. Any full-body shots will have to be non-glowing.'

Harry nodded, and neither spoke for a minute. 'You wouldn't consider using a Muggle photograph instead?' asked Harry.

'It's not out of the question. Randall has gathered quite a scrapbook of Muggle adverts, I must say, and some of them have artistic merit. I can certainly discuss it with him.' Looking at Harry, he asked, 'Are you really considering this?'

'Honestly, I don't know. If it were just for me, I wouldn't bother. But I'm under a lot of pressure to restore the Black family fortune, and this is almost certainly less scandalous than how they built it in the first place.'

'I should say so. And as long as you keep up your Pratt's dues, you'll never be a pariah.'

'Yes, about that,' began Harry. 'Just how much are people here willing to forgive?'

'You tell me,' replied Runnion. 'Didn't I see you conversing with Magnus Travers the week before last?'

'Surely I'm not forgiven!'

'No, but you're not a pariah. And if I let slip just how much you're earning, no one here will cast judgment.'

Harry looked at the parchment again. 'I'm sorry, but I'm having trouble believing these numbers. Do Japanese wizards really buy that much underwear?'

'I understand your confusion ... perhaps I should show you some samples.' Runnion placed a previously hidden briefcase onto the table and opened it. 'There are several styles of undergarment, some of which have never been sold in wizarding shops,' he said, removing the tissue paper wrapping. 'It's also a premium product, made from cotton that was magically grown and processed.'

Harry picked up a pair of boxers and felt the fabric. 'These are nice,' he admitted. 'I don't have any complaints about the underwear I bought from Thimble, but I suspect these are nicer.' He resisted the urge to reach into his trousers and compare.

'Yes, they're a superior grade of cotton and have a higher thread count. They're also charmed for extra softness and breathability.'

Looking at the parchment again, Harry said, 'And you think people will be willing to pay more for them?'

'Yes, with the right advertising. Which is why we're willing to offer you a significant share of the profits, since you're really the ideal spokesman. Not only are you instantly recognisable and widely admired, both as a Seeker and for defeating You-Know-Who, but you also have a growing reputation for appreciating the finer things in life.'

Harry was mortified. _Damn you, Harry Toffer! _he thought savagely. 'Even in Japan?'

'Oh yes. You've started a mania for fitted robes there as well as here, and they consider flower arrangement an art form. Several Japanese publications have commented favourably on your appreciation for flowers, which distinguishes you from the stereotypical Englishman, whom they consider uncouth.'

'I'm sorry, my mind is reeling right now. I've come to accept that most of the magical world has heard of me, but I never imagined that Japanese publications noticed when I started wearing flowers.'

'They did indeed, and so did the rest of the wizarding world. Furthermore, everyone knows what a dandy is now, and the public seems to relish your newfound extravagance.'

'My extravagance!' said Harry, aghast. 'Are you sure you want me to represent your brand?'

'Absolutely. High-quality underwear is an affordable luxury, and it can be enjoyed discreetly—which the Japanese appreciate as well.'

'Er, I'm not exactly known for my discretion. Have they commented on my loose morals?'

'Yes, and they find it refreshing you're not as uptight as most Anglo-Saxons—as they perceive us anyway.'

_That's because I'm not,_ thought Harry. 'Well, you've given me a lot to consider. I honestly don't know which way I'm leaning—I need to think on it and talk to several people I trust. May I keep this?' he asked, indicating the parchment.

'Of course. And the samples as well,' said Runnion, handing Harry the small pile.

Harry wrapped the samples back in tissue paper and placed them in his pouch. 'When are you hoping for a decision?' he asked.

'I was prepared for you to sign the contract today, but we can give you up to a fortnight to decide.' He gave Harry a copy of the contract and encouraged him to bring it to Gringotts for review.

'Thank you,' said Harry, and their lunch arrived. He appreciated the silence as they ate, since it gave him time to reflect. _I can't possibly do this, right? _he thought. _Everyone here will find out, and I'll be a laughing stock._

_But it'll prove I'm serious about earning money, which Percy says is essential if I want to promote my agenda in the Wizengamot. _Harry paused to consider the absurdity of appearing in Japanese underwear adverts to advance goblin rights. _Perhaps future generations of British goblins will remember me as a hero, and they'll hang my adverts in their classrooms._

He finally said, 'Do you really think this won't ruin my reputation, or what's left of it? There's a lot I want to accomplish politically, and I'm worried this could hurt my chances.'

Runnion nodded sagely, reminding Harry again of Dumbledore. 'I understand your concern, but frankly, you've faced numerous scandals already, and every time you emerge even stronger. You underestimate the power of your sincerity.'

'I'm not sure I see the connection. What do you mean?'

'Dishonesty more than anything is what brings down politicians—that and hypocrisy, which go hand in hand. But you don't pretend to be something you're not. Everyone knows you're a very ... physical young man, and that you don't let fear stop you from doing what you like. And besides, there's nothing hypocritical about endorsing a product everyone uses, and I promise the photographs will be tasteful. At most, you'll have to explain yourself on the radio when word gets out, and you'll come out the winner as always.'

'You may be right,' said Harry, 'but I still need to think about it.'

Runnion reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder. 'You might be interested in this as well. It shows our projections of what you'd earn in countries other than Japan. North America in particular is a goldmine, but France, Germany, and Scandinavia are also substantial markets.'

'Thanks,' said Harry, who took the folder without opening it. _That was very Slytherin of him—bringing up all those other countries makes Japan sound minor by comparison._

They finished eating and Harry left, promising to decide within a fortnight. The next challenge, he knew, was going to be soliciting advice from Andromeda and Narcissa. He had no idea how they'd react, and he only hoped he'd get to discuss it without Draco present.

He returned home to find Kreacher in a tizzy. 'All the Blacks will be here in an hour!' fretted the elf, who was frantically polishing everything he deemed insufficiently shiny. 'Kreacher needs more flowers!' he cried, filling yet another vase in the entrance hall. 'This isn't enough!'

'Yes it is,' said Harry. 'And the house looks lovely. All the wallpaper is attached, and even Padfoot is on his best behaviour.' Padfoot was looking exceptionally regal, standing like a champion while the Hippogriff held his lead within its beak.

'Master Sirius is not to be trusted,' grumbled Kreacher.

'That's not Sirius, that's Padfoot,' said Harry. 'And he's behaved perfectly ever since his week with the dog trainer. It's the other portraits I'm worried about ... Did you really need to bring them out?'

Kreacher had used mysterious house-elf magic to unearth every portrait in the house, including those from the most distant and fractured guest rooms. The walls were covered with them, and their whispers followed Harry wherever he went.

'Why haven't you changed your name yet?' demanded a haughty-looking wizard wearing an Elizabethan ruff. 'The tapestry says Black, but you still call yourself Potter.'

'I've been waiting to meet the other Blacks first,' said Harry. 'The family should be about more than just me.'

'There's a reason they were disinherited,' said the portrait. 'They weren't worthy of the name.'

'And I am? I'm a half-blood Light wizard with a worldwide reputation for extravagance and sex-addiction.'

'Your parentage is unfortunate,' said the portrait. 'And clearly you'll never practise the Dark arts, corrupted as you are. But your income exceeds your extravagance, and as long as you choose a wife carefully you'll have no lack of heirs. Are you sure you won't reconcile with Miss Travers?'

'Yes, I'm sure,' said Harry firmly.

'But your children would be splendid,' said a witch clothed entirely in black, including a heavy lace veil. 'With her aristocratic features, she'd make up for your unfortunate Muggle physiognomy.'

'Nice try, but I'm the image of my pure-blood father,' said Harry. 'Except for my eyes, which everyone says are my best feature.'

'I've never seen a wizard with eyes that shade of green,' she said disdainfully. 'Won't you consider marrying a Black? That's the best way to ensure continuity.'

'There is no bloody way I'll marry someone who's already a Black! Inbreeding is what got this family into trouble in the first place.'

'You haven't any close relations, so there's no risk of that,' said the veiled witch. 'All you have is a Black strain from a minor branch of the family, so you can safely marry anyone you meet this afternoon.'

'Even someone from the Squib branch?' said Harry.

'That's less than ideal,' admitted the witch, 'but perhaps some of them feature the Blacks—compare them to the portraits.'

Harry looked at her sceptically. _Would it be rude to ask why she's hiding behind a veil? _he wondered.

'You want to know why my face is hidden,' she said.

'Er, yes. I am a bit curious, but of course it's none of my business.'

'It's no secret,' she replied. 'Any of the other portraits will tell you why Annabel Black wears a veil. Just ask.'

Harry turned to the wizard wearing the ruff. 'Excuse me, why does Annabel Black wear a veil?'

'Because she's so beautiful,' said the portrait reverently.

'I'm sorry?'

'Yes, she's exquisite. Impossibly lovely—she was famous throughout Europe.'

'Then why are you hiding?' Harry asked her.

'I was stared at my entire life,' she said contemptuously. 'Gawked at and drooled over by moronic wizards, who were always trying to propose marriage.'

'Trying?'

'They couldn't string the words together. It was incredibly tiresome. I refused to marry anyone and remained at home, waiting for age to take my beauty.'

'But it didn't,' said the wizard. 'She only grew lovelier. Her lips more crimson, her hair more lustrous, her eyes more brilliant.' With a sigh of pleasure, he added, 'We portraits used to just follow her around the house—it was like basking in sunshine.'

'I eventually hid in my room,' she said. 'It was the only place I was safe. And when I choked to death on a bone at age fifty, I thought I was finally free, but my family engaged a portrait painter who worked from Pensieve memories to immortalise me. And so I had my revenge.'

'The veil?'

'Yes. I stole it from another portrait—it's actually a tablecloth. The other portraits have tried to remove it, but my will is too strong. I'll never be seen again.'

Harry thought for a moment. 'But if beauty is such a curse, why do you want me to marry for looks?'

'Ordinary beauty is fine,' she said. 'I'd have done anything to be ordinarily beautiful. But I was preternaturally beautiful, and there was nothing to be done about it.'

'Did you try Polyjuice Potion?'

'Yes, once. But all it did was permanently remove a tiny blemish on my shoulder, which I'd treasured as my sole flaw.'

Harry was desperately curious to see her, but he knew he daren't ask. 'Do you ever remove your veil, when no one's around?'

'Despicable wizard!' she cried. 'You're asking because you have an Invisibility Cloak!'

'No, I wasn't,' protested Harry. _But that's a fantastic idea,_ he thought. 'I'm sorry your beauty was such a curse,' he said sincerely. 'I've been called an aesthete, which means I see beauty where other people mightn't, and it overwhelms me sometimes. So I probably shouldn't look at you, because I might lose myself completely.'

'Aesthetes are the worst,' she said. 'I never understood how people who claim to appreciate beauty could write such ghastly poetry.'

'Master!' interrupted Kreacher, who had appeared with a loud _crack._ 'Where should Kreacher put Mistress's portrait?'

'What?' cried Harry. 'Don't tell me you took Walburga!'

'Yes, Master! It's a Black family reunion!'

'But these are all the people she scorched from the tapestry!' said Harry. 'No one wants to see her.'

'That's not true,' replied Kreacher. 'There was a long queue of people waiting to see Mistress just now.'

'And you took her without asking? Put her back this instant!'

Kreacher's ears drooped. 'But Mistress was so pleased to see Kreacher.'

'Do you miss her?'

'Yes, Master. Mistress scolds Kreacher for serving Master now. It is a fine punishment.'

_Sweet Salazar, _thought Harry, _he misses Walburga's punishments. _'I insist you bring her back to the shop straight away. But I'll talk with Lee and George, and we'll arrange for you to see her regularly. Would you like that?'

'Yes, Master!' chirruped Kreacher, before correcting himself. 'No, Master! That would be a most severe punishment.'

'Then that's your punishment for bringing her back here,' said Harry sternly. 'You're to visit her once a week from now on.'

Kreacher looked like he was about to burst into song. 'Yes, Master! Kreacher will bring Mistress back straight away.' _Crack!_

Harry went down to the sitting room, where he responded to fan mail under the watchful eyes of the portraits. 'Don't they teach penmanship anymore?' said a stern-looking witch.

He ignored her, but then a wizard holding a telescope started reading over his shoulder. 'You're clever to write back to the children,' he said. 'That's how you gain adherents—get them while they're young.'

'I'm not trying to gain adherents!' said Harry. 'I write back to children because they enjoy getting a personal reply.'

'If that's what you tell yourself, who am I to argue?' said the portrait loftily. 'But one day you'll appreciate your own cunning. You're a Black now, you know.'

'Yes, I know,' drawled Harry. 'I have black hair and everything.'

'Harry, are you in there?' called Andromeda.

He hastily put his correspondence away and told her he'd be right up. 'Don't insult my guests,' he warned the portraits. 'They're all that remain of House Black, and if you're hoping for continuity you should at least be polite.'

'Yes, my Lord,' said a surly-looking portrait as Harry went upstairs.

Andromeda frowned when she saw him. 'Is that what you're wearing?'

'Er, what's wrong with it?' he asked, looking down at his daytime-appropriate robes.

'I was hoping you'd dress more formally. Surely you have something else to wear.'

'Yes, of course,' he said, puzzled. 'Where's Teddy?'

She began leading him upstairs. 'He's in Sirius's old room with a babysitter—I didn't want him underfoot all afternoon.' They reached the third floor, and she asked, 'This is your bedroom, right? May I enter or do you have someone in there?'

'Go ahead,' he said. 'The wardrobe is on the right.'

Andromeda did a double take when she saw just how large his bed was, and she entered his wardrobe and began examining all the robes. 'Oh!' she exclaimed. 'I haven't even seen most of these before!'

_What's your point? _thought Harry irritably. He was still dismayed about his growing reputation for extravagance. 'What do you want me to wear?'

'I honestly don't know,' she said sharply. 'On the one hand, a formal outfit would show respect, but you might also look haughty, and I've heard you described that way. But if you dress down, they might assume you're slumming to fit in with all the poor relations.'

'Are they poor?' he asked.

'I don't know, but none of them received an inheritance, unless you count the Squib, who was left in an orphanage with a silver rattle engraved with the family name. That's the only reason he knew his true surname.'

Andromeda was speaking unusually fast, which worried Harry. 'Are you all right?' he asked.

'No, I'm a nervous wreck!' she snapped. 'What if they don't like me?'

'Oh, Andromeda! Why wouldn't they like you?'

'Because no one in the family ever liked me, except for Sirius.'

'That's not true at all,' he said, pulling her into a hug. She stiffened but then relaxed, and when they pulled apart he said, 'Narcissa likes you.'

'Only because there's no one left. But maybe she'll like one of the new relations better.'

'I doubt it. She doesn't exactly warm up to people quickly,' he said, and Andromeda smiled just a little. 'And besides, I'm in the family now, and I think the world of you.'

'Do you?' she asked timidly. 'I mainly just scold you.'

'You're the only person I let scold me. You and Tuttle, my coach. But I'm sure the other Blacks will like you—you're the one who's been writing to them, after all.'

She nodded and straightened her shoulders. 'You're right. Forgive me, Harry—I shouldn't have lost control like that.'

'If you call that losing control, then I'm really not a Black.'

'It's different for wizards,' she said stiffly. 'And don't forget Walburga.' Looking again at his well-stocked wardrobe, she pulled out the dove grey robes and the floral waistcoat. 'These are lovely for daytime. And I'm certain I saw pink roses downstairs.'

She let him alone to change, and then he found her again in the reception hall with Narcissa and Draco. 'I see you're wearing your aristocrat costume,' said Draco. 'It's laughable, of course, but at least I'm not overdressed.'

'Ignore him,' said Narcissa, greeting Harry with an air-kiss. 'You're dressed appropriately for a Head of House.'

Harry welcomed them, drawing only a sneer from Draco. 'Remember it's the weekend, Potter, so everything is your fault.'

'Of course, silly me. Would you like to meet Padfoot?' said Harry, but their attention was drawn to the fireplace, which had flared green.

'Here they come,' announced Draco. 'Try not to shag anyone.'

To Harry's mortification, the first guest plainly heard Draco's comment. 'Oh, I say!' exclaimed the elegant-looking witch who appeared. She stepped quickly from the fireplace and was followed by a wizard roughly the same age as Narcissa and Andromeda. 'I'm Julietta White, and this is my husband Perseus.'

'Yes, of course,' said Andromeda warmly. Turning to the others, she added, 'Perseus was named for his grandfather, who was cast from the family seventy years ago.' Greetings were exchanged, and a flood of guests soon arrived.

Harry did his best to remember names, but it was difficult because so many people resembled one another. _Black hair is clearly a dominant trait,_ he thought, and he felt an unfamiliar but pleasant sense of belonging. Most of the surnames were either Black or White, but other names were represented as well.

_The Whites are definitely more posh_, he observed, but that wasn't surprising, since they were founded by a wizard who was raised a Black. _But the Blacks are more fun,_ he thought, and he suspected Tonks would have got on brilliantly with them. They were the branch descended from a Squib, and they proved Andromeda's 'hybrid vigour' theory, with two Metamorphmagi. One was about forty and the other, his daughter, was fifteen, and they were keen to meet Teddy.

Everyone gathered in the drawing room, where the tapestry was examined in detail. 'Priapus Maximus?' was a common exclamation, but fortunately Andromeda didn't hear the young witch who started laughing over 'Nymphadora Vulpecula.'

'Shh,' said Harry. 'That was Andromeda's daughter, who insisted we all call her Tonks.'

'I feel fortunate my mother refused to name us after constellations,' said the witch, whose name Harry had made a point of learning.

'I'm relieved to hear it,' he said. 'I didn't think there was a constellation called Catherine, but I wasn't the best student.'

'That's an understatement,' said Draco. 'All of our professors gave the Chosen One a free pass—it was an absolute scandal.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Yes, Umbridge in particular let me get away with anything. And fake Professor Moody even cheated for me in the Triwizard Tournament, but I'm not sure if that counts since he was trying to kidnap me.'

'Don't you ever tire of talking about yourself?' sneered Draco.

Catherine laughed and said, 'I thought you two were best mates now!'

'Because Potter risked his life for me? Don't be fooled—he's still a reckless Gryffindor.'

'Untrue!' cried Harry, pulling out an embroidered handkerchief. 'Draco's just upset because he never learnt how to share.'

Catherine smiled saucily, and her grey eyes flitted back and forth between the two of them. _Is it wrong that I'm attracted to someone who looks like a young Walburga? _Harry wondered.

'The more I learn about the Hogwarts houses, the more grateful I am to have attended Binglingham,' she said. 'The founders both attended Hogwarts and were convinced the houses did more harm than good, and I'm inclined to agree. But perhaps you can change my mind.'

'You may be right,' began Harry, but Draco interrupted him. 'The houses weren't the problem—Gryffindors were the problem.'

'How in Merlin's name did you come up with that?'

'Gryffindor is all about war,' said Draco. 'The founder's most famous artefact is a sword.'

'Yeah, because someone had to stop all the insatiably ambitious Slytherins from taking over,' retorted Harry.

'Are you describing yourself?' asked Draco.

'He has the insatiable part covered,' said Catherine with a smirk.

'Light magic!' protested Harry. 'And Draco's no angel.'

'No, I'm just discreet,' replied Draco, looking Harry in the eye.

_Don't mention the prostitutes, _thought Harry. _Got it._

'Will you remain discreet now that you're allowed to leave your manor?' asked Catherine.

'Yes, because I wasn't raised by wolves like our esteemed Head of House.'

'Which house are you talking about?' asked Catherine innocently. 'My name's White.'

'And mine is Malfoy.' Looking at the tapestry, he added, 'And your mother was a Baxter.'

'A disinherited Baxter ... I come from rebellious stock on both sides,' she said, her eyes meeting Draco's.

_Blimey, she fancies Draco and not me! _Harry was embarrassed to realise he'd assumed she wanted him, since so many other witches did. _Well, good for Draco, although I probably shouldn't point out they're third cousins._

'Does that make you a rebel as well?' asked Draco. 'Or does it cancel out and mean you're more traditional?'

'It means I make my own choices,' she replied. 'I decide which rules are worth following. Some are, but others definitely aren't.'

Draco swallowed. 'Potter, don't you have some relations you need to suck up to?'

'No, that was last week,' said Harry, amused. 'But I'll let you alone.'

He found Andromeda, who was talking with Catherine's grandparents, Aloysius and Diantha, as well as several other members of the White family. 'I was just telling Andromeda what a pleasure it is to connect with my father's family at last,' said Aloysius. 'He never regretted renouncing the Dark Arts, as I'm sure you can appreciate, but he treasured family and was sorry to be cast out. That's why he changed his name—he wanted to spare his children the pain of ongoing rejection.'

'I'm sorry I never got to meet him,' said Harry. 'And I'm sure Sirius would have appreciated having another branch of the family as well.'

'I have to confess it was a relief not sharing a surname with him,' said Aloysius. 'At least his appearance changed in Azkaban, so he didn't particularly resemble my sons anymore, but until he was exonerated I had no interest in being connected to him.'

Harry tried to conceal his dismay. 'What about now?' he asked. 'Would any of you consider changing your name to Black?'

Aloysius and Perseus exchanged glances. 'I might ask you the same question,' said the elder wizard.

'That's fair. Yes, I would like to change my name—to Harry Potter-Black, with a hyphen. Sirius was like a father to me, and one of his last requests was that I reinvent the Blacks as a Light family. This seems the best way to start that process.'

'And what about your children?' asked Aloysius.

'Their surname would be Potter-Black to start with, but when they come of age they could choose whichever name they prefer. Hopefully I'll have at least two sons, although there's no law against a daughter passing down the name instead.'

'No, although it would be unusual.' Aloysius glanced at Perseus again and added, 'But getting back to your question, there's no reason for me to change my name. I've had it my entire life, and I don't plan to father more children.'

'Perseus, what about you?' asked Harry. 'The reason I ask is because I don't want the family to be all about me—I'd much rather be one of a crowd.'

'You'll never be one of a crowd,' said Perseus. 'You'll always be the leader, both as Head of House and because you're so famous. But speaking frankly, I'm proud of my surname. Grandfather chose it, and I and his other descendants are doing our best to give it meaning. And unless you die without issue and name one of us Head of House, we'll only be a minor branch of the family. So in answer to your question, I don't intend to change my name.'

His brother—Catherine's father—and a male cousin were listening, and they both nodded agreement. 'I understand completely,' said Harry. 'That's part of why I'm hyphenating rather than changing my name entirely—to remember my father and all the other Potters. And I get why you mightn't want to share a surname with me, given my inability to stay out of the papers.'

'That's true, but we won't deny we're related—not at all,' said Aloysius warmly. 'My father wasn't a Light wizard, but he was proud of his Patronus, and I know he'd appreciate what you're doing. And I hope you'll still consider us part of the family, just as you consider Andromeda and the Malfoys family, even though they have a different surname.'

'Of course,' said Harry. 'And please let me know how I might assist House White.'

Andromeda caught Harry's eye and raised one eyebrow. _Oh dear,_ he thought. _Did I just make a mistake?_

Aloysius and his two sons looked surprised. 'That's very generous of you,' said the patriarch. 'I'm certain we'll take you up on that.'

_Oh bugger, _thought Harry. _I just made a financial commitment, didn't I? I hope they're not offended by Japanese underwear adverts._

Andromeda wrapped up the conversation and deftly took Harry aside. 'That was entirely my fault—I should have warned you. Without realising it, you just offered to sponsor another house.'

'What does that mean exactly?'

'If you'd just offered assistance, that would be one thing, but when you said "House White" you implied you'd ultimately help them get a Wizengamot seat.'

'A Wizengamot seat! How often do they even become available?'

'Maybe once a generation.'

_Blast! I was hoping to establish House Potter! _thought Harry irritably. 'I assume Wizengamot seats don't come cheap.'

'They don't, and the Whites mightn't be able to afford it the next time one is available. But when they are ready, you'll be expected to advocate for House White, because seat transfers require Wizengamot approval.'

'So I won't have to pay for it?'

'You'll be expected to make a significant contribution, but nowhere near the entire cost.'

'That's not so bad then,' said Harry, relieved.

'No, but you also invited them to approach you with business propositions, which you'll be expected to support as long as they're sound. And they'll want introductions as well—expect to hear from their children when they're looking for jobs.'

'Right.' He looked across the room at the senior members of the Black family. 'Do I need to offer the same to the other branch?'

'They won't know to ask for it,' said Andromeda. 'And there's no need for a Wizengamot seat, since they have the same surname. But if you want to be fair, you should offer your influence and support.'

'What have you learnt about them?' he asked quietly. 'I wasn't familiar with the school they attended, and they didn't talk about their careers. But they're fun, and I think Sirius would have adored them.'

'Yes, and Dora too,' she said. 'But they're not high-status—I'm sure Narcissa is appalled, although she can't deny the family resemblance. And they seem well-educated enough, just not well-connected.'

Harry nodded. 'I should offer to help them. And frankly, that's more appealing than helping the Whites, who seem to be doing all right on their own.'

'I'm not so sure,' said Andromeda. 'They're genteel, certainly, but they mightn't be wealthy. I suppose you'll find out.'

Together they approached some of the members of the Black family. 'I hope you're right about not being able to overfeed Padfoot,' said a grey-haired witch named Margaret. 'My grandchildren are tossing in everything he could possibly eat, and a lot he probably won't.'

Chuckling, Harry asked, 'Is food piling up in front of him?'

'No, because Hippogriffs will apparently eat anything.' Looking around, she said, 'The kids are thrilled to be here, and I am as well. I can't tell you what it's like to have gone my whole life feeling like an outsider in the wizarding world, but then to learn that my grandfather, a Muggle orphan, belonged to such an illustrious family.'

'Didn't you make the connection when you and your brothers all turned out magical?' asked Harry.

'No, because we didn't attend Hogwarts, and it's a common name. Furthermore, we hadn't seen pictures of the Blacks except for your godfather's prison photo, and apparently he no longer looked himself.'

'What about Bellatrix?' asked Andromeda. 'She wasn't as badly ravaged by Azkaban as Sirius was.'

'That's true, and several people noticed the resemblance, but we didn't know her maiden name. It hardly matters, though, since the family wouldn't have acknowledged us until now anyway.'

'I hope you'll consider yourselves part of the family now,' said Harry warmly.

'I do, even though my surname hasn't been Black since I was married.' She turned to her brother and asked, 'How do you feel about it, Elliott?'

'I'm still gobsmacked,' he admitted. 'Not just to be related to an old family, but to Harry Potter. We owe you our lives, after all.'

'I'm just glad you made it through the war,' said Harry, and he listened to their stories about how they'd survived as Muggle-borns. Eventually, with Andromeda's prompting, he asked, 'Are you willing to join the family more formally?'

'I'm not sure what you mean,' said Elliott's son Marvin. 'I thought that's what this reunion was about.'

'It is,' began Harry, 'but I'm also hoping you'll consider yourselves just as much a part of the family as Andromeda and I are.'

'Does that mean you're changing your name?' asked Elliott cautiously.

'With your leave, yes.'

'With my leave?' he exclaimed. 'You're Head of House!'

'Yes, but it affects you, particularly if you publicly announce you're part of the family.'

Elliott chuckled. 'I'm not sure what that would entail, other than hanging a photograph of us together at my sandwich shop. Although I wouldn't complain if you came round occasionally—it'd be good for business.'

'I'd be glad to,' said Harry. 'But there's more to it than that. Perhaps Andromeda can explain.'

A fair number of the adult Blacks listened as Andromeda explained what Harry's patronage would mean. 'You'd really make introductions for us?' exclaimed a young witch. 'I'm working in a shop now, but my dream is to become a Healer. My N.E.W.T.s were good enough, but they only take so many apprentices every year, and Wipperham School of Magic is pretty far down the list.'

'I can't make any promises, but I can certainly try. My ultimate goal, though, is to make wizarding Britain more egalitarian across the board, and not just for my relations.'

'Of course, and I agree one hundred percent,' said the witch, whose name was Lisa. 'My classmates are all in the same boat.'

'If you and your friends have suggestions about how to improve things, I'm all ears. Please, spread the word.'

'You really aren't haughty at all,' she said. 'In spite of those robes.'

'Andromeda made me wear them!' he said, and everyone laughed. 'But seriously, will you mind if I change my name? I want to change it to Harry Potter-Black.'

'The damage is done,' said Margaret lightheartedly. 'Ever since the Lord Black story came out, people have been asking if we're related to you, and then we received your letter in August. And yes, you're a bit notorious, but it's a good conversation-starter if nothing else.'

'My mates think it's brilliant we're related,' said Lisa. 'Although they keep making jokes about inbreeding and how you'll try to seduce me this afternoon.'

She was pretty, and under different circumstances Harry might have been interested. But he liked the idea of having cousins his own age and didn't want to ruin it, so he decided to play along. Giving her an exaggerated version of the Look, he asked, 'Would you like a private tour of the house?' Deepening his voice, he added, 'I could show you Walburga's Wonderland.'

Everyone laughed uproariously, and she turned him down, but Harry was undeterred. 'It's been hours since my girlfriend left,' he pleaded, 'and I won't see her again until Tuesday.'

'Too bad, I'm not keen on cousins. But if you throw another party I'll invite all my mates.'

'Perfect, I'll seduce them instead,' he joked. 'And let me know what kind of Quidditch player you prefer.'

The reunion started drawing to a close, and although the two branches hadn't mixed as much as Harry would have liked, there had at least been some interaction. Word of Harry's offer travelled fast among the Whites, and everyone thanked him profusely, which made him nervous. _I should probably look at the North America projections,_ he thought.

After everyone left, Narcissa and Andromeda evaluated how things had gone. 'Harry, I should have warned you not to offer help lightly, or to refer to them as House White,' said Narcissa. 'Helping the Blacks is one thing—clearly they need it—but the Whites are another matter.'

'So you don't object to my helping the Blacks?'

'No, it's an absolute scandal for you to have poor relations like that. They're rather common, unfortunately, but perhaps in a generation or two they'll clean up.'

'I liked them, and I hope they won't change too much,' said Harry. 'But with any luck I can improve their prospects.'

'They'll benefit from introductions more than anything,' said Narcissa. 'But now that you've endorsed House White, they'll want a Wizengamot seat when the chance arises.'

'Yes, Andromeda explained it to me.'

'They mightn't be ready anytime soon, but they'll want your help building a fortune and alliances,' she warned him. 'Perseus White may have rejected the Dark Arts, but clearly he didn't reject any of the other family traits, including ambition. And his descendants are similar.'

Harry wondered where Draco was. He'd talked with Catherine for a long while, but she left with her parents and he was still absent.

'Speaking of finances,' began Harry, 'I received a unique business proposition, and I can't decide whether to accept it.' The sisters looked at him expectantly, and he took a deep breath. 'I've been asked to endorse and model high-quality men's undergarments.'

Both witches gasped. 'In England?' asked Andromeda hoarsely.

'No, I told them Britain is out of the question. I was going to turn it down entirely, but my teammates suggested I ask about Japan.' He pulled out the first parchment Runnion had given him and showed them his estimated earnings.

'In a single year?' exclaimed Narcissa, and Harry nodded. 'And you'd appear in their advertisements only wearing ... their products?'

'Yes, but not glowing, and it probably wouldn't be a wizarding photograph.'

Andromeda exhaled. 'That's one disaster averted. But do magazines really run adverts like that?'

'Muggle magazines do,' said Harry. 'And if you go to Piccadilly Circus you'll see underwear adverts on posters and billboards.'

'Billboards!' said Narcissa, horrified. 'They want to display you like that on billboards?'

'Not in Britain,' he said. 'But yes, in Japan.'

'People here will find out,' said Andromeda. 'Within weeks, probably.'

'Then why only Japan?' asked Narcissa. 'Aren't they willing to sell anywhere else?'

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'Are you saying I should do it?'

'Not in Britain,' said Narcissa firmly. 'But surely you'd make a fortune in North America.'

'I haven't looked at the numbers yet, but you're probably right.' He opened the folder Runnion had given him and they looked at it together.

'Sweet Circe,' gasped Andromeda. 'And this is for one year?'

'Yes,' replied Harry, astonished. 'What do you think?'

Andromeda was still staring at the parchment. 'It'll hardly be the biggest scandal you've caused. And not only will you earn a significant amount of gold, but you'll have more to invest. Have you identified any good ventures yet?'

'One or two,' he said, without providing details. 'But shall I show you the kind of photographs we're talking about?'

'You mean you've taken them already?' exclaimed Narcissa.

'No, from a Muggle magazine. I have one in the sitting room.'

Both witches nodded, and Harry went downstairs to fetch it. To his dismay, Draco was just walking in when he returned.

'The pure-bloods weren't bad,' announced Draco, but then he noticed the parchment his mother and aunt were still studying. 'What's that?'

Harry sighed heavily. 'Andromeda, would you explain?'

She told Draco the essentials, and he grew livid. 'You can't possibly do it!' he cried.

'Those numbers are annual,' said Narcissa.

'I don't care! Nobody wants to see that!'

'Apparently they do,' replied Andromeda. 'Are those the photos, Harry?'

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, and Harry said, 'They're not pictures of me, you prat. These are Muggle underwear adverts.' He opened the magazine to a Calvin Klein advert he'd dog-eared.

'Oh!' exclaimed the sisters simultaneously. 'Do you really look like that?' asked Narcissa, staring first at the advert and then at Harry's clothed abdomen.

'My muscles aren't as big, but yeah,' said Harry. 'Remember I had a year of Auror training before joining the Cannons.'

Draco was frowning. 'Only Muggles look like that,' he scoffed. 'All that manual labour.'

'My teammates all look like that,' said Harry. 'And what about Crabbe and Goyle?'

'They were anomalies,' said Draco, whose frown had advanced into a scowl.

Harry showed them several more adverts. 'They're not unlike ancient Greek statues,' said Narcissa. 'The Parkinsons have several like that in their garden.'

'Yes, Pansy used to talk about them incessantly,' grumbled Draco. 'Are you really suggesting Potter do this?'

'He offered to sponsor both branches of the family this afternoon,' she said. 'What choice does he have, particularly if he won't engage in normal business practices?'

_Oh bugger, I need to tell them,_ thought Harry. 'Er, that's not strictly true,' he said.

'What?!' cried Draco. 'You said you wouldn't!'

'I had an idea. And I mentioned it to a couple of people I trust, and they're eager to make it happen.'

'You need my help,' insisted Draco. 'I know exactly who to talk to, in every department.'

Harry shook his head emphatically. 'My friends won't trust you. I'm sure they won't agree to it.'

'Then they're idiots, and you shouldn't do business with them,' said Draco. 'Let me guess—they've never done this sort of thing before.'

'No, but they're well-placed.'

'It doesn't matter,' said Narcissa. 'You need someone with the right contacts. There are traps within the Ministry—people with a reputation for accepting bribes but who are actually informants. This is why first-timers never succeed.'

'Ugh, what do you think, Andromeda?'

She looked embarrassed. 'I never would have encouraged you to do this, based on your earlier refusals, but it's definitely the easiest way to earn Galleons. I assume there's nothing harmful or exploitative about your venture?'

'No, not at all. It would be beneficial, actually.' _Please don't ask for the details,_ he implored silently.

'You need Draco's help,' said Andromeda. 'The Ministry is chock-full of informants, and they receive a bonus for catching would-be bribers.' She paled and asked, 'Will you be directly involved?'

'No, I'll just be an investor, and I'm to negotiate with Gringotts, since we'll need their help.'

'They can still trace it back to you if your friend is caught,' said Andromeda. 'And Bode won't hesitate to throw the book at you. You need Draco.'

Harry sighed. 'I'll talk to my partners.' Looking down at the open magazine, he asked, 'What should I do about the adverts?'

'Do them,' said Andromeda. 'You can weather the scandal, and it'll distract from your other venture.'

'Are you sure it won't hurt my chances of advancing legislation?'

'Not if you let slip how much you're earning. No one will laugh at those numbers.'

'Not just Japan then?' asked Harry.

'No, North America as well,' said Narcissa. 'And once it comes out you can do the Continent. Just not Britain.'

Harry looked questioningly at Draco, who scowled again. 'Yes, do it. But let me into your business venture, or else I'll take the lead in mocking you when your photos reach Britain.'

'You'll mock me regardless,' replied Harry, but he relaxed knowing the decision was made.

The sisters continued talking, and although Harry didn't ask Draco how things had gone with Catherine, he could tell the other wizard was pleased. _Is she an 'Everything but' pure-blood?_ Harry wondered. _And does she have matrimonial designs on Draco?_ Harry hoped she did, not least because it would explain why she hadn't been interested in him.

_I've really turned into an insufferable prat,_ thought Harry with amusement. _No wonder Draco and I get on so well._


	89. Chapter 89

Hermione had considered her nineteenth birthday unsurpassable: the war was over, she and Ron were a couple at last, and her friends all celebrated together. But one year on, she could see how dissatisfactory it had been. She'd celebrated it at Hogwarts, which meant her parents weren't there, and she didn't even ring them. Harry, who was plainly unhappy in the Auror training programme, clung desperately to Ginny, and even though Ron and Hermione had privacy in her Head Girl quarters, they barely touched each other that weekend. And of course they were all still grieving.

_What a difference a year makes,_ she thought with pleasure. The party at Grimmauld Place was far more enjoyable than her Hogwarts gathering had been, in part because their grief had eased, and also because the venue hadn't hosted a deadly battle just months earlier. Harry's hospitality was overwhelming, with Kreacher's cooking and the abundance of flowers, and both he and Ginny seemed much happier apart. New friends were present, including Annie, Ginny and Harry's new partners, and several other people she'd met through Ryan.

Afterwards, she and Ryan returned to his flat and made much better use of their privacy than she and Ron had done a year earlier, and the next morning he served her tea and pastries in bed. She didn't ring her parents, but only because she was to see them that afternoon, following brunch with Walter and Lucinda. And then they'd drive together to visit her grandparents, whom she'd once despaired of seeing again.

But the biggest difference between Hermione's nineteenth and twentieth birthdays had nothing to do with her improved circumstances. She couldn't explain it, but something remarkable had happened in July during that strange conversation with Luna, just hours after her disastrous meeting at Gringotts. She could still remember how it felt when her mind expanded and she caught a glimpse of her own true nature. _I don't exist, _she realised, and it was unbelievably freeing. _I'm just an elaboration, and it's perfect._

Hermione could no longer see what she'd glimpsed that evening—she felt like Hermione again, and not like a mere elaboration. But it had changed her somehow, and things that had once upset her no longer seemed to matter. Not everything, of course—she still got rattled by any number of things. But they weren't as sticky as they once were, and she was able to let go of irritation much more easily.

It was ironic, she realised, that her breakthrough wouldn't have happened if Ron hadn't broken her heart days earlier. _I thought I was the clever one, but Ron was clearly a genius for ending things._ In hindsight, she suspected their lack of sexual chemistry had heavily influenced his decision, and she was embarrassed not to have noticed his frustration. _Poor Ron, _she thought. _I hope he doesn't take it personally that I can't keep my hands off Ryan in public._

And now she had Light magic. It was hard to control, but at least it was easier to hide than Harry's—she'd worked out a secondary hair charm that concealed it completely. But she preferred not to hide it, since Ryan loved seeing her hair spark, and so did she.

Hermione had been startled, however, by the strong resonance she and Harry had twice experienced the night before. At first it was sweet, when he started glowing in response to her sparks, but when she uncharmed her hair and he blurted out that he loved her, she felt a surge of panic from Ryan. She quickly reassured him, and fortunately Harry turned his attention to Alex, whom he clearly adored. But Hermione was unpleasantly reminded of Ron's old jealousy.

Ryan even asked if he should be jealous, but she wholeheartedly reassured him that she was his, and there was no further mention of Harry that night. And she didn't even want Harry—he was far too immature, and his roving eye would be too great a challenge. Ryan, by contrast, was as solid as the earth, and completely devoted to her. And even though she and Ryan were both famous, they attracted far less attention than Harry, who could scarcely go out in public anymore.

She'd read a lot about Light magic and learnt that glowing was the best-known manifestation, but it wasn't necessarily the most common. _Poor Harry, _she thought. _Naturally he gets the version that attracts the most attention._ Then again, he seemed to enjoy attention more than he used to, probably because it was no longer all about Voldemort. But she worried that people were starting to forget the Harry she knew, who was selflessly devoted to protecting others, even at the cost of his life.

Ryan seemed to have forgotten, at least in part. He constantly praised Hermione as the driving force behind Voldemort's defeat—the queen to Harry's knight. He also considered Harry immature, which Hermione couldn't really dispute. But he liked Harry and was hugely grateful for his service during the war, although he expressed longing for the story to be retold with Hermione at the centre.

'Ryan, that's complete nonsense,' she told him. 'I can't share the details, since they're classified, but Harry was definitely the central figure. For heaven's sake, there was a prophecy about him!'

'There might have been a prophecy about you,' he argued. 'It would explain why you were sent to Hogwarts.'

Hermione had never told Ryan what Alistair had said, that she and Harry were deeply connected by numerous life debts, spanning multiple lifetimes. And she didn't believe it herself, since she had no proof for past or future lives. But she couldn't deny they were strongly linked, and that mysterious forces may indeed have drawn them together.

'Did you put the second charm on your hair?' asked Ryan as they prepared to visit his parents.

'Yes, I'm completely spark-proof. In fact, I'm out of my mind with Light magic right now but you can't see it.'

'Really?' he asked, approaching her.

'No, I was joking. But I'll kiss you anyway,' she said, standing on her tiptoes until he lifted her into his arms. 'Did I mention this is the best birthday ever?'

'Yes, more than once,' he said, setting her down. They Apparated to his parents' house, where they were greeted by Walter, Lucinda, and an extremely boisterous bloodhound.

'How is Lucifer today?' asked Hermione.

'Full of energy as always, but that's puppyhood for you,' said Lucinda. 'Fortunately he's inclined to obey me, so I'm starting to work on commands.'

'Will it just be the usual commands, or do you have special ones in mind?'

'I'm teaching him the usual ones first, but then I'll teach him diagnostic skills, which I ultimately want to convey wordlessly.'

'Is that possible with a dog?' exclaimed Hermione.

'Yes, of course—it's just a variant on Legilimency. In fact it's easier with dogs, since their minds are more simple than ours.'

'Are you proficient in the mind arts?'

'She was born proficient in the mind arts,' declared Walter.

'That's not true at all,' said Lucinda. 'My mind is a constant jumble of thoughts and ideas, but I've learnt to subdue it when necessary.'

'Would you be willing to teach me Occlumency?' asked Hermione. 'I'm getting nowhere with Harry's instructions, which even he doesn't follow.'

'Yes, I'd be glad to. And besides, I suspect our minds are wired similarly.'

She and Ryan went straight to her parents' house after brunch, and a _'Happy Birthday'_ banner hung from the ceiling across from the fireplace. 'Is that you, Hermione?' came her father's voice, and he poked his head into the lounge.

'You're wearing a party hat!' exclaimed Hermione with delight.

Her mother emerged and was also wearing a hat. 'Happy birthday, sweetheart!' she said, and Hermione hugged them both.

'I know the hats are a bit juvenile,' said Daniel, 'but we haven't celebrated a birthday with you since you turned eleven.'

'No, this is perfect,' said Hermione, deeply touched. 'Why in heaven's name didn't I come see you last year? Minerva would have permitted it.'

'You said you were too busy as Head Girl,' Emily reminded her.

'I suppose I was, but I could have stolen away for half an hour. I'm so sorry, Mum.'

Emily hugged her again. 'It's all right. We were still getting used to everything last year.'

They dropped the subject, but Hermione felt a familiar wave of relief. Over the last few months, she and her parents had revisited numerous memories of estrangement, and even though Hermione was always ashamed of her past behaviour, it felt good to set things right.

Daniel and Emily thrust wrapped presents at her, which she opened with childlike excitement. 'Did Ryan help you with these?' she asked suspiciously.

'Of course not,' said Daniel. 'I rang Waterstone's last week and ordered _Advanced Topics in Light Spellcrafting _and _The Light Potioneer._ And your mother bought the Atlantean pine resin from our dental distributor. But don't tell Nan, because she's still upset we only gave her domestic pine resin last Christmas.'

'You're joking, right?'

'Yes,' he replied. 'That was your other gift—an unfunny dad joke.'

She laughed and hugged him again before bringing the presents up to her room. Ryan stayed downstairs but his poster was on her wall, and she smiled when he flew past in bright orange robes. On the shelf underneath was Harry's figurine, who waved at her, and she patted his untidy hair with her fingertip.

They drove together to her grandparents' house, and although it was disappointing not to sit next to Ryan, who was too tall for the back seat, she was happy to have her mother by her side. 'Have you told Nan and Grandpa anything else about Ryan?'

'No,' replied Emily. 'I wasn't certain about his cover story so I only repeated what you already told them. But of course I've spoken highly of him, and Nan in particular wants to know his life story.'

'Ryan, are you prepared?' asked Daniel.

'Yes, I know it as well as my actual life story,' said Ryan. 'If I ever experience a blow to the head I could easily mix them up.'

'Fortunately there's little risk of head injury in your line of work,' said Daniel.

'At a Cambridge think tank? Certainly not.'

Hermione grew uneasy as they exited the motorway and approached her grandparents' house. She hadn't seen them since August, although she rang them regularly, but her aunt, uncle, and cousins would be there as well. Nan had insisted on having everyone together for Hermione's birthday, _'since there was no telling where everyone would be at Christmas.'_

'Mum, when did you last see the twins?' asked Hermione.

'At Easter,' said Emily, and Hermione felt another stab of shame. She'd stayed at Hogwarts over the Easter holidays, ostensibly to prepare for her N.E.W.T.s, but also to avoid her family. Emily stroked her hand, perhaps sensing her thoughts, and Hermione closed her eyes and tried to forgive herself.

Hermione had never got on well with her cousins, even when they were little. Albert and Jenny were a year older, and even though they were clever they weren't nearly as bookish as she was. They also had better social skills than Hermione, and she always felt awkward and friendless around them.

She discreetly reinforced her hair charm before getting out of the car, and Ryan held her hand as they walked to the front door. 'Don't worry,' he said, 'I promise not to embarrass you.'

'You're the least of my worries. But sit next to me so I can lean close when necessary.'

Everyone else had arrived, and Hermione could see her cousins looking out the window at them. She squeezed Ryan's hand tighter and took a deep breath when her mother knocked on the door. 'Come in, come in,' said her grandfather warmly. 'Happy birthday, Hermione!'

She hugged him and said, 'Thank you, Grandpa. I'm so happy to see you.'

'Is that Ryan?' called her grandmother. 'Come here, we're all in the lounge.'

They entered, and there was a round of greetings, hugs, and birthday wishes. 'You're all grown up!' exclaimed Hermione's aunt. 'And so pretty!'

'Thanks,' mumbled Hermione, blushing.

'Why are you surprised? I showed you her picture,' said Nan, indicating a framed photo Emily had sent.

'She thought it was Photoshopped,' said Jenny. 'But apparently it wasn't. Well done, Hermione—you look great!'

'Thanks, so do you. I can't believe it's been so long!'

Everyone sat down, and to Hermione's disappointment her aunt and cousins took the sofa, which meant she and Ryan were on separate chairs. Nan began interrogating him, which went smoothly, and Hermione was proud of her boyfriend's false identity. _The irony is that it's less impressive than the real story,_ she thought, and she felt guilty knowing Ron wouldn't have done nearly as well.

'I must say, you look more like an Olympic athlete than a research analyst,' said Nan. 'Do you play a sport?'

'All of them,' he said. 'But mostly football nowadays, and some lacrosse.'

Hermione's uncle asked Ryan which club he supported, which unleashed a heated discussion amongst the men on the relative merits of Arsenal and Manchester United. _Ron never would have survived this conversation, _she thought with amusement.

'So where were you all these years?' asked Jenny. 'I know you were at school in Scotland, but why didn't you ever come home at holidays?'

Hermione had prepared her answer. 'Being home was hard for me,' she said. 'I didn't fit in well at primary school, but at boarding school I had close friends for the first time. I came home for Christmas the first year, but I missed my friends terribly, so Mum and Dad let me stay at school most years after that. And then some years I had exams, so I stayed during the Easter hols as well.'

'But what about summers?' asked her aunt. 'By the time you were sixteen, you hardly spent more than a fortnight with your parents.'

'It wasn't their fault,' said Hermione sadly, 'but I'd come to associate home with how lonely I was in primary school. It was all right seeing Mum and Dad, but I had no friends in Hampstead and didn't fancy running into the kids who used to bully me. Also, my school friends and I had a lot of hobbies and projects we liked to work on during our breaks.'

'What kind of projects?' asked Jenny.

'Things that sound silly now, like writing adventure stories and such. We've moved past that and are a good deal more normal now, but it was very engrossing at the time.'

'But then your parents moved away,' persisted Jenny. 'Did you stay in England because of your friends?'

Hermione closed her eyes, and another wave of guilt and sadness overtook her. 'I'd withdrawn from the family by then, and when I wasn't in school I stayed with friends. My best friend is an orphan and he inherited a house from his godfather, so I stayed there a lot.'

'Were you a couple? Is that why you stayed with him?'

Hermione couldn't help chuckling. 'Everyone asks me that, but he's always been like a brother to me.' She looked at Jenny and said, 'Imagine if you didn't have a twin, but you felt as close to a friend as you do with Albert. Wouldn't you stay with them rather than your parents, if you had to choose?'

'I would, but why did you have to choose? I still don't understand why your parents moved away.'

Hermione's father interrupted. 'We've finished talking about football, and Ryan seems keen to join your conversation.'

'I was telling them about Harry and Ron,' said Hermione, 'and how we spent so much time together growing up.'

'Have you met them?' Hermione's aunt asked Ryan.

'Yes, Harry and I work together—that's how Hermione and I met. But I don't know Ron very well.'

'Ron and I dated for a year,' explained Hermione. 'But I want to hear more about you,' she said to her cousins, and the conversation returned to safer ground.

Her cousins couldn't hide their surprise she wasn't at a more prestigious college. 'I always expected you to wind up at Kings College, or maybe Trinity,' said Albert. 'But then you dropped off the radar ... What happened?'

Hermione repeated what she'd told Jenny and her aunt, but Albert was more persistent. 'That still doesn't explain why you're not in a top-tier academic programme. Did you blow your A-levels or something?'

'Albert, have you ever tried thinking before opening your mouth?' scolded Jenny.

'It's a fair question!' he argued. 'Hermione was brainier than the two of us put together. I figured she'd grow up to write encyclopaedias or something, but she's at some college I've never heard of.'

'She did fine, all things considered,' said Nan stiffly.

'Are you blaming my parents?' asked Hermione. 'I'm the one who made poor decisions.'

'You were an adolescent. A girl needs her parents at home, and not in Australia.'

'Please stop blaming them,' said Hermione, who felt something akin to Light magic, only with an edge of panic.

'They let you down,' continued Nan. 'You should have come here. Your grandfather and I would have taken you in.'

'I didn't want to come here,' said Hermione, fighting off tears. "I had other things going on.'

Ryan looked helplessly at her, and he wasn't even close enough to hold her hand. 'Hermione's done wonderfully—you have no idea.'

'No, I haven't done wonderfully,' said Hermione. 'I lied to my parents for years and cut all of you from my life. They left because of me, because I broke their hearts.'

'That's not true and you know it,' said her mother.

'Emily, you broke her heart!' scolded Nan. 'You let your daughter down. She was being bullied and you sent her clear off to Scotland. Of course you were going to lose her—it's only a miracle you got her back.'

'It's a miracle she's alive!' cried Emily. 'If you had any idea what she's been through!'

'Mum, no!'

'I have to tell her,' said Emily. 'We'll decide what to do later.'

'Tell me what?' asked Nan.

Emily took a deep breath. 'Hermione's a witch. An actual magical witch.' She turned to Hermione and said, 'Show them.'

'Mum, I'm not allowed.'

'Show them!'

Sighing, Hermione pulled out her wand and looked at Ryan. 'What should I show them?'

'Transfigure the footstool.'

Hermione's relations stared dumbly as she transfigured the footstool into large and adorable rodent.

'Is that a capybara?' asked Daniel.

'Yes,' said Hermione. 'It's cute, isn't it?'

'How did you do that?' exclaimed Jenny.

'Magic,' said Ryan, pulling out his wand. 'I'm magical too. I don't actually work for a think tank—I play a professional sport called Quidditch.'

'Quidditch?' said Albert. 'I've never heard of it.'

'That's because it's hidden from Muggles—non-magical people. It's played on brooms.'

'Brooms like flying brooms?' asked Hermione's grandfather, and Ryan nodded. 'Can I see it?'

Ryan shook his head sadly. 'You're not allowed to know. We're going to have to erase your memories.'

'What!' cried several of them at once. 'You can't erase our memories!' said Nan.

'It's the law,' explained Ryan. 'Wizarding law.'

'How will they know?' asked Jenny.

'That's a good question,' said Hermione. 'Ryan, how would they know?'

'There's a trace,' began Ryan, but Nan interrupted.

'Is that rodent going to soil the carpet?' she asked nervously.

'No, it's still a footstool. As long as you don't feed it anything, it'll be fine. But I can change it back if you like.'

'Not yet,' said Jenny, who was petting it. 'It's so cute! But what's a trace?'

'The Ministry of Magic applies a trace to certain non-magical individuals deemed likely to reveal the existence of magic, but who can't be Obliviated for practical reasons.'

Hermione looked up. 'That explains why a pair of Obliviators turned up when Harry's cousin Dudley told some girl about magic.'

'Your friend Harry is magical too?' asked Jenny.

'All my friends are magical,' she admitted. 'That's what my school was for.'

'So you don't attend uni?' asked Albert. 'Or is Tufton College a secret magical school?'

'I don't attend Tufton College, or university at all.'

'Then how do you get a job? Or don't you need a job, because you have hot and cold running capybaras?'

Ryan, Hermione, and her parents chuckled. 'I have a job, with the Ministry of Magic. I'm a researcher in the legal department, and my goal is to craft legislation.'

'Now that's the Hermione I remember!' cried Albert. 'You were probably first in your class!'

'She was, and Head Girl,' said Ryan proudly, 'but that's only the start.'

'No, you'll just upset them,' said Hermione, but Emily shook her head.

'They need to know how special you are. And also why we moved to Australia.'

'Oh Mum, you're right! Not for me, but so Nan stops blaming you. Nan, it was all my fault.'

'No it wasn't,' said Daniel. 'There was a war. A wizarding war, and Hermione and her friends were at the centre of it. She wasn't writing adventure stories—she was living them.'

'Horror stories,' muttered Emily.

'What do you mean?' asked Grandpa. 'Horror stories?'

Hermione and her parents all looked at Ryan for some reason, so he explained. 'Hermione's friend Harry—who's my teammate, by the way—was orphaned because an evil wizard killed his parents.'

'An evil wizard!' blurted Albert. 'You're not joking, are you?'

'I'm really not. He used Dark magic to transform himself into something that was no longer human, and he tried to take over Britain. And Hermione's the reason he didn't succeed.'

'Harry's the reason,' she said. 'Ron and I just helped him.'

Her grandfather was aghast. 'They sent three children to fight an evil, inhuman wizard?'

Daniel and Emily nodded, but Hermione shook her head. 'There was a prophecy—only Harry could stop him. And there were adults helping us, but a lot of them died.'

'And you let her do this?' cried Nan to Hermione's parents. 'Why didn't you take her to Australia with you?'

'Because I erased their memories,' said Hermione. 'They didn't know any of it—I started lying to them when I was twelve. I was afraid they'd make me leave Hogwarts and stop being magical.'

'Hogwarts? Was that your school?' asked her aunt, and Hermione nodded. 'Couldn't you just have attended another school?'

'It's a long story,' said Ryan. 'But the short answer is no.'

'You erased your parents' memories?' asked Grandpa. 'Did you restore them somehow?'

Emily explained their move to Australia, putting all the blame on Voldemort and none on Hermione. 'At first we were upset—very upset—but then we learnt what happened to Ryan's family.'

Ryan told everyone about his father, and how Death Eaters had killed his grandparents. 'Hermione feels terrible about manipulating her parents like that, and all of you by extension, but I only wish I'd done the same.'

'Are we in danger now?' asked Jenny, looking up from the capybara.

'No, not at all,' said Hermione. 'No one in the magical world knew Mum's maiden name, and I added protections to your houses just to be safe. Although I could give you amulets if you like.'

'Hell yeah!' cried Albert. 'Would it be a pentagram or something?'

Hermione and Ryan laughed. 'Only if you wanted,' she replied.

'But you fought in a war?' persisted Grandpa. 'Were you hurt?'

Hermione glanced at her parents. 'Yes. I have scars, but otherwise I'm fully recovered.'

'What Hermione still hasn't told you is that she's a hero in the wizarding world,' said Ryan. 'She was awarded the equivalent of the Victoria Cross, and she's world-famous.'

'I'm not world-famous!'

'Harry is, and everyone knows you helped him,' said Ryan.

'My granddaughter is world-famous, and I didn't even know it?' said Nan weakly.

'We couldn't tell you,' said Emily. 'Daniel and I are so proud of her, but we had to lie.'

Albert snorted and said, 'Jenny and I thought you were a drug addict or something. But instead you're Alexander the Great.'

'I didn't conquer anyone!'

'Right, then Winston Churchill,' replied Albert. 'But still!'

'What else can you do?' asked Jenny, indicating Hermione's wand.

'What can't she do?' said Emily, and Hermione gave a wide-ranging demonstration.

'And show them how you can travel,' insisted Daniel.

'What? Right here?'

'Yes! Just go from one end of the room to the other.'

'It's noisy,' she warned them, before Apparating across the lounge.

'Oh my god!' exclaimed her aunt. 'How far can you go?'

'Hundreds of miles,' she replied.

'In an instant?'

'Nearly, yeah.'

'Then why don't you visit more!' cried Nan, and everyone laughed.

'I can now,' said Hermione. 'Unless ...' She turned to Ryan.

'Unless what?' said her grandfather. 'Do you need to make us forget?'

'No!' wailed her cousins. 'You can't do that, or else we'll think you're a drug addict again,' said Albert.

Ryan frowned. 'You mustn't tell anyone,' he warned them. 'Not a peep, not even if you've been drinking.'

'Especially if you've been drinking,' said Hermione.

They swore they wouldn't, but Ryan continued. 'And you can't tell your future spouse or children. None of my non-magical relations know, except my father.'

'But we can talk amongst ourselves, right?' asked Jenny, and Hermione nodded. 'As long as Albert knows, I'll be fine.'

'It's a good thing I came,' he admitted. 'I put up a fight, because term starts tomorrow and I'm missing a party.'

'Er, we can get you there faster if you like,' offered Ryan. 'It won't be pleasant, but it'll be quick.'

'Yes, please!'

Ryan took over answering questions, giving Hermione the opportunity to adjust to her new reality. _My family knows. They all know. _

'Is that why you're both so good-looking?' blurted Jenny.

'Because of magic?' exclaimed Hermione. 'No, although the school matron used magic to fix my teeth. And I control my hair using a charm.'

'That's a relief—I'm already jealous enough. But where do you think it came from? Is there anyone magical in your family, Uncle Daniel?'

'Not that I'm aware of,' he replied. 'But Hermione says magic can go dormant for generations, and then spring up again out of nowhere.'

Hermione's grandfather furrowed his brow. 'What do you mean, go dormant?'

Ryan explained about Squibs, Muggle-borns, and accidental magic. 'So your house wasn't haunted!' cried Nan.

'You thought our house was haunted?' said Emily.

'I never told you, and I half-forgot, but I was looking after Hermione when she was about three, and I found the dictionary on the floor next to her. It was too heavy for her, of course, and I didn't want her to damage it, so I put it back on the bookcase, out of reach. I left the room, and when I came back it was on the floor next to her again. This happened several times, and finally I watched and saw the book float right down to her.' Shaking her head in disbelief, she added, 'I can't believe I forgot about that, but it scared the daylights out of me.'

Ryan looked at Hermione in awe. 'You Summoned a dictionary when you were three? Could you even read then?'

Hermione nodded, and Nan said, 'Mind you, this was no ordinary dictionary—it was the Compact OED, with the magnifying glass.'

Her grandfather was still lost in thought. 'So there might have been a Squib in the family?' he asked.

'On one of our sides, yes,' said Daniel. 'Although I suspect it's on Emily's side, since she tolerates magical transport better than I do.'

'My mum's father,' began Grandpa. 'He used to tell me stories. I thought he learnt them on his travels—he was in the Royal Navy—but perhaps he was a Squib.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'What do you know about his family?'

'Not much. Mum didn't have any relations on that side that I knew of. Granddad joined the navy when he was twelve or so, and that was his career.'

'What kind of stories did he tell?'

'They were marvellous! Stories about dragons and unicorns, and a sport played on broomsticks.' His head jerked towards Ryan. 'That's your sport! What's it called again?'

'Quidditch.'

He shook his head. 'That wasn't the name he used, but I remember there were iron balls that slammed into the players, and a little golden ball with wings.'

Ryan and Hermione were both nodding enthusiastically. 'That's Quidditch all right,' he said.

Hermione was almost afraid to ask the next question. 'What was your grandfather's name?'

His expression fond, Grandpa said, 'Senior Lieutenant Rufus Goyle.'

'Goyle!' cried Hermione in horror.

'Do you know any Goyles?' asked Ryan.

Hermione was too flabbergasted to speak. _I'm related to Goyle! _she thought with disgust. A small part of her brain quickly calculated that she and Gregory could be no more than fourth cousins, which wasn't so bad. _But still, Goyle!_

'Yes,' she admitted. 'I had a classmate named Gregory Goyle. And he was horrid—he's in Azkaban now for performing Unforgivables. And his father was a Death Eater.'

Ryan inhaled sharply before explaining to Hermione's family what that meant. 'But that's just one branch of the family. Mr Barnes, what was your grandfather like?'

Hermione's grandfather looked alarmed both by her reaction and what Ryan had said. 'He was a big fellow,' he began. 'Not the best looking, truth be told, and not as clever as my grandmum. But he had a heart of gold, and we all loved him.'

She relaxed slightly. 'Until that last part, you described my classmate perfectly. But a heart of gold? Really?'

'Oh yes. And he was brave as could be—that's probably the only reason he made senior lieutenant, which wasn't a high rank. And the only reason he was an officer at all was because his family was well-fixed, and they pulled a string or two to get him started. But after that he was on his own, and he earned the respect of his superiors.'

'I wonder if "pulling a string or two" meant they magically Confunded someone to take him on,' mused Hermione.

'Perhaps,' said her grandfather. 'But you can't fool people for long—not on a ship. I'll never forget his funeral, when his mates told stories about him. They said, "Your granddad was never going to be Admiral, or even Commander. But everyone wanted him on their crew, because he was a hard worker and a good friend.'

Hermione smiled. 'Thank you for telling me about him,' she said sincerely. 'I'll admit that Greg Goyle is probably the last person I wanted to be related to, but your grandfather sounds lovely.'

They talked more about magic, and Nan asked, 'What about medicine? You said they fixed your teeth magically—can they fix other things?'

Hermione and Ryan exchanged glances. 'Yes,' he said. 'Not everything, but a lot of things.' He told them about Lucinda and asked whether they'd be willing to be test subjects.

'Could she fix my knee?' asked Nan.

'Yes, but you can't tell a soul,' cautioned Hermione. 'And don't let your doctors take new x-rays, or they might start asking questions.'

Before leaving, Ryan added safety charms to both cars, and Hermione turned the capybara back into a footstool.

'Thanks for trusting us and not erasing our memories,' said her uncle. 'And even though it's awful to find out you fought a war, it's also a relief to know you weren't as lost as we feared.'

Emily was helping her mother carry the tea trays back to the kitchen, and when they returned several minutes later they looked like they'd been crying. Albert and Jenny said goodbye, and after consulting the guide to UK Apparition points, Ryan and Hermione took them to their respective universities.

Jenny looked green after they arrived. 'Oh my god, that was horrible,' she exclaimed. 'I must not have the magic genes your mum got.'

'Actually, you did pretty well. I haven't even tried Apparating my parents—they've only travelled by Floo, which Ryan says is slightly easier for Muggles.'

'So maybe I'll have a magical child after all?' mused Jenny.

'Anything's possible,' said Hermione warmly.

They walked together to Jenny's residence hall. 'I'm sorry we weren't closer as children,' said Jenny. 'I suppose Albert and I weren't very nice to you.'

'I wasn't easy to interact with. And I was terribly envious of you, because you had a built-in friend and protector.'

'Albert? Yes, I suppose so. But you got your revenge—not that you wanted it.'

'Being a witch, you mean?'

Jenny nodded. 'It's probably good I didn't find out until now, because I would have been jealous.'

'It's a decidedly mixed blessing,' said Hermione. 'On the one hand, magic is fascinating and incredibly cool. But on the other hand, every wizard is armed with a deadly weapon. I toned down the war stories this afternoon, to keep from upsetting Nan and Grandpa, but I nearly died dozens of times, and I've lost way too many friends.' She paused. 'And I was tortured.'

Jenny's jaw dropped. 'You said you had scars, but torture?'

'Yeah. A lot of pure-blood wizards hate Muggle-borns like me. That's a big part of what the war was about.'

'Oh, Hermione! I'm so sorry. And you had to worry about your parents on top of everything.'

Hermione nodded. 'It was hard. Really hard. But things are so much better now ... I still can't believe it sometimes.'

'Like how you were awarded the Victoria Cross?'

'That's the least of it. Wizarding society is completely different now, and I scarcely recognise my friend Harry—his life has changed so much.'

'And that's good?'

'It's beyond good. He still has problems, but nothing like before. They're just ordinary problems, like dealing with family and finding the right girl—except for the part where he's the most famous wizard in the world.'

'And he's your best mate?' exclaimed Jenny.

'Yeah. Except for Ryan, I suppose.'

'Oh my god, Ryan! If he ever gets tired of broomsticks he could be a model! And he's madly in love with you, in case you hadn't noticed.'

'I had noticed,' said Hermione, smiling. 'And it's mutual.'

'I'm so happy for you,' said Jenny. 'We really were worried about you all those years. And with good reason, it turns out.'

They walked the rest of the way to her residence hall, and Jenny introduced Hermione to a few of her mates before saying goodbye. 'I promise not to tell a soul,' she assured Hermione. 'And I'm sure Albert and I will develop some kind of secret code. We always wanted a private twin language, and now we finally have an excuse.'

Hermione discreetly Apparated back to her grandparents' house, where Ryan and her parents were waiting. 'You really don't need to ride home with us,' said Emily.

'No, I want to,' said Hermione.

Her grandparents were reluctant to let go when they hugged her goodbye. 'Oh, my precious Hermione,' said Nan. 'I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for you.'

'You wouldn't have been safe,' said Hermione. 'Believe me, it was better this way.'

Ryan promised not only to get them in touch with his mother, but also to provide Cannons tickets. 'My whole life I've wanted to see it,' admitted Hermione's grandfather. 'I never dared hope it was real.'

Hermione was glad to sit next to her mum on the ride home. 'How are you doing?' she asked. 'It looks like you and Nan had a moment together.'

Emily closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 'My mind is still reeling. I suppose yours is as well.'

'It is, but remember I've been through this once before.'

'Perhaps, but I seem to recall being rather hard on you.'

'I deserved it,' said Hermione. 'And it was just years of deferred scolding, if you think about it.'

'That's one way to look at it. Of course now she'll ring me every night with more questions, and you'll be there once a week doing household charms and replacing lost buttons.' With a chuckle, she added, 'When you were off with Jenny, Nan kept saying, _"If only I'd kept the pieces of the Wedgwood teapot when I broke it."'_

'I'll be glad to visit more often,' said Hermione sincerely, leaning against her mum. 'I definitely want to see them at Christmas. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think Jenny and I might be friends after this. Albert too.'

'He wants to see a Quidditch match,' said Ryan. 'And he actually tolerated Apparition pretty well—better than my dad, I think.'

'Maybe he got the gene,' mused Hermione. Thinking about her cousins, she recalled how she'd envied their relationship as a child. _I'd have done anything to have a twin brother to protect me from bullies,_ she thought. _And he'd have taught me how to have fun and not be so serious all the time, and I wouldn't have been so lonely._

A realisation dawned. _No wonder I latched onto Harry as a brother! _He'd come to rescue her from the troll, after Ron had insulted her. Not only that, but he turned Ron into an ally instead of an antagonist. _Harry is my Albert!_

It was like a puzzle piece sliding into place. _Of course our Light magic resonates: we're like reunited twins! _She recalled Alistair's assertion that they were deeply linked, and it made perfect sense. _Harry's not just like my brother—he is my brother._

She couldn't wait to tell Ryan. _He needn't worry I'll fall in love with Harry— just as Jenny's boyfriend needn't to worry she'll fall in love with Albert._ Peace overtook her, and she knew that if her hair hadn't been charmed, it would have begun sparking.


	90. Chapter 90

Gemma ran alongside Harry on Thursday morning. 'I hope you can live with yourself, Toffer,' she declared.

'I'm sorry, what?'

'After the way you led us on for the past three days. That was just cruel.'

Harry was puzzled. 'Are you talking about lunch?'

'Yes. Three brilliant days of completely over-the-top house-elf cookery, followed by ... nothing.'

'That's because you and the other Cannons ate everything.'

'But Kreacher can just make more!' she argued. 'He was mortified, serving leftovers day after day, and now you're denying him the opportunity to cook something fresh.'

'To cook you something fresh, more like,' retorted Harry. 'And I can't believe you're complaining, after getting three free meals. Frankly, you sound a bit entitled.'

'You're calling me entitled? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! Or the Potter, rather.'

'Potter-Black,' he corrected. 'I'm making an announcement soon.'

'Shouldn't you wait until everyone buys your glowing merchandise first, so they'll have to shell out for the Potter-Black version as well?'

'No, because I'm going to pay to have any Potter merchandise altered.'

'Very sneaky, Black. You'll look all generous and noble, but nobody's going to take you up on it. Either they'll want the old-school Potter merchandise, because it's retro, or they'll want both. You'll make a fortune, same as you always do.'

Harry scowled. 'You're making me sound greedy.'

'No, that's what's so funny about it. You're not even slightly greedy, from what I can tell, but money just seems to find you. Like cats gathering around a tin of tuna.'

'That's a really weird metaphor. But I'm worried I am becoming greedy, or at least over-ambitious. Not for my own sake necessarily, but because I'm now on the hook for two extended families.'

'It's not greedy if it's for someone else,' said Gemma. 'At least that's what you can tell yourself when you're shivering in your Y-fronts during an endless photo shoot. Have they scheduled it yet?'

'No, but it'll have to be on a Sunday, which I'm not thrilled about.'

'Promise me you'll lecture your spoilt offspring about how you worked seven days a week at their age.' Sniggering, she added, 'Be sure to say you worked your fingers to the bone.'

'Oi! My fingers won't be involved! And my offspring won't be spoilt.'

'Yes they will, Toffer. The only reason you weren't spoilt is because your parents died and you were stuck with shitty relations. But now you've returned to form.'

'Is it too late to hire Stuart as reserve chaser?' he grumbled.

'Yes. And you wanted someone who could take the piss, which is exactly what I'm doing.'

Frowning, Harry asked, 'Am I really spoilt? I grew up with an extremely spoilt cousin, and I don't think I'm like him. Or am I?'

'No, I'm just hassling you,' said Gemma. 'Unless you throw tantrums, of course.'

'Er, I occasionally deliver tirades.'

'Not the same,' she said. 'But be careful—between Glare-y Potter and your extravagance, you'll get a reputation.'

'Glare-y Potter-Black,' he mumbled.

During the flying drills that morning, Harry used the Firebolt Ultra, even though it was still misbehaving. Davina had suggested he test whether it could help him through the accidental magic phase. 'If it only acts up when your Light magic is out of balance, you can use that feedback to smooth things out,' she said.

_It might be working, _he thought. The broom still behaved erratically, but several times that morning he aligned with the anticipated kick, and it flowed through his entire body and not just through the broom.

'Randolph Spudmore is crazy not to talk to you,' said Suresh. 'Based on your facial expression, that broom has a secondary market that has nothing to do with flying.'

'It's probably a good thing I can't use it in a match,' said Harry blissfully. 'But how in Merlin's name did the Dark Arts get the sexy reputation?'

'Vampires,' declared Janet. 'And pure-blood decorating.'

'Pure-blood decorating is brilliant,' sighed Harry. 'And less than seven hours until I see Alex.'

'She'll be cross. You promised you'd ask someone else out, but you aren't even trying to meet other women.'

'Is this because I wouldn't go out with Darren last night?'

'Yes,' said Janet. 'It was an ideal pulling opportunity, but you just stayed home moping about Alex.'

'I was replying to fan mail! And besides, I refuse to judge a wet T-shirt contest.'

'You could have worn your Wizengamot robes. And the hat!'

'Even I have my limits,' said Harry. 'I'd sooner model underwear than do that.'

'Fine, but you're letting Alex down.'

Before lunch, Harry showered and returned alone to Grimmauld Place. 'Kreacher, you should serve in the dining room,' he said. 'Although it's tempting to give Draco a heart attack by serving down here.'

'Kreacher could never serve Master Draco in the kitchen,' announced the elf.

'Why is that worse than serving me in the kitchen, or Lydia for that matter?'

'Master Draco is a proper Black, unlike Master,' said Kreacher simply.

_Was that an insult? _Harry wondered. 'I'm the last person to call myself a proper Black, but why don't you think I am?'

'Because Master is a blood traitor and dallies with witches.'

Harry looked carefully at Kreacher. 'Are you all right? You don't normally talk like this.'

'Kreacher is a very bad elf,' he said forlornly. 'Kreacher has brought shame upon his lineage by serving such an improper wizard.'

'Did I do something wrong?' asked Harry, bewildered, before remembering what day it was. 'You visited Walburga, didn't you!'

'Yes, Master. Kreacher spent half an hour with Mistress this morning.'

'Did she scold you for serving me?'

He nodded. 'Mistress said Kreacher is the worst of all elves and should be cast out for serving the half-blood abomination who has brought ignominy and ruin upon House Black.'

Harry knelt down to face the elf directly. 'I'm sorry—it's not fair that you don't get a choice about serving me. But you're allowed to ask for clothes if that's what you want.'

Kreacher went rigid with terror. 'No, Master! Please, not clothes!'

'No, only if you want them, which it sounds like you don't,' he said, and Kreacher relaxed slightly. 'But are you unhappy serving me?'

Looking down, Kreacher muttered something Harry couldn't hear.

'I'm sorry, what was that?' asked Harry.

'Kreacher is very happy serving Master,' mumbled the elf.

'So what's the problem? It doesn't matter what Walburga thinks. For Merlin's sake, she's just a portrait, and not even sentient!'

'It wasn't just Mistress,' he said. 'Some of the other portraits also scolded Kreacher.'

'They scolded me too,' said Harry. 'That's why I had you return them to the guest rooms. But that was very unkind of them to scold you, when you don't have a choice about serving me. Whereas I've freely chosen to be a promiscuous blood traitor.'

'Kreacher would freely serve Master,' insisted the elf. 'Master entertains frequently and likes flowers and takes breakfast in bed with witches. And Master is a Light wizard.'

Harry blinked. 'Does that affect you?'

'Yes, Master. Kreacher feels when Master is glowing.'

_He feels it through the house-elf bond,_ thought Harry in amazement. 'Have I ever glowed around you?'

'No, Master. But Kreacher feels it.'

Harry's Light magic arose, starting with glowing hands but then spreading through his body. 'What do you feel?' he asked gently.

'Kreacher feels happy,' began the elf, and the tufts of hair in his ears began to glow. 'And grateful. Even though Light magic is an abomination.'

'Is that what Walburga and the other portraits told you?'

'Yes, Master.'

Harry looked Kreacher in the eye. 'They're mistaken. Light magic is brilliant, and I'm thrilled you can experience it too.'

'Kreacher's former masters practised Dark magic, not Light,' he said sadly.

'Oh my god, did you feel that too?'

'Yes, Master. It made Kreacher powerful.'

'You're already powerful,' said Harry. 'All Dark magic did was concentrate your power around a negative emotion, like anger or contempt.' He allowed his Light magic to flow more strongly, specifically so the elf would feel it.

The tips of Kreacher's ears lit up like tiny bulbs, and Harry asked, 'How does Light magic affect your power?'

Kreacher reached and pressed his hand to Harry's shoulder, and a dense shield of blue light flashed around Harry's body. 'Kreacher will protect Master,' he declared.

Harry felt the protection, which resonated with his own magic. 'Thank you, Kreacher,' he said sincerely. 'I'm very lucky to have you.'

They both turned when the kitchen fireplace flared green. 'Harry, are you down here?' called George. 'Oh, there you are—whoa!'

Harry—and Kreacher's ears—were still glowing, although the blue shield had disappeared. 'It's all right,' said Harry. 'Kreacher and I were just having a moment.' He silently thanked the elf again and rose to greet George.

'Am I the first to arrive?' asked George. 'Or are Percy and Malfoy already upstairs?'

'You're the first, and thanks for agreeing to this.'

'I haven't agreed to anything, but I'm willing to hear him out. Are you sure you trust him?'

'Oddly, yes,' replied Harry, and Percy was next to arrive.

'Oh!' exclaimed Percy. 'Do you plan to glow the whole time?'

'I still don't have much control, but no,' said Harry, starting to dim. 'Thanks for coming.'

'I was intrigued,' said Percy. 'But don't tell Dad I'm considering doing business with a Malfoy.'

They walked upstairs, since Draco was due to arrive through the formal fireplace. 'What does he know so far about the condom scheme?' asked George.

'It's not a scheme,' insisted Percy. 'It's a business venture aimed at solving a well-documented problem.'

'Well-documented?' asked Harry. 'Did you research it?'

'I went to a Muggle library and researched it on the internet,' he replied. 'It would appear to be a widespread concern, based on the number of products available, not to mention surgical procedures.'

'Surgical procedures!' gasped George. 'With a knife?'

Harry's gut clenched in horror, and Percy said, 'I'm afraid so. Which tells you just how motivated our market sector is.'

Green flames appeared in the reception hall fireplace, and an elegantly-clad Draco stepped out. He smirked when he saw Harry's companions. 'I knew you'd be here,' he said, indicating George, 'but I hadn't expected this one. What's your name again?'

'Percy Weasley.'

Draco feigned surprise. 'Weasley? Of the Burrow Weasleys? I never would have guessed from your appearance. Were you adopted, perhaps?'

'Could you at least try not to be an arsehole for ten minutes?' said Harry. 'I thought you wanted to join our venture.'

'I'm not worried,' replied Draco. 'Now that I know who's involved, I'm more convinced than ever you need my help.'

'We'll see,' said Percy. 'I've done my homework.'

'Yes, although not in the Restricted Section,' said Draco. 'But let's get to business—we mustn't make the league's best Seeker late for practice.'

They entered the dining room and sat at one end of the long table. Turning to Draco, Percy said, 'Harry says you want to invest even though you don't know any of the details. Would you care to explain why?'

'Several reasons,' replied Draco. 'One: I'm keen to rebuild the family fortune. Two: Muggles vastly outnumber wizards, which means that's where the money is. Three: Thanks to his appalling upbringing, Potter understands Muggles better than I ever will. And four: Everything Potter touches turns to gold, and I want in.'

'I make no promises about number four,' said Harry, but Draco waved his hand dismissively.

'You don't do anything by halves,' he argued. 'Everything in your life is either triumph or tragedy, and in this case I'm the deciding factor. If I'm involved, the Ministry side will go smoothly and we'll make millions. And if I'm not involved, you'll wind up in Azkaban and your life will be over.'

Harry glanced at Percy. 'How confident are you about your Ministry contacts?' he asked.

'Very,' said Percy, but his voice cracked. 'Very,' he repeated.

'Show me their names,' said Draco. 'You have a list, right?'

Percy pulled out a blank parchment, and after performing a charm on it, a long list of names appeared. 'See for yourself.'

Draco scanned the list. Smirking, he said, 'Potter, do you know if your florist will deliver to Azkaban?'

'He's bluffing,' said George. 'He just wants to steal our idea and bring it to market himself.'

'No he doesn't,' said Harry. _I don't know why I trust him, _he thought, _but I do. _'Draco, how different is Percy's list to yours?'

Draco looked again at the list. 'More than half the names are different, and I know for certain you have at least two informants. You'll never succeed without my help.

Addressing George and Percy, Harry said, 'I won't proceed without Draco. You can have the idea if you want, but I'm out unless he's in.'

The brothers glanced at each other, and Percy said, 'We need a chain of authority. I won't have Malfoy second-guessing all of our decisions.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Do I look like I want to micro-manage a business?'

'Yes,' said George. 'And you'll insult us every step of the way.'

'But that's the best part!' Draco protested. 'Tell them, Potter.'

'It's true,' said Harry. 'Insulting Draco is endlessly entertaining. But George is right about the micro-managing. Your role needs to be limited to Ministry interactions.'

'They're called bribes,' said Draco wryly. 'And yes, that's my area of expertise. Father had me observe his business meetings at the Manor from behind a charmed wall, ever since I was fourteen.'

Harry turned again to the Weasleys. 'Say what you will about Lucius Malfoy, he was an expert in bribery.'

'I also know how not to overpay,' added Draco. 'That's crucial, you know.'

Percy and George appeared to be wavering. 'We'll have to work out a valuation,' said Percy. 'You're not going to bully us into giving you unfair terms.'

'I should hope not,' said Draco. 'If I can bully you, you'll be helpless against the goblins.' In a less confident tone, he asked, 'So am I in? You need me, and I really want to be a part of it.'

Percy took a deep breath. 'You've convinced me. George, what about you?'

'Yes, all right. But remember I have an arsenal of prank items, and I'm not afraid to use them.'

Everyone relaxed. 'So what's the product?' asked Draco, trying to sound nonchalant.

'It was Harry's idea,' began George, pulling a pouch from his robes, but Harry stopped him from opening it.

'Er, maybe we should describe it before trotting out the visual aids.'

'And miss out on his reaction?' said George. 'No, this is the best part—trust me.' He pulled a long radish from the pouch, and Harry could see that George had sculpted the end into a rounded bell shape.

Draco's face fell. 'Custom-grown phallic vegetables?' he said disgustedly. 'That's your big idea?'

'No,' said George. 'This is just for demonstration purposes.' He pulled out a measuring tape and handed it to Draco. 'Would you be so kind as to measure both the length and the circumference of the radish?'

Frowning, Draco measured the radish and jotted down the numbers on a spare parchment.

With well-practised showmanship, George dramatically pulled a small envelope from his pouch. Holding it up, he said, 'I suspect you've never seen one of these before, but Harry is well-versed in their use. Lord Black, if you'll do the honours.'

Harry scowled but took the envelope, and Draco's jaw dropped when he saw the contents. 'Is that a condom?' he asked, astonished. 'Oh my god, it increases the size, doesn't it? Won't they notice?'

'It's just within the bounds of plausible deniability,' said George proudly. 'Go on, Harry, put it on ... the radish,' he hastened to add. 'Put it on the radish.'

Harry placed the condom on the tip of the radish and unrolled it. _Thank Merlin it's not gloopy, _he thought, supposing George would add that to the final product. 'Go ahead and measure it,' he said, handing the latex-covered radish to Draco.

Draco measured it and took down the numbers. 'You've added half an inch around and three-quarters of an inch in length!' he exclaimed. 'Will people really think that's possible without magic?'

'Remember Muggles don't believe in magic, so they won't jump to that conclusion,' said Percy. 'Furthermore, I read a lot of Muggle sales literature for products claiming to address the problem, and technical claptrap is the norm. I've already drafted copy about a patented process that combines latex rubber with an all-natural, hypo-allergenic herbal additive that stimulates blood flow, creating an enhanced romantic experience.'

'So not only will customers believe it,' said George, 'they'll take the credit.'

'Will it feel normal?' asked Draco, squeezing the radish.

'Yes, for both participants,' said George. 'We've been testing a similar product for wizards, only much bigger, and all our volunteers have been delighted.'

'I find that hard to believe,' said Draco, who was pulling at the base of the condom and frowning.

'Muggles are used to condoms,' Harry assured him. 'It's not the same as without, but it's still sex and well worth having.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'I should have known any idea you'd come up with would be sex-related. You really are a maniac, Potter.'

'How was the weather in France last night?' retorted Harry. 'Or didn't you go outside?'

Ignoring Harry, Draco said, 'But will people want to be seen buying a product like this? Buying condoms must be embarrassing enough, but I can't even imagine buying one that's touted for enhancing size.'

'That's the real trick,' replied Percy. 'We won't advertise it that way. It'll be word of mouth.'

Draco sniffed derisively. 'And how to you expect to make that happen? You probably don't know any Muggles.'

'I don't, but I spoke to a colleague who works primarily on maintaining secrecy, and he says the internet is a powerful tool both for combatting rumours and also for spreading them. He told me about a pair of Squibs who started a consultancy specifically devoted to the task, and I made enquiries and learnt they'll take other jobs as well. They're reputedly very flexible about the kinds of clients they'll accept.'

'Give me their names,' said Draco. 'I can find out whether they're trustworthy.' Percy nodded, and Draco asked, 'Have you got a product name yet?'

'No, but that's a low priority,' said Percy. 'The marketing and distribution will be handled by a goblin-controlled company, and they have the means of production as well.'

'Then why do they even need us?' scoffed Draco. 'Can't they just take the idea and run?'

'Yes, but they won't, because of Harry,' said George triumphantly. 'My brother Bill works at Gringotts and says rumours are rampant that Harry is going to push for new treaties. So they'll bend over backwards to keep him happy.'

'Are you serious?' exclaimed Harry. 'I haven't even announced that.'

'They all know from your meeting with Ragnok in August, when you snubbed the Ministry,' replied George.

'It's true,' said Percy. 'Everyone knows how pro-goblin you are, and that you're willing to advocate for them.'

'Unbelievable,' said Harry, shaking his head slowly. 'Three months ago I wasn't even allowed inside Gringotts.'

'And now they're your biggest fans,' said Draco with grudging admiration. 'At this rate, I'm not sure you even need Slytherin.'

Kreacher had served lunch by this point, and everyone had begun eating. 'Radish, anyone?' said George, holding it up.

Draco turned to Percy. 'Do you have numbers?'

'Yes, although they're mostly guesses until we get more solid data from the goblins.'

'Highly educated guesses,' said George. 'Percy got his hands on the numbers for two other condom manufacturers.'

'Do I even want to know how you managed that?' asked Harry uncertainly.

'I'm delighted to hear it,' said Draco. 'I knew George was ambitious, and you seem to be as well. I was worried your father might have influenced you too much.'

'This is our father's influence,' said George dryly. 'Just not the way he intended.'

'Yes, I suppose my father never intended for me to partner with Harry Potter and two Weasleys. But we know how well their generation turned out.' Draco and Percy arranged to meet in private to discuss their plans for the Ministry, and the group agreed to bring a proposal to Gringotts the following week.

After lunch, Harry returned to Quidditch practice. 'How was lunch?' he asked Gemma.

'All right. But there was this awful part at the end where the waitress gave us a slip of paper and demanded money in return. I nearly threw up.'

'I'm so sorry,' he said with mock sincerity. 'And you'll have to pay for lunch tomorrow as well, when we go to my cousin's sandwich shop.'

'Why won't it be free?' she asked petulantly. 'Aren't we doing them a favour just by turning up?'

'We are, but my goal is to increase their profits—not leech off them.'

'I can't believe how hypocritical you are, when you personally leech off two families.'

'No I don't,' said Harry. 'I'll admit the free house is nice, and same with the elf, but otherwise I live off my salary, and have done since the war ended.'

'Your massive salary,' she scoffed. 'Prince Charles could live off that.'

'Oi! We're not even over the pitch right now!'

'Who ever said I can't taunt you off the pitch?'

'No one, I guess.' He checked his battered pocket watch to see when practice would start.

'That's surprisingly dingy,' said Gemma. 'Surely your jeweller could supply something better.'

'I don't have a jeweller! And what's with all the Harry Toffer abuse? You were at it this morning as well.'

'No more than usual,' she replied, but he just looked at her. 'All right, maybe a little. Lara just showed me my sales figures from last weekend.'

'Weren't they good?' asked Harry, surprised. Gemma had new merchandise, including a figurine and several photos featuring her and Harry.

'They were good,' she admitted. 'Really good.'

'Congratulations! But why are you upset?'

'In one weekend I earned nearly as much as I used to make in a fortnight of waitressing. And that was at a posh restaurant!'

Harry wasn't sure how to reply, so he waited for her to continue. But she didn't, and he finally said, 'So?'

'So?! You really are clueless, Toffer!'

_What did I do wrong? _he wondered. 'I'm sorry, I don't see the problem.'

'The problem, Toffer, is that tomorrow I'll receive the biggest pay cheque of my life, except for when I caught the Snitch, and it probably isn't a tenth of what yours is!'

Harry's face fell, and he felt a wave of the shame he used to feel around Ron. 'I'm sorry, Gemma. I wish the system were more fair.'

'I'm not jealous,' she snapped, but then Tuttle appeared. 'Forget I said anything,' grumbled Gemma.

Tuttle's arrival ended the conversation, and Owen soon set them to practice. Harry worked with Bruce on flying, and Gemma honed her spotting with Owen.

'We finally heard from Spudmore over lunch,' said Bruce.

'Are you serious? What did he say?'

'He says he'll talk. But you shouldn't expect to use the broom in a match anytime soon.'

Harry sighed. 'Does that mean he used illegal charms?'

'I doubt it,' replied Bruce. 'But it probably means he used Light magic.'

'You'd think he'd be more cheerful,' muttered Harry. 'When will we talk?'

'Next Tuesday afternoon. He'll come here to observe.'

'I should feel excited to meet another Light wizard, assuming that's what he is, but I mostly feel dread. Although it'll be good to get some answers.'

Bruce sent Harry through an obstacle course that afternoon and taught him increasingly subtle tweaks to improve his flying. 'You still won't beat Gemma, but you'll be faster than Aidan Kiely,' he said, referring to Harry's next opponent. 'Honestly, you'll beat anyone who's not on a Firebolt Ultra, which is nearly every starter in the league.'

'Nearly?'

'Routledge switched to the Firebolt after Hobbs beat him.'

'Bugger—when do I play him next?'

'November the twentieth. Last game of the season.'

'I suppose it doesn't matter whether we win,' said Harry. 'It's not as if we'll get the cup.'

'No, but Puddlemere will be in contention. That match could decide it.'

Harry frowned. 'So if I win, the cup will go to either Montrose or the Harpies. But if I lose, we go out on a sour note.'

'No one will mind. And at this rate you'll give the fans a winning season.'

'I guess, but it's still a lousy way to end it.'

Harry continued brooding about his conversation with Gemma. He was used to her insulting him, but it was unlike her not to speak her mind. _I can't help that my merchandise is more popular, _he thought glumly. He'd hoped that appearing in new photos with his teammates would even things out, but apparently not.

During the practice match Tuttle switched up the Beaters, which meant Gary and Suresh took aim at Harry whenever he and Gemma were apart. _Perhaps they're trying to bring us together, so she can tell me what's wrong,_ he mused.

Unfortunately, she rebuffed his attempts to fly near her. 'Stop tracking me, Toffer. I know it's hard, but you need to learn to spot the Snitch on your own.'

'I wanted a break from the Bludgers,' he replied. 'And also to get you to tell me what I did wrong.'

'It's not always about you, believe it or not,' she snapped, before flying off.

He took the hint and flew on his own, and the opposing Beaters never let up. Fortunately, he did an exceptional job avoiding Bludgers. _Tuttle might actually praise me, _he thought after a remarkably deft evasive manoeuvre. And as much as he longed to fly on the Firebolt Ultra, he had to admire the Silver Arrow's handling.

Gemma shot into a steep dive, which Harry instantly recognised as a feint. So instead of following her, he impulsively launched towards the opposing Chasers, who were threatening to score. But he lost sight of his own Beaters, who were taking aim at the Chasers, and he realised too late that he'd flown into a Bludger's path. _Oh shit! _he thought, and his perceptions slowed down. There was no time to swerve, but only to watch his impending doom.

And then, miraculously, he was safe. The Bludger scooted around him, seemingly of its own accord, and Tuttle blew her whistle. 'What the hell just happened?' she barked.

Harry and the other players landed, and Owen ran to meet them. 'Hang on, I need to review it,' he said, adjusting the Omniocular controls.

'Did that Bludger just dodge you?' asked Titus incredulously.

'I think so,' said Harry, who was equally puzzled.

'Sweet Merlin!' exclaimed Owen, looking through the Omnioculars. 'It definitely swerved.'

Tuttle furrowed her brow. 'Potter, you've been fucking brilliant at dodging Bludgers all afternoon, but now I'm starting to wonder. Is this some new Light magic trick?'

'I'm not glowing,' began Harry, examining his arm, but then realisation dawned. 'Bloody hell!' he cried. 'Kreacher!'

_Crack! _'Yes, Master!'

'Your protection spell this afternoon! It protects me from Bludgers!'

'Yes, Master!' said the elf proudly. 'Kreacher loves Master and wants to keep him safe.'

Harry knelt before the house-elf. 'I love you too,' he said sincerely. 'But you need to remove that protection. I can't play league Quidditch if I repel Bludgers.'

Kreacher's ears drooped. 'But Master might get hurt.'

'I know, but I love playing Quidditch, and it's a risk I'm willing to take. Besides, you took such good care of me when I was injured.'

'That is true,' said Kreacher. 'Should Kreacher make the Bludgers find you instead?'

'No!' blurted Harry, along with everyone present. 'Dobby did that once before, and I didn't appreciate it. But could you just return things to normal?'

'What about the other protections?' asked Kreacher.

'What are they exactly?' asked Harry nervously.

'No one can poke Master in the eyes,' he began. 'No one can punch Master, or bite him ...'

'He'll want the biting,' interjected Darren. When everyone looked at him, he said, 'Maryann's a biter, and Harry had no complaints.'

Harry didn't reply, but he wordlessly communicated with Kreacher. _Darren's right, _he admitted silently._ You should allow biting. _'Er, what else?' he asked aloud. 'Any curse protections? And what about potions?'

'No,' said Kreacher sadly. 'Kreacher is unable to offer curse or potion protections. But Master is safe from swords, lances, and javelins.'

'What about throwing stars?' asked Gary. 'And arrows?'

'Yes,' replied Kreacher. 'Master is impervious to all projectiles.'

'Bullets?' asked Ryan, and Kreacher nodded eagerly.

'Can you allow Bludgers, but keep the other protections in place?' asked Harry. He silently added, _Except for biting. Oh, and scratching, tugging, and mild swatting._

'Yes, Master,' replied Kreacher, with a knowing gleam in his eyes. 'Would Master be so kind as to glow?'

Harry had no trouble summoning his Light magic, and Kreacher's ear hair began glowing as well. When he placed a hand on Harry's arm, the shield was slightly more purple than blue. 'Can you protect my friends as well?' Harry asked hopefully.

'No, Master. It requires the silent bond.'

'Lordly privilege strikes again,' muttered Suresh. 'Can we finish playing now?'

'Snitches!' cried Owen. 'You can't protect Harry from Snitches!'

A discussion with Kreacher and a brief test confirmed that Harry did not, in fact, repel Snitches. Further adjustments were made to allow Quaffles, wands, and thrown items of clothing.

'Are you sure about that last one?' asked Renée. 'Harry might become the next Tom Jones, with women always throwing their knickers at him.'

'Enough chatter!' barked Tuttle. 'Back in the air!'

To Harry's surprise, Gemma approached him when he began circling. 'It figures you'd have some new weird advantage.'

_She's still upset, _he thought with dismay, but he hoped she might provide answers. 'Will you please tell me what I've done wrong?'

'Not a thing, Toffer. I'm just waiting for Merlin himself to descend from Mount Privilege and lead you to your diamond-studded castle.'

'Where the immortal warlocks live?'

'Something like that,' she grumbled. 'I'm sorry ... it's not your fault. It's just the contrast is occasionally overwhelming.'

He began to understand. 'Because I earn so much?'

'Among other things, yeah.'

'Such as?' he asked.

'Such as everything. You used to be relatable somehow, back when you were being hunted by the Ministry. But now you're about as relatable as ... I dunno, Princess Diana.'

'Er, she's dead.'

'I know that,' she snapped. 'But remember how everyone called her the People's Princess?'

'Not really. I was in hiding when she died.'

'Well they did, and they talked about how down to earth she was, and everyone's mate and all the rest. But the fact is she was the daughter of an earl and gorgeous and probably the poshest person in England, except maybe the Queen. Although if you think about it, Diana was loads more glamorous than the Queen.'

'So I'm more glamorous than the Queen?' he asked sceptically.

'No, but you're about as different to the rest of us as she is.'

Harry's heart sank. 'How exactly? You and I are the same age, we're both Seekers, and we spend our days almost identically. Admittedly my life outside practice is different, but it's not like I'm off christening ships or something.'

'True, but that's only because wizards don't have ships.' She paused and said, 'I'm sorry, I probably sound daft going on like this. It just came as a shock to see my huge earnings statement and know still it's peanuts compared to yours. Which made me realise I was fooling myself when I thought we were equals somehow.'

'I hope we're equals,' he said sincerely. 'I know there's the Lord Black bollocks and the Wizengamot, and the underwear deal ...'

'And Pratt's,' she added. 'And the radio, and the _Prophet,_ and Light magic–'

'You can develop Light magic,' argued Harry. _Assuming you don't have Horcruxes stashed all over England, _he thought idly.

'Right. I'll just pencil that in after tea on Sunday with Lydia Travers.'

Harry refreshed his intention to notice when the Snitch appeared. 'I'm not even seeing Lydia anymore.'

'No, but that was basically your decision. And yes, I know she dumped you because of the prostitute, but you could still owl any witch or wizard in England and they'd drop everything for an audience. Whereas I'm still a nobody.'

'No you're not! You caught the Snitch in your first match! You already have a figurine, even though you're a reserve, and people are buying it.'

A flash of gold caught his eye, but he didn't fly towards it. _If I zoom for it, _he thought, _she'll beat me and feel better._ But he never attempted straight chases anymore for that exact reason, and she'd know he'd let her win.

'People are buying it,' she said, with a hint of pride. 'Twenty-one people, in fact.'

'They should make flying figurines,' he mused, keeping an eye on the Snitch. 'I wonder why they don't.'

'Liability. At least that's what Susanna told me. Apparently the Seekers flew around and grabbed gold earrings and such. And Beater figurines used to whack things at people.'

'But what about Keepers?' asked Harry, drifting away from her. 'They mostly just hover in place.'

'That wouldn't be very interesting,' she said, glancing at Janet, and Harry was off. His head start was sufficient, and even without the Firebolt he beat Gemma to the Snitch.

'Damn you!' she cried, as Tuttle blew her whistle. 'Were you distracting me again?'

'I was. But not very long—I spotted it just before you said how many figurines you'd sold.'

'One of these days I'll stop falling for that,' she said, scowling.

'Yes, and then some other team will steal you away, and you'll be the league's best Seeker.'

She burst out laughing. 'Did you just refer to yourself as the league's best Seeker?'

'Oh bugger, I did,' he said, mortified. 'I blame Draco Malfoy, who used the term sarcastically at lunch.'

'Promise me you'll describe yourself that way on the radio next week.'

'I should ask Hermione if a blood oath could prevent me from saying it again,' he grumbled. 'But seriously, do you really think you're a nobody? Because I don't.'

She sighed heavily. 'It's just a habit, I guess. But I'm friends with you, right? That makes me someone.'

'You're more than that. And besides, you'll be that saucy little witch wearing a tiara at the party I'm never going to throw.'

'They removed the curse?' she asked excitedly. 'And I can really wear it?'

'Yes, at the party I'm never going to throw.'

'But now you have to throw it!' she insisted. 'To make up for the fact that you earn so much more than I do! And that's not even counting the underwear profits.'

_Or the condom profits, _he added inwardly. 'I don't know. We'll talk.'

Harry returned home to find a letter from Dominic Runnion, stating that they'd sent his revised contract to Gringotts for review. _'Our plan is to launch the brand simultaneously in Japan and North America, at select locations only. This will not only simplify distribution and allow us to launch more quickly, but also enhance the brand's air of exclusivity. Our sales partners in both regions were delighted to learn about your participation, and there may be further business opportunities as well.'_

After sending one of the jackdaws to Gringotts with a letter requesting a meeting, Harry went upstairs to change for his date with Alex. They hadn't yet decided whether to eat in or out, but he was hoping for the latter. She'd been widely praised for her grace and unconventional beauty, and an enterprising journalist had discovered her academic achievements in America and reported how clever she was. _It's boosting her self-confidence, _he thought, _and she's doing wonders for my reputation._

Harry had optimistically reserved a table at a wizarding gastropub in York, and he put on robes he hadn't yet worn in public. But when Alex arrived, she was wearing only jeans and a jumper. 'Look at you!' she exclaimed after they kissed. 'Are you hoping to be photographed again?'

'Photographed with you,' he said admiringly. 'And I love what they're printing about you.'

'Yes, but there's one small problem,' she said, pulling an envelope from her handbag. She opened it and handed him a newspaper article.

'Is this the _Chicago Beacon?'_ he asked, frowning.

'It is. And that's Rocky.' There were two photographs—the first was much larger and showed Alex with Harry at the nightclub, and in the second, which was inset, she was with a tall young wizard at what looked like a school dance. The headline was, _'Chicago Witch Ensnares Harry Potter,'_ with the sub-headline, _'But does he know about her fiancé back home?'_

'I thought you said your engagement wasn't public?'

'It wasn't, but somehow it's come out.'

'Did Rocky send you this?'

'He did. And he's coming to visit tomorrow.'

'Just for one day?' asked Harry hopefully.

'No, through Sunday.'

Harry frowned. 'I assume he doesn't want to attend the match.'

'Actually he does. He's an Anglophile, after all, and what could be more English than Quidditch?'

'Will he use Nancy's ticket?' he asked, referring to Alex's tutor, whom he'd invited to Saturday's match.

'Is that all right?'

'As long as he doesn't hold up a banner that says, _"Americans Against Harry Potter."'_

'No. The last thing he'd want is to attract attention that way.'

'Then what does he want? Is he coming to England because of the article?'

'Not entirely. But it says how smitten you are, and how you wouldn't even look at another witch at the nightclub last week.'

'At least it's accurate,' he said, giving her the Look. But she scowled, and he asked, 'Is he worried I won't let you go?'

'Maybe a little. The article describes how single-minded you were in the fight against Voldemort, and that your Light magic and Auror training make you a powerful foe.'

Harry looked more closely at the clipping. 'And how does it describe you?'

She grimaced. 'They use the word, "vixen."'

He couldn't help smirking. 'At least Jodi and Heidi will find out.'

'That's true, and it's definitely a silver lining.'

Examining the photograph of Alex and Rocky, he asked, 'When was that taken?'

'Nearly three years ago, at our Solstice Ball.'

'And you've been together that long?'

She nodded. 'Our third anniversary was on Monday.'

_At least she wasn't with me,_ he thought guiltily. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'You only wanted a pocket romance, but thanks to me it's an international scandal.'

'You can't help being famous.'

'Not initially, but no one forced me to join the Cannons or model underwear.'

Alex's eyes lit up. 'Did you sign the contract?'

'Tomorrow, most likely. And they'll launch in America the same time as in Japan.'

'Maybe you can come to Chicago to promote it,' she said eagerly. 'You can reject Jodi and Heidi then.'

'Does that mean I'm not invited to the wedding?'

Grimacing, she said, 'I'm afraid so.'

'Tonight is our last date, isn't it?' sighed Harry.

Alex nodded, and Harry's heart sank. 'But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy it,' she said.

She agreed to go the gastropub, on the condition that he change into his Breton shirt and wear the scarf he'd bought with it. 'It's not a foulard,' she said, 'but it's still a scarf, which meets the requirement.'

'I've been waiting for the weather to get cold enough,' he said. 'Do you reckon Rocky and I can find common ground talking about clothes?'

'It's not out of the question. And you might be forgiven entirely if you get him a discount from your tailor.'

Before they left, he sent Rita a letter asking that the _Prophet_ not vilify Alex when it came out she had a fiancé. _'Alex told me about him at the beginning of our first date, and there's been no deception on any side. And as much as I fancy her, I have no intention of stealing her away from him, and I wish them all the best in their life together.' _He added that he wanted to announce his name change on Tuesday and proposed they meet for an interview.

'That should take care of the _Prophet_,' he said after sending away the other jackdaw, 'and hopefully the other publications will follow suit.'

Dinner was bittersweet, since he knew it was likely to be their last date. He asked her more about Rocky, in anticipation of their meeting, and it was clear she was deeply in love.

'He's unbelievably clever,' she said. 'He works at a secret wizarding research lab at the University of Chicago, and the work they're doing is absolutely brilliant. It's in conjunction with several Squibs who received Muggle scientific training, which means they're ideally placed to apply wizarding solutions to larger problems in the world.'

'Really? Like what?'

'Environmental problems, for example. Muggles are dependent on fossil fuels, but they're hugely polluting and are causing potentially catastrophic harm to the planet. As wizards we tend to think we can solve everything, but it's not actually that easy in this case. We're shockingly dependent on our own magic, which is limited, and the most powerful goblin magic depends on gold, which is a comparatively rare element.'

'A Philosopher's Stone would solve that,' remarked Harry.

'Yes and no. Unlimited gold would allow the goblins to work on a larger scale, but we're much better off if we can find an element that's more abundant and widely distributed. And Rocky's team is looking for ways not only to unleash power but also disguise the magical component. They're part of an international consortium, and their colleagues in other countries are inclined to chuck secrecy if things really get dire. But the Americans will never agree to it.'

'Does your research tie into this?'

'It does, and that book you lent me is incredibly useful. Speaking of which ...' She trailed off and looked down.

'Did you spill something on it?' he asked slyly.

'No, of course not,' she said, laughing. 'But it's accelerated my research and given me a clear direction. The reason I accompanied Nancy to Britain was to cast a wide net, but now that I've caught something, I'll probably make more progress at home.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'Will you go back with him on Sunday?'

'No, not that soon. But probably by the end of the month.'

_In a week, _thought Harry sadly. 'Will you also work at the University of Chicago?'

'Yes. It's arguably the best place in the world for this kind of research, and I can just Apparate there from home.'

'Or ride in Rocky's pickup truck.'

She chuckled. 'Is it wrong that I'm looking forward to introducing you? You actually have a lot in common, besides the obvious.'

_Did he defeat a Dark Lord?_ thought Harry's wounded ego. _Or slay a Basilisk, or turn the Cannons around? Was he Master of Death? Or just some fop trying to solve the energy crisis?_

'I'm flattered you want to introduce us,' he said sincerely. 'At the very least, it means you trust me not to annihilate him with my Auror training and Light magic.' _And he won't be able to punch me, _thought Harry.

'No, you're both far too gentlemanly for that. But I encouraged him to bring his best clothes, and I anticipate an epic Battle of the Dandies.'

Harry raised his eyebrows. 'Are you proposing we get together on Saturday night? Because he'll probably feel overdressed wearing formal robes to a Quidditch match.'

'Would you mind going out somewhere? Coming to your house might be a bit much for him.'

'Yes, of course. And I won't even wear my Robert de Montesquiou robes, in case he wants to buy his own for the wedding.'

They ate in silence, and Harry felt sadness wash over him. _Where will I ever find someone like her?_ he thought glumly, and his Light magic rose to soothe him. He finished eating first and watched as she ate, her face bathed in his soft glow.

When she set down her fork, he said, 'You know you're extraordinary, right?'

'I'm extraordinarily lucky,' she said. 'Not only to have met the love of my life, but to have a pocket romance with you. You're incredibly romantic—it's intoxicating, really. If you could bottle and mass-produce the Look, you wouldn't need a Philosopher's Stone.'

'Typical American, always on about mass production,' he joked. 'The Look is bespoke.'

'Not that photograph from your Light magic article. If you do that in your adverts, even ninety-year-old witches will start wearing men's underwear.'

His glow dimmed. 'That wasn't a mental image I wanted.'

She laughed and said, 'Poor Harry! I'll have to make it up to you ... should we eat dessert at your house?'

He agreed enthusiastically and paid the bill, in spite of her protests. They were photographed before leaving, and Harry asked the photographer to send him a copy in care of the Cannons. 'I want something to remember her by, because she's absolutely brilliant,' he explained.

'You're brilliant too,' she said when they got home. 'And not just the glowing.'

'At least I have the good sense to fall in love with clever witches. I think that's my type.'

She frowned. 'Have you really fallen in love with me?' He answered by kissing her, which she allowed for a minute, but then she pulled away. 'You didn't answer my question. Are you in love with me?'

'No,' said Harry. 'At least I don't think I am. But I would be if you'd let me.'

'I could have loved you too,' she admitted. 'I don't know if we'd have worked in the long run, but I could have fallen deeply and dizzyingly in love with you.'

They eventually went upstairs and didn't speak for a long while. Later, as they ate the pudding provided by Kreacher, he asked, 'Why wouldn't we have worked in the long run? I know it's an annoying question, but I don't want to keep chasing women away.'

'It's a fair question, and I'll try to answer it.' She took a deep breath. 'You're very young,' she began.

'You're only a year older than I am,' he argued, but she shushed him.

'It's not just your age. And you're not immature exactly—you're very grown up in certain ways, and not just in the bedroom. But there's a little boy in the mix, and he's terribly hungry. He wants love, and comfort, and attention ...'

'So it's dead-mum trauma,' he said dejectedly. 'And attention-seeking.'

'There's no shame in it. It's beautiful that you still want to connect with people, after everything you've been through. Someone else with your history might just wall himself off.'

'Like Voldemort,' said Harry, mostly to himself. 'His childhood was as bad as mine, only he didn't have Light magic protecting him. And all he wanted was power and adulation.'

'Exactly, and you're not like that at all. You need a lot, but you give even more. Ginny was right that you'd be perfect for a certain kind of witch.' She paused and added, 'But you'll do better if you learn to address that need on your own, at least in part.'

'How do I do that? I can't exactly be my own mum.'

'No, but what does a mum provide? Safety, and love, and nourishment.'

'I've got nourishment covered,' he said, indicating their empty plates. 'But what about safety and love?'

The answer came to him in a tremendous wave. 'Light magic,' he exhaled, closing his eyes, and he knew he was glowing brightly. 'Oh my god,' he continued. 'I have it right here. It just needs directing.' His chest and torso filled with soft energy, which flowed gently throughout his body.

Alex lovingly ran her hands all over him, almost but not entirely as a mother might do. 'You're extraordinary,' she said. 'I'm in awe, you know.'

He didn't reply, allowing the pleasure of her touch to mingle with his Light magic. Her hands seemed to guide it to the places that needed it most, into the hollows occupied by a scared and lonely little boy. It flowed towards the baby wailing alone in a ruined house, with his mother's last cries still ringing in his ears. It flowed towards the sterile cot he'd occupied on Privet Drive until he was big enough for the cupboard, and then into the cupboard itself.

Light magic flowed towards the eleven-year-old boy who awoke to discover he'd killed his professor. He'd suppressed his horror at the time, thanks to Dumbledore's claim that Voldemort had killed Quirrell, but Harry hadn't forgotten their mortal battle and Quirrell's dying screams.

Light magic found the scared fourteen-year-old walking alone to join the other Triwizard champions after the goblet had produced his name. It found the boy who returned to Hogwarts with Cedric Diggory's dead body after witnessing Voldemort's rebirth. And it embraced the broken young man who saw his godfather fall dead through a fluttering black curtain.

Harry allowed Alex to comfort him without feeling the urge to engage sexually. _'This is better than Sorceress,'_ he recalled as Light magic fulfilled his needs. He must have fallen asleep, because when he awoke the tray was gone and Alex lay sleeping next to him. He rose from bed to brush his teeth, thinking automatically of Hermione, and joined Alex under the covers.

Overcome with affection, he nuzzled close and put an arm around her. But instead of longing for a world without Rocky—as he might have done previously—he felt only contentment as he drifted to sleep.


	91. Chapter 91

Harry didn't arrive early to practice the next morning, as he normally did when everyone knew he had a date. Instead he skated in at five minutes to nine.

'There you are!' exclaimed Lara. 'Everyone was worried, and I'm sure Tuttle was preparing a speech. Is everything all right?'

'Yes, except for the part where I just kissed Alex for the last time, and she'll be back in America within a week.'

'Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. Feel free to whinge later if you like. But not now, because Tuttle will tear you new one if you're even a second late.'

He quickly stowed his clean clothes and ran to the pitch. 'I'll be damned, you made it,' said Tuttle. 'With two minutes to spare.'

'Blast!' shouted Janet. 'I had him down for thirty seconds.'

'Too bad,' declared Lyle. 'A bet's a bet.'

'You had a wager over how late I'd be this morning?' asked Harry.

'Only when you didn't turn up at half eight,' said Suresh. 'I thought you had a date with Alex last night.'

'He did, but he dragged it out,' said Darren. 'Isn't that right, Snitchbottom?'

Harry didn't reply, and he was relieved when Tuttle ordered them to start running. He sprinted ahead and made a point of running alone, which told his teammates he didn't want to talk. _Alex, _he thought mournfully, still feeling her kiss goodbye. Tears had clung to her long eyelashes, and he'd held her tight as long as he could.

He didn't know if it was good or bad that he would see her again. _How will I stand it, sitting across from her without being able to stroke her hand, or just gaze admiringly at her? _To make matters worse, Rocky would be there, confident in Alex's love and commitment. _And they'll go home and have sex that same night,_ he thought bitterly, and he wondered which restaurant served the heaviest food.

Harry wished he could bring a friend, but he had no idea who to invite. Hermione would surely want to spend the evening with Ryan, since it was their only night not followed by practice or a match. Gemma might be willing, but Harry didn't fancy being taunted all evening, which had become their primary mode of interaction. Lara was dating Lee, and inviting Janet could only be a disaster. And as much as Harry appreciated Luna, he didn't fancy a night of non-sequiturs.

_Maybe I should invite Pansy,_ he thought facetiously. _Or Jocelyn and Maryann—they'd be a distraction, if nothing else. _But he knew there was no one he could invite, and that he would have to go alone. _At least I can drink, _he reminded himself._ And if I get pissed and make a scene, maybe Jodi and Heidi will find out._

The previous night's blissful realisation had unfortunately slipped out of reach. _Why is Light magic so bloody inconsistent? One day I'm in heaven, and the next day I'm back in the muck. _He'd seen directly that he didn't need a girlfriend to feel complete, but twelve hours later he was ready to go to the Boudoir and lose himself in as many witches as he could lure upstairs at once.

He ran faster, hoping that physical exertion would ease his restlessness, and he was so overzealous during calisthenics that Tuttle ordered him to slow down. 'Take it easy, Potter—you have a match tomorrow, and I don't want you falling off the broom.'

At least she didn't criticise him for flying aggressively. During the drills that morning he flew like a maniac, drawing concerned looks from his teammates, but Tuttle seemed to understand. 'That's exactly what I want to see during the match,' she said. 'You didn't get to feint last weekend, so make up for it tomorrow.'

He felt better by the time lunch rolled around. After showering and changing into robes, his expression softened and his teammates were no longer scared to talk to him. 'Are you all right?' asked Renée. 'You had your _"I defeated Voldemort so don't fuck with me"_ face on all morning.'

'Yeah, I'm doing better,' he replied, and he briefly explained the situation with Alex. She offered sympathy before leaving with the other starters, and Harry went with the reserves to his cousin's sandwich shop.

It was called the Black Olive, and it was on a side street at the far end of Diagon Alley. _It's not the best location,_ noted Harry, and he wondered if any other buildings were available to let. But it wasn't empty, and the menu looked promising.

Harry's teammates automatically clustered to protect him from onlookers, but he revealed himself when he reached the counter. 'Harry!' said Marvin Black. 'Thanks for coming! What can I get you?'

'The number six, please. With extra mustard.'

Marvin was too busy to chat, but his father Elliott came out. 'I'm so glad you could visit,' he said warmly. 'I know it's just a sandwich shop, but I started it myself and people seem to like it.'

Harry introduced Elliott to his teammates. 'Gemma Rees!' exclaimed Elliott. 'You made quite a splash last month!'

'I told you so,' taunted Harry. He turned to Elliott and said, 'Gemma is convinced she's a non-entity, even though she's already the best-known reserve in the league.'

'Trust me, Gemma, you already have a following.' said Elliott. 'And I heard the bookmakers are giving odds on your first match against Harry.'

'When we're on different teams, you mean?' she asked, and Elliott nodded. 'Blimey! You win this round, Toffer!'

'Toffer?' asked Elliott, and Harry reluctantly explained Gemma's nickname for him.

'But it'll be Toffer-Blatch soon,' she said. 'He told you about that, right?'

'He did.' The door chimed when another customer arrived, and Harry was pleased to see Lisa Black. _I could invite her to dinner tomorrow night! _he realised.

'Lisa!' called Elliott. 'Look who turned up!'

She smiled when she saw Harry, but when she approached her expression was stern. 'Look, I'm flattered, but cousin-shagging isn't my bag. You'll have to find someone else.'

Gemma started laughing. 'I like her! I'm Gemma, by the way.'

Lisa introduced herself, and after fetching her sandwich she sat down with them. 'I only get a half-hour for lunch, so I always come at the same time and eat the same thing. Marvin has it waiting for me.'

Harry was happy to see Lisa and his teammates getting along, although he reddened when they told embarrassing stories about him. He became more convinced, however, that she was friend material, and he took her aside before she left.

'Lisa, I have a favour to ask,' he began.

She looked at him sternly again. 'Are you hinting for an introduction to my manager at the shop? I'm sorry, Harry, but I don't know you well enough to recommend you for a job.'

He laughed and said, 'Then perhaps we can remedy that. I'm hoping you'll join me and some friends for dinner tomorrow night. Specifically, my now-former girlfriend Alex and her fiancé.'

'She has a fiancé!' gasped Lisa, and Harry explained the situation.

'I'm to meet him tomorrow night, which will be challenging. But it'll be easier if I have a friend with me, and you seemed like the right person to ask.'

She seemed surprised but was obviously touched. 'I'd be glad to come. What should I wear?'

'Something nice. Alex wants a Battle of the Dandies, so you'll need to keep up.'

'Can I help you choose an outfit?' she asked excitedly. 'I'm dying to see your wardrobe.'

'Are you sure this isn't just a trick to see Walburga's Wonderland?' he joked.

'Yes, although you raise a good point. Will people think we're dating if we go out together?'

'I can't predict what people will think, but I'll do my best to correct that impression.'

'Oh my god, you're going to mention me on the radio, aren't you?'

'Only with your permission. In fact, you could join us on the air if you like.'

She turned pale. 'I'll have to think about it. But yes, count me in for dinner.'

After Lisa left, Harry posed for a snapshot with Elliott and Marvin, and he promised to come back soon. 'Ask your teammates what they thought,' Elliott urged him. 'There are a lot of sandwich shops out there, and we're always looking for ways to stand out.'

'Have you considered using real French bread?' asked Harry. 'There's a new bakery in Manchester, and I'm sure they'd deliver.'

Marvin raised his eyebrows. 'Now that's an idea! Cheers!'

Harry was more relaxed at practice that afternoon, and during their match he told Gemma what had happened with Alex. 'Poor Toffer!' she said consolingly. 'You just can't keep witches around, can you?'

'There was never any hope with Alex,' he replied. 'But at least we'll part friends, assuming I don't hex her fiancé tomorrow.'

'Have you lined up anyone new?'

He shook his head. 'She'll be a hard act to follow. Maybe I just need to take a break.'

'Not bloody likely,' she scoffed. 'You might want to, but I'm certain Little Lord Black has different ideas.'

'Oi!'

'Oh come on, you must have a nickname for it!'

'I don't. And if I did, that wouldn't be it.'

'Then we'll just have to come up with something, particularly when it becomes world-famous in your adverts.'

'It'll be covered up!' he argued.

'Barely. And I bet the editors of _Sorceress _will use your photographs to craft some kind of model, and then get your partners to confirm it's accurate. Between those two C-squareds and the witch from the article, they'll get it perfect.'

Harry sighed and stared blankly into the distance. 'So that's it—I'll have no secrets left. None at all. Why am I signing this contract?'

'Because you want to help your cousins upgrade their sandwich shop and offer dowries for Lisa and her mates.'

'Dowries! I never promised that!'

'Don't you want Lisa to marry properly?' prompted Gemma. 'Being pretty and clever will only get a girl so far.'

'You're right,' he declared. 'I'll offer them dowries and post their photographs on the noticeboard at Pratt's, along with some numbers. How does that sound?'

'Please tell me you're joking. People don't actually post pictures of their marriageable daughters?'

'No, they pass around an album.' Seeing her horrified expression, he said, 'Just kidding.'

After practice, Harry went to Gringotts to discuss the contract from Runnion. He was nervous the goblins would lose respect for him, but Redblade's demeanour suggested they hadn't.

'The terms are extremely favourable, Mr Potter. I also showed their sales projections to my colleagues, as you requested, and they deemed them conservative. This is an excellent business opportunity.'

'And goblins won't scorn me for it?' asked Harry candidly.

'Goblins already scorn wizards,' declared Redblade. 'Your foolish pride, amongst other things. And British wizards are particularly laughable, with your hypocritical prudery.'

Harry resisted the urge to ask how goblin attitudes differed. _I'm not sure I want to know_. 'Do you recommend any further changes to the contract, or should I sign it as is?' he asked.

'The only possible change is right here,' said Redblade, pointing out an item on the third page. 'Which name should they use in their advertisements? Currently it says "Harry Potter."'

Harry grimaced. 'Gringotts knows about my name change?'

'You've long hinted at it. Is it imminent?'

'Yes, I plan to announce it next week. Harry Potter-Black, with a hyphen.'

Redblade smiled toothily and said, 'Our gaming department will be pleased to hear it.'

Harry's eyes shot open. 'Don't tell me they're going to place a bet.'

'No, Mr Potter. Gringotts is magically forbidden from gambling using inside information, by choice. Otherwise no bookmaker would offer us odds. But our gaming department places numerous wagers, and after much debate they bet heavily on Potter-Black and a September announcement.'

_That was clever,_ thought Harry. _He didn't violate their rule against using inside information, but he suggested I announce by the thirtieth. _It wasn't a problem, though, since he'd already told Rita he wanted to announce on Tuesday, which was the twenty-eighth.

He looked again at the contract. 'I should probably use Potter-Black,' he said. 'I have Narcissa's approval, and Potter-Black sounds more posh. And besides, the whole reason I'm doing this is to rebuild the Black fortune, so they can bloody well share the blame. But give Runnion the choice.'

'Very good,' replied Redblade, and he magically edited the document. Next he held out a quill, and Harry signed where indicated.

'And there goes what was left of my dignity,' announced Harry. 'Promise to stop me if I ever agree to full-frontal nudity.'

'Yes, Mr Potter. Shall I start the paperwork for your name change?'

'Please do, as long as you can keep it secret until Tuesday morning.'

'Naturally,' replied the goblin. He asked several more questions about how Harry wanted to proceed and assured him everything would be in place on Tuesday. 'All you'll need to do is present this form to the Ministry, and it will be done.'

Harry grimaced. 'In person?'

'Yes. The office of the Registrar General opens at half past eight.'

_At least I won't be late for practice, _he thought resignedly.

Harry's next stop was the Dapperling Tea Shop, where he was led to a private room. 'Harry, you're a doll to meet me here,' gushed Rita. 'But my dream is to be invited to your house one of these days.'

'Not bloody likely,' he said breezily, and she laughed.

'You'll trust me someday,' she insisted. 'Because I have no intention of betraying you—you're an absolute delight.'

He sat down and asked, 'How long an article are you envisioning? There's really not much to say about my name change.'

'I could write a hundred column inches about the socks you're wearing, dearie. Speaking of which, I heard the most delicious hint of a rumour about you!'

_Bloody hell!_ thought Harry. _How does she do that? _Keeping his expression neutral, he said, 'Let's talk about my name first, and then if there's time you can tell me about this rumour.'

'And you just confirmed it. But don't worry—I shan't say a word.'

'Right. My name,' he said tersely. 'What do you want to know?'

Rita's Quick-Quotes Quill stood at attention over a parchment. 'Which name did you decide on?'

'Harry Potter-Black. With a hyphen.'

'Very posh,' she said approvingly. 'You'll get much better service at Muggle restaurants.'

'That wasn't my goal—I primarily didn't want the Potter to get lost.'

'Is there any risk of that?'

'Frankly, yes. I can't remember my parents, and most of their friends are dead. Other than my resemblance to my father, there's very little tying me to my own family. Although I've met people who knew my grandfather, and I'm told I resemble him in character.'

'And he's the one who made a fortune in Potions,' said Rita. 'Are you ambitious that way?'

'We seem to have jumped topics,' he replied coolly.

'I suppose we have done. But I just can't stop thinking about your ... socks.'

'This interview is about my name change,' said Harry firmly.

'Of course it is, darling. Please say more about your identity as a Potter.'

'I'm the last one living, amongst wizards anyway, and I don't want to discard that legacy. The Potters were an honest, unpretentious family, and I want to pass that forward to the best of my ability.'

'Do you think that's possible, given your current status?'

'Are you asking whether my kids will be spoilt?'

'Yes. Will they be?'

'Not if I can help it. But sadly there's precedent, since my father was over-indulged—although fortunately he got over it. I suppose I'll just have to follow in his footsteps and choose a wife carefully.'

'No offence, dearie, but your father liked your mum because she was a tasty little redhead who kept turning him down. He was only nineteen when they married, after all.'

'Then he got lucky. And I'll be older when I marry, thanks to my vow.'

'You certainly impressed everyone with your taste this time around,' she said approvingly. 'Those two C-squareds were a bit concerning.'

'I can't say I like how everyone talks about them,' grumbled Harry. 'Their behaviour is far less scandalous than mine, but I seem to be getting a free pass.'

'Welcome to the world, darling. Men get away with everything. Rich men in particular.'

'Then that's another thing I'd like to change,' he replied. 'Although it probably isn't under my control.'

'You underestimate yourself. I suspect you could convince the sun to set in the east if you wanted to.'

'We've drifted off topic again,' said Harry. 'I think we were talking about whether my kids will be true Potters or not. And the answer is, I don't know, because I have so little information about what a Potter is, other than middle-class.'

'That no longer describes you,' said Rita, admiring his robes.

He shrugged and said, 'For all I know, my kids will want to wear ripped jeans and old concert T-shirts, like Sirius did. In fact, they'll probably rebel and wear clothes I hate.'

'That definitely sounds middle-class. Will you expose them to your Muggle relations?'

Harry's eyes shot open. 'God no! My cousin maybe, but certainly not my aunt and uncle, unless they have a change of heart. But please, don't print any of that.'

'Of course not,' she said reassuringly, making a mark on the parchment. 'But enough about the Potters ... let's talk about the Blacks. I assume this was motivated by your godfather?'

'It was. He wrote me a letter just a few weeks before he died asking me to reestablish the Blacks as a Light family, and I've been told that changing my name is the fastest way to do it.'

'Did you resist the idea?'

'Fiercely.'

'Why?' she asked.

'Any number of reasons. First: I'm a Potter, not a Black. Second: I'm not ashamed to be middle-class, and I don't want to look like a social climber. Third: Hyphenated names are pretentious. And so on.'

'So what changed your mind?'

Harry took a deep breath. 'Sirius. He's the only father I remember. I miss him terribly, and I want to honour his wishes for the family.'

'What about the other Blacks?' asked Rita.

'I've become close with Andromeda Tonks, who was Sirius's first cousin, and we seem to have formed a family. And it helps that she's raising my godson, Teddy Lupin.'

'And the Malfoys?'

'It's true that Draco would probably have been named Head of House if Sirius hadn't designated me, and I'm sorry for any disappointment I caused him. But otherwise I'd like to respect their privacy and only say that I'm on good terms with both him and his mother. In fact, they participated in a Black family reunion last weekend.'

'With four people?' she asked. 'And a baby?'

'No, far more than that.' He told her about the restored branches of the family, which surprised her.

'I can't believe I didn't know about them!' Raising her eyebrows suggestively, she asked, 'Is there a family resemblance?'

'There is. And yes, a lot of them are good-looking. But I'm not continuing the inbreeding tradition.'

'Nonsense, you're not closely related. Promise me you'll get your hands on some dishy cousin when you turn twenty-one.'

'I'll get my hands on some other, non-related dish, thank you very much,' he retorted, and Rita laughed out loud.

'I'm using that,' she said, making another note in the margin.

Harry told her his intention to let his children choose a surname when they came of age, assuming he had any.

'Darling, you probably have some in the works right now.'

'I don't,' he said confidently. 'Ginny and I spent a year testing my Contraception Charm, and it never failed once. And I never forget to cast it.'

'That's fortunate, because you'll need to sell a lot of underwear otherwise.'

'Rita,' he said through gritted teeth. 'That's not what this interview is about.'

'Fine,' she said petulantly. 'Would you like to address the accusation that you're changing your name only to sell more Cannons merchandise?'

'I'm one step ahead of you, Skeeter. My plan is to cover any costs associated with updating the merchandise people have already bought. They just need to bring it back to the shop or owl it to the team.'

'That's very Slytherin of you, darling, because no one is going to take you up on it. And your Potter merchandise will become collectors' items. Same with anything you've signed so far.'

'Bugger! I'm going to need to sign a million more photographs, aren't I?'

'Yes, and magazine adverts.'

'You've changed the topic again,' he said tartly. 'We were talking about my name.'

'I have everything I need,' she declared, removing her quill from the parchment. 'And I'm dying for all the ... underlying details.'

Harry sighed heavily. 'The Blacks squandered nearly everything. They left more than enough for me, and my children even, but not enough for generations of an extended family.'

'Please tell me we'll see your adverts in Britain. I simply love Muggle magazines for that reason, and I'm disappointed we have nothing similar.'

'My adverts won't run in Britain. Obviously people will find out about them, but you won't see them here.'

'Oh well,' she sighed. 'And what are the lucky countries?'

'Japan, and North America. And probably the Continent after that.'

'Darling, you're brilliant—they'll adore you in Japan. And America will simply eat you up.'

'That's the idea.' Frowning, he asked, 'How do you think this will affect my reputation? I already signed the contract, so go ahead and tell the truth.'

Rita leaned back in her chair. 'I have three words of advice,' she said, looking him in the eye. 'Keep me happy.'

'Er, what does that entail?' he asked, trying to read her expression.

'Not that,' she replied saucily. 'Now that you've provided an instruction manual, my protégés keep me satisfied. They always did, of course, but you've saved me the trouble of explaining things.'

'Then what do you want?'

'Stories. Long, delicious stories.'

'I've given you those.'

'No, you've just tossed me table scraps. I want the main course.'

'What do you have in mind?' he asked nervously.

'A memoir.'

'A memoir? I'm only nineteen!'

'You've used your time well. Consider it practice for your later memoirs.'

'No,' he said firmly. 'The most important parts are classified.'

'I'm sure we could work around that. Even with your handful of secrets, you're still the world's most fascinating wizard.' She narrowed her eyes and added, 'It would be a worldwide best-seller, and you'd get most of the profits. I'd just get the writer's cut.'

'There's nothing left to say!' he argued. 'I'm already overexposed.'

'Your side of the story isn't.'

He shook his head. 'I refuse to talk about my childhood with the Dursleys.'

Rita waved her hand dismissively. 'I don't need an exhaustive retelling. Just provide a few anecdotes, and I'll move on to the Hogwarts years.'

'Please, no,' he implored. 'Not yet. It's too recent.'

'Oh, darling! I've made you upset!' she said with what sounded like actual compassion. 'You're right, it's too recent. I can wait.'

_I knew our alliance was too good to be true,_ he thought bitterly. But he simply nodded.

Rita looked over her parchment and asked him a few more questions about his name change, which he answered distractedly. But then he squared his shoulders and said, 'I won't be bullied.'

'I'm sorry?'

'You tried to bully me just now into writing a memoir with you, but it won't work. If you don't want my "table scraps," just say so and we'll call the thing off. But that's all I'm prepared to give, perhaps for a long time, and you'll just have to accept it.'

Rita's eyes darkened, and her lips parted as she took a deep breath. 'My god, you'll sell a lot of underwear,' she murmured. 'I've told you to check your partners for Polyjuice, right?'

'You have done.'

'Harry, darling ... I wouldn't dream of ruining our relationship. Your table scraps are positively delectable. And if that's all I get, I will pick them clean and suck out the marrow.'

_Sweet Merlin! _thought Harry with alarm. 'I should go now,' he said. 'Owl me if you have any more questions about my name change.'

She languidly followed him from the room, and as he walked to the fireplace he automatically looked for Rita's protégé Timothy. _Something tells me he's in for a long night, _thought Harry before stepping into the green flames.

He only had a few minutes before Simon was to arrive for their weekly tutoring session. Running a hand through his hair, Harry wondered if his life would ever be less busy. _But at least I won't be writing a memoir anytime soon_.

Simon arrived right on time and stepped out of the fireplace, and Harry was alarmed by his drawn appearance. 'I'm sorry to turn up like this,' said Simon. 'Are you sure your cousin won't mind?'

'No, she's very curious to find out whether Teddy has any wolf aspects, and she knows you'll be peaky right before the full moon.'

'That I am. Was his father never able to evaluate him?'

'No. Teddy was born several days after the full moon, and Remus died barely a fortnight later.'

Harry led Simon to the dining room, where he fell upon his dinner ravenously. 'Again, I'm sorry you have to see me like this,' he said between bites.

'Really, it's fine,' said Harry. 'Remember I eat with Quidditch players.'

Simon laughed. 'I'll feel better after eating, so hopefully I won't frighten your cousin. But forgive me, I can't remember her name. Cassiopeia?'

'Andromeda. And she's looking forward to meeting you, not least because you're helping civilise me.'

'Do you still want to discuss music tonight?' asked Simon.

'Yes, please. And after you examine Teddy, I'd like to go to that record store in Manchester. I'm told they have listening booths, which I don't dare try in a Muggle record store right now.'

They talked about music over dinner, and Simon visibly perked up after eating. 'Thank you, Harry. I feel almost human again ... shall we go?'

They travelled by Floo to Andromeda's house, where they found Teddy toddling around in pyjamas. He looked almost entirely normal, except his hair was magenta and he had a long tail. 'Harry, welcome,' said Andromeda, kissing him on the cheek. 'And you must be Simon. I'm Andromeda.'

Simon inclined his head respectfully. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Andromeda. And this can only be Teddy.'

'Goffa!' cried Teddy when he saw Harry.

'It's stuck,' said Andromeda. Turning to Simon, she explained, 'It's short for "godfather," and Teddy refuses to call him anything else.'

Harry lifted Teddy and played with him while Andromeda and Simon became acquainted. Harry wasn't listening carefully, but he was pleased that they only briefly talked about him before asking about each other. Simon told Andromeda about his former teaching career and how much he enjoyed resuming it as a tutor.

Eventually he asked to see Teddy. 'Do you mind if I sniff him?' he asked, embarrassed.

'Not at all,' she said warmly. 'I'm accustomed to werewolves, and I'm not worried you'll eat him.'

Harry held Teddy while Simon examined him. 'I'm not detecting any wolf traits, but I'm catching Harry's scent as well. Is it all right if I hold him?'

'Go ahead,' said Andromeda, and Simon took the toddler from Harry's arms.

Simon continued his examination, and Harry went to the bookcase to inspect the record collection. 'Who's the Rolling Stones fan?' he asked.

'Ted was,' said Andromeda. 'Whereas I preferred the Beach Boys, whom he scoffed at.'

'There's nothing wrong with the Beach Boys,' remarked Simon. 'They influenced the Beatles, after all.'

'Thank you! My husband ridiculed them as a band for American teenagers.'

Holding up Teddy, Simon said, 'Not even slightly wolfish—he's all boy. Where shall I put him?'

'Hand him over ... it's time for bed.' Her eyes met Simon's as he passed her the toddler. 'And thank you. I wasn't actively worried, since I have enough on my mind, but I'm relieved to know he doesn't have any latent characteristics that might come out later. No offence, of course.'

'None taken,' he replied. 'I wouldn't wish lycanthropy on anyone, least of all a child.'

Andromeda bade them both goodbye, and they went next to the record store Lydia had told him about. _I hope she doesn't turn up, _he thought sadly. The other customers briefly looked up from the bins of records when they noticed Harry, but they resumed flipping through the albums, which drew a chuckle from Simon.

'There's a religious quality to serious music fans,' he said quietly. 'And looking through record bins is almost a meditative experience.'

Harry drifted towards the David Bowie section and found several albums Simon had recommended, which led to ninety minutes of experimentation across genres. By the time the store closed, Harry had selected more than a dozen records, which he purchased and brought home.

Simon insisted he listen first to 'The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust,' and by the middle of the first song Harry was glowing. 'It's truly a marvellous album,' said Simon. 'And now I'll confess I didn't loan it to you last month because I couldn't bear parting with it.'

'You're forgiven,' murmured Harry, whose eyes were closed.

After several songs, Simon stood and raised the record needle. 'Harry, may I ask you something?'

'Yes, go ahead,' he replied, still glowing brightly.

'Would you object to my asking Andromeda to dinner?'

'No, of course not,' said Harry, surprised. 'On a date, you mean?'

'Yes,' replied Simon. 'But do you recommend I even ask? I know my circumstances are ... unfortunate.'

Harry's compassion stirred, deepening his Light magic. 'In spite of her maiden name, Andromeda's no snob. I don't know whether she's interested in dating, but I can't imagine she'd hold your lycanthropy against you.'

'It's not just that.' Simon took a deep breath before continuing. 'In your Light magic interview, you pointed out that it's difficult for wizards to starve, and that we can always live in a tent and use Warming Charms. As it happens, you described my living situation perfectly. Things are improving now that I have several tutoring clients, but I'm far from prosperous.'

Harry was mortified, not for Simon but for himself. _I have an enormous townhouse and gold coming out of my ears, and Simon lives in a tent,_ he thought guiltily. 'I can't speak for Andromeda, but I don't think she'd mind. Remus was very poor when I met him, and after he was forced to leave Hogwarts I have no idea how he survived. He sometimes lived here at least, but he refused to take a Knut from Sirius. But that didn't matter to Tonks—his wife—and Andromeda didn't object to their marriage.'

Simon nodded, and a single thought ran through Harry's mind: _Should I offer him a place to stay? Or would he be offended?_

'You might be a master Occlumens, Harry, but I can see what you're thinking. And the answer is no.'

'No, you won't stay? Or no, you won't be offended if I ask?'

'Both. You're extremely kind to think of it, but I'm fine where I am. Wizarding tents are perfectly comfortable, as you well know.'

'But the bed!' blurted Harry, and Simon laughed.

'Yes, it was ghastly. But I finally replaced it the week before last, and my life has improved immeasurably.'

Still feeling helpless, Harry said, 'Can't I do something?'

'You have done. When you shaved your head for FLOOF, not only did we receive hundreds of Galleons in subscriptions, but more than a dozen businesses hired werewolves.'

'My hair grew back the next morning,' admitted Harry.

'It doesn't matter. You risked your reputation for us, and it's made a huge difference.'

'Do you at least need a comfortable place to spend the full moon?' he asked hopefully. 'You won't be able to cast Warming Charms while you're a wolf.'

'I'm never cold as a wolf. But I wouldn't say no to a warm house on Sunday while I'm recovering. Although I refuse to stay if you're entertaining guests.'

'I won't be. My girlfriend Alex and I just broke up, and all I have on Sunday is a Light magic lesson. I can have Kreacher set up a room for you, and he'll provide whatever you need.'

'On Sunday, yes,' agreed Simon. 'And thank you.'

Simon was ready to leave, and he started heading upstairs towards the fireplace. 'Would you rather Apparate?' asked Harry. 'I assume your tent isn't on the Floo network, and you can Apparate from the back garden.'

'Yes, that would be simpler,' he admitted, and they walked together to the kitchen.

After Harry saw Simon off, he placed the needle back on the record and allowed himself to glow again. _I signed away my dignity this afternoon to enrich the Blacks,_ he mused. _And both families are likely to make a killing from the condom scheme, not to mention Blaise's enterprise._

Harry knew what he needed to do. _I need to give away more to charity. _FLOOF, WORF, and a dozen other organisations needed his Galleons far more than his future offspring did. _They don't need to be Malfoy rich, _he thought. _Potter rich is fine._

With a chuckle, he recalled Gemma's definition of noblesse oblige: _'Noblesse oblige is the idea that rich and powerful people should use their advantages to help the less fortunate. In other words, you still get to be rich, but you can pat yourself on the back about how generous you are.'_

Nevertheless, Harry felt relieved as he listened to the rest of the album, and he apologised to his descendants for recklessly depriving them. _Let them learn Light magic instead,_ he thought fondly, and with his intention the seed was planted.

-––—––—––-

_Author's note:_

_FFnet has been very glitchy since 10/31/2020. I've posted two chapters since then, and a lot of people are having trouble seeing them in their browser. You can either try reading them in the mobile app, which is much more reliable, or on AO3 (Archive of Our Own). You can find it most quickly by searching for manatee-vs-walrus._


	92. Chapter 92

_Author's note:_

_Surprise—bonus chapter! I figured everyone could use a distraction right now, especially us poor sods in America._

_Please consider recommending _Loose Cannon_ to anyone who needs a nice long binge-read right now. And if you haven't clicked 'Favorite,' please consider doing so, since that will help other people find my fic. Thanks!_

-––—––—––-

Ron's jaw dropped when he saw the Muggle underwear adverts Harry showed him on Saturday morning. 'Are you sure you can't get out of the contract?' he stammered.

'I don't want to get out of the contract. The projected earnings are unbelievable, and it'll only require a few days' work.'

'But these photographs! Please tell me you're not planning to grab yourself!'

'Good lord, no! What do you take me for?'

Ron was still gaping at the adverts. 'I don't even know what I take you for anymore. Didn't you turn down Silver Arrow because they wanted to put you in their store displays?'

'I did,' said Harry. 'But that was back when I still had privacy, or something like it.'

'True—that was before _Sorceress_. And at least you waited for the highest bidder.' After a pause, Ron asked, 'Can I see the numbers? Janet didn't know the details.'

'That's because I didn't tell anyone from the team. I've only told the goblins.'

'Wrong, you told Malfoy.'

'Bugger, you're right!' said Harry. 'But are you sure you want to know?'

'Are you scared I'm going to explode with jealousy and pour a bottle of Firewhisky down my throat?' asked Ron.

'Er, yeah.'

Ron paused. 'That's a good question, and I honestly don't know. Just how staggering are these numbers?'

'Let's just say the Malfoys were impressed.'

'I should probably get a bottle of whisky, just in case,' said Ron, heading for the stairs.

'All the whisky's in the dining room, in the cupboard where the silver used to be,' Harry called after him.

When Ron returned, bottle in hand, he asked, 'Shouldn't you replace the silver one of these days? Get the family crest scratched onto it or something?'

'No, I love that Mundungus stole all the silver. I'll never replace it, and hopefully my descendants won't either.'

Ron looked at the folder Harry had fetched and was still holding. 'Hand it over, Snitchbottom.'

'Oi! You don't get to call me that!'

'It's either that or Harry Toffer.'

'Fine,' grumbled Harry, handing him the folder. 'The first page is Japan, and the second page is North America.' He explained the three sets of projections and then braced himself.

'Not bad,' said Ron, looking at the first page. 'Is this just the States, or Canada too?'

'No,' replied Harry, indicating where Ron's thumb was covering the title. 'That's Japan. North America's the next page.'

Ron's eyes bulged when he turned the page. 'Holy thestral bollocks! And that's for one year?'

Harry nodded soberly. 'The next page shows the Continent, broken down by country.'

'Blimey! I'd drop my trousers for one tenth of what they're offering you. But what about next year? Will they keep running the adverts?'

'We'll revisit the contract after a year, but the idea is to keep going, since I'll be a "brand ambassador" as well as a model.'

'Do you reckon you can string that out?' asked Ron. 'Like, after you retire from Quidditch and start looking like Ludo Bagman around the middle, could they just take pictures with your clothes on?'

'I hope I never look like Ludo Bagman! But in answer to your question, I have no idea.'

Ron glanced at the bottle of Firewhisky. 'I can't believe this, but I don't need a drink. I think I'm just happy for you. Mind you, I'll take the mickey louder than anyone when it comes out, but congratulations.'

'Thanks,' said Harry, relieved. 'If it were just for me, I wouldn't do it, but now that I'm on the hook for two families it's hard to pass up.'

Looking at the Muggle adverts again, Ron asked, 'Do they know you're not that big?'

'Oi!' cried Harry indignantly.

'Your muscles!' said Ron, laughing. 'I meant your muscles! You're more wiry than, er, beefy.'

Harry looked down at his clothed torso and frowned. 'I assume they know.' Shrugging, he added, 'Too late now.'

'I'm sure it's fine,' said Ron. 'Big muscles are more of a Muggle thing.'

'You sound like Malfoy.'

'Right, our new business partner! George told me about the meeting. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but thanks for bringing him in. Percy would have got us all thrown into Azkaban.'

'I know,' said Harry. 'In hindsight, we should have realised that Weasleys are magically blocked from successfully bribing anyone.'

'That would explain a lot. I couldn't even place a dodgy bet yesterday.'

'What happened?'

'We were doing Concealment and Disguise training, and I spent ages making myself completely unrecognisable. But then we broke for lunch, and I didn't fancy re-disguising myself afterwards, so Harper and I stayed incognito and went to the Surly Bowtruckle, just for laughs. Which meant none of the bookmakers there recognised me.'

'Did you try betting on my name change?' asked Harry.

'Too right I did, and the odds were good, even though Potter-Black with a hyphen is the top contender. But everyone expects you to announce it on the radio, so the _Prophet_ odds are much longer.'

'How did they catch you?'

'First, about a dozen Sneakoscopes sounded when I approached, which wouldn't have been a dealbreaker on its own because everyone there is up to something. But then I tried filling out a fake name, and the parchment was charmed against it, which meant the ink shot right back in my face. And then the hair-colour charm chose that second to expire, so everyone knew I had to be a Weasley.'

'Sweet Merlin! Did anyone try cursing you?'

'No, they all just laughed. But now everyone knows you're going to announce it in the _Prophet, _and the only remaining mystery is what day it'll be, because I hadn't filled that bit out yet.'

The conversation drifted to Alex and Rocky, who would be attending the match. 'Is it wrong that I want to fly like a maniac this afternoon, just to prove I'm more of a man than he is?'

'As long as you catch the Snitch, fly however you like. But will he even appreciate it? I thought Americans didn't like Quidditch.'

'Surely they know what decent flying looks like!'

'I guess, but I really don't know anything about America.'

'Oh right, you weren't exposed to thousands of hours of television like I was. Not that it matters, though, since Alex says Rocky isn't a typical American, whatever that means.'

'Will you be all right during the match, knowing he's in the stands?'

'I'll be fine—I'm sure I've handled worse by now. Really, it's dinner I'm worried about.'

'You're going out to dinner with them?' exclaimed Ron. 'Are you mental?'

'Possibly. I can't remember why I agreed to it. But at least I'll have good company—my newfound cousin Lisa will be there too.'

'Is she one of the Blacks? What's she like?'

'She's clever, and a lot of fun. Tonks would have loved her.'

'Is she pretty?'

'She is, but what's your point?'

'Do you fancy her?'

'She's my cousin!' protested Harry.

'How close?'

'We're fourth cousins.'

'That's nothing,' scoffed Ron. 'She's fair game as far as wizards are concerned.'

'No thanks! And trust me, she feels the same way.'

'No offence, mate, but your Muggle side is showing. Third cousins and up are fine. Even second cousins are all right, as long as you don't look alike.'

'Sirius's parents were second cousins,' noted Harry.

'Yeah, and they probably looked alike. That's the test. Do you and Lisa Black look alike?'

'Except for having black hair, no. But trust me, she's not interested.'

'Turn on the charm,' said Ron. 'Have a drink or two, see what happens.'

'I'm going to tell her you suggested this.'

'Tell her in bed. It's the fastest way to get over Alex.'

'It's not going to happen!' insisted Harry. 'And besides, I'd rather have her as a friend. Other than Hermione and my teammates, I have almost no female friends.'

'That's because you shag all the women you meet.'

'Which is what you're advising! Can you at least be consistent?'

'You didn't shag Luna, did you?'

'No! For Merlin's sake, give me some credit!'

'What's wrong with Luna?' asked Ron. 'I know she's weird, but she's pretty, and she filled out well. More than Hermione, certainly.'

'I can't believe I'm hearing this. Should we talk about Ginny next?'

'What? No!' cried Ron.

'That's what your talk of Luna sounds like to me,' said Harry. 'Yes, I've noticed she's pretty, but there's no way I'd toy with her like that.'

'She snogged a centaur. And I bet they did other stuff too.'

'They were in love! And why are you trying to get me into bed with Luna, or my cousin for that matter?'

Ron leaned back and sighed. 'It's a spectator sport, same as Quidditch.'

'Do you mean you're living vicariously through me?' asked Harry.

'Yeah, maybe.'

'Why? Aren't you and Janet happy?'

'That's just it,' said Ron. 'We are happy. I'm starting to really like her.'

'And why is that bad?'

'Because it was supposed to be meaningless. We shagged that first night, right after you and Helena left the bar. I thought we'd last maybe a few weeks, tops, but it's been more than two months, and things are just getting better.'

Harry didn't know how to respond, so he just stared at Ron dumbly.

'I have an Order of Merlin, First Class!' continued Ron. 'And I had every intention of putting it to use.'

'You did put it to use. That's how you got Janet into bed so fast.'

'Maybe, but she also has a thing for tall gingers.'

Harry was quiet for a moment. 'You realise I'm jealous, right?'

'Because you fancy Janet?'

'No, because you've found someone you like, and who fancies you back. I keep getting dumped.'

'You'll find someone eventually,' said Ron. 'And this way you get to experiment more. How many women are you up to anyway?'

'Er, I've lost count. A dozen maybe? Hang on, let me think.'

Ron interrupted him. 'The mere fact that you're not sure says it all. Janet's only my third.'

'Three is fine. Three is great, in fact. Twelve is pathological, particularly since all but one have been in the last few months.'

'It's not pathological,' said Ron. 'Excessive, perhaps, but not pathological. And several were in pairs, right?'

'Yeah, but I'm not even two months into my vow. Just imagine how many I'll be up to by the time I'm twenty-one.'

Ron's eyes widened. 'Triple figures, surely!'

'No, I refuse,' said Harry. 'Something has to change.'

'You could try charms for the single wizard.'

Harry glared at him. 'No, I need to figure out how not to lose my mind if I go a week without sex.'

'That seems unfair,' said Ron. 'Admittedly, I routinely went that long when Hermione and I were together. Longer, in fact. But why should you punish yourself just because the right witch hasn't turned up yet?'

'Maybe I need to learn patience,' mused Harry. 'I wonder if that's the problem.'

'The problem is you just got dumped again and you're grasping at straws. For Merlin's sake, stop worrying so much!'

'You're right,' said Harry, picking up his quill to sign more photographs.

Later that morning at the training grounds, Owen asked, 'How are you feeling?'

'Er, why do you ask?'

'The weather in Kenmare is brutal. Cold, rainy, and a strong west wind.'

'Brilliant. Just brilliant,' said Harry. 'Remind me why I do this?'

'Because you're desperate for adulation and outside approval?' suggested Gemma.

Harry deliberately started to glow. 'Oh, yes!' he moaned ecstatically, running his hands down his torso. 'Outside approval! Say it again, only faster.'

Gemma burst out laughing. 'Did you just summon Light magic for comic effect? Fantastic!'

'Is that adulation?' continued Harry. 'More please!'

'Now would probably be a good time to mention we're travelling by portkey,' said Owen.

'Yes, I know,' said Harry, his glow fading. 'Bloody Ireland. I should probably go there early so I have time to recover.'

Harry was indeed in a foul mood after travelling by portkey, and Light magic couldn't improve it. But Tuttle was unconcerned. 'Use it,' she said. 'Wear Kiely out.'

'He's more used to this weather than I am,' argued Harry.

'True, but has he fucked six times in one night?' retorted Tuttle. 'You can outlast him.'

Harry squared his shoulders and thought, _That'll show Rocky. _'All right,' he said determinedly. 'Any other advice?'

'Near-foul like crazy. Ugly weather calls for ugly Quidditch.'

A predatory smile crossed Harry's lips. 'That sounds perfect.'

After changing into his team robes, Harry prowled the waiting area like a caged animal. 'You've got that look,' said Janet. Harry studied her through narrowed eyes and she added, 'Not your sex look. Your _"I rid the world of Voldemort"_ look.'

_That's because I did_. 'Are you afraid I'll Plock you?' he asked.

'I'll be disappointed if you don't Plock me!' she replied. 'Play ugly!'

When it was time to fly out, the weather was truly frightful. Rain blew into the corridor where Harry was waiting, and he knew his Impervius Charm wouldn't repel it for long. But he felt an inner heat that would surely counteract the outer chill.

'Good luck,' said Owen. 'And don't kill yourself out there—it really is only a game.'

Harry's name was called last, and he could barely see the banners in the driving rain. But the stands were packed, and he was determined to give the fans a show. _I will catch the Snitch, _came the thought, and he knew it was truth rather than mere intention.

The balls were released, and Harry started circling. _Can I feint yet?_ he thought impatiently, but Kiely wouldn't fall for it so early. So he let the other Seeker approach him.

'Harry Potter!' declared Kiely. 'We meet at last!'

'Yes, I've never seen you at Seeker's night out. But weren't you at my party?'

'I was, but I didn't fancy queuing up just to meet you, and by the time the crowd cleared I'd long since found a guest room.'

'How far down the corridor was it?'

'Not far enough, apparently, since it was fairly normal. Although we caught a glimpse of the most gorgeous portrait I've ever seen, until she screamed and threw on a veil.'

'You saw Annabel Black?!'

'I did. Have you seen her?'

'No, and I'm reluctant even to try, for fear of falling madly in love.'

'She's a stunner all right. Put me off my partner for a moment, to be honest. But I got over it ... tied your record even.'

'My record?' asked Harry nervously.

'Six times. Bloody exhausting—I'll never do that again.'

_So much for my stamina advantage,_ thought Harry. 'But why haven't you been to Seekers' night out.'

'I don't fancy portkeys,' said Kiely. 'And the English are incapable of pulling a decent pint. In fact, you should visit an Irish pub this afternoon before going home.'

'Yes, I'm sure I'll be popular at the Kenmare Arms.'

'It's called Dave's,' said Kiely. 'And you'll be a hero for not catching the Snitch this afternoon.'

'I hate to break it to you, but I have a strong feeling I will catch the Snitch.'

'Not in this weather. You're from the south, right?'

'I am, but I went to Hogwarts. We played in weather like this all the time.'

'Three years ago,' said Kiely. 'You've got soft since then.'

'I really haven't,' replied Harry. 'But you'll see.' He flew off into a solo circling pattern, and Kiely didn't follow him. Harry expanded again into awareness, allowing the coiled serpent energy to arise. _I mightn't be a Parselmouth any longer, but I'm still a Slytherin,_ he thought, and he shot into a wild feint.

Visibility was terrible, so Kiely had to follow him as he zig-zagged through the other players. Harry came close to fouling a Kestrel Chaser and then a Beater, but the whistle never blew. When he emerged his rival found him.

'So that's your strategy,' said Kiely.

'It is. Our match against Portree only lasted a quarter hour, so I have a lot of unused energy.'

'I won a six-hour match last month against the Arrows. You won't outlast me.'

'I was awake for twenty-four hours before defeating Voldemort.'

Kiely was silent a moment. 'That's impressive, I'll grant you. But you still won't win.'

'Want to bet? A pint at Dave's, perhaps?'

'Perfect,' said Kiely. 'You're on.'

From that point forward, the match was a series of escalating feints. Kiely was a surprisingly aggressive flyer—nearly as good as Routledge—but Harry was faster. _And I'll be shocked if he can spot as well as I can, particularly if he's feinting non-stop._

Harry invited the perfect balance of Light magic to arise: enough to preserve his broad awareness without taking away his edge. And it was brilliant—the crowd never thinned, even after hours of driving rain, and Harry's energy felt inexhaustible. 'I can do this all day,' he said to Kiely during his next approach.

The other Seeker answered through gritted teeth. 'You're a stubborn bastard, Potter.'

'So I'm told,' he replied, diving for the Snitch. Kiely followed but he didn't have a chance—Harry was faster. 'You owe me a pint!' cried Harry, raising his arm high.

'Fuck!' bellowed Kiely. 'God knows I need one right now.'

After landing, Harry hugged his teammates and talked to reporters under a hastily-erected awning. Hot Butterbeer was served, which Harry appreciated, but after meeting Rocky he longed for a proper drink.

'Harry, this is Rocky Stefanik,' said Alex, introducing the tall, handsome wizard. 'Rocky, this is Harry Potter.'

'It's nice to meet you,' said Rocky, with no discernible animosity. 'And congratulations, that was great.'

'Cheers. Was that your first Quidditch match?'

'My first professional match, yeah. There was a Quidditch club at Westwind, but it didn't hold a candle to this.'

'Harry, well done,' said Alex, and Harry's heart melted. 'Your classmate Seamus even admitted you did a good job.'

'Did you stay warm?' he asked, trying desperately not to give her the Look.

'I did, thanks. Rocky casts a bubble that protects against rain and wind—he perfected it back at school.'

'There's a reason it's called Westwind,' he explained, and they looked affectionately at each other. Alex smiled softly, as though recalling a memory.

_Bloody hell!_ thought Harry. 'Did you choose a restaurant?' he asked. 'Something filling would be nice, after shivering outside all afternoon.'

'I don't know if it's filling, but we have a seven-thirty reservation at Mistigri,' said Alex. 'Didn't you say you liked it?'

_Bugger!_ he thought. 'Yes, it's lovely.'

'Oh good. We'll meet you there?'

'Yes, see you later.'

Kiely approached Harry as the couple walked away hand in hand. 'Wasn't that your girlfriend?' he asked.

'Yes, and her fiancé.'

'Are you fucking kidding me! You just got dumped and I didn't know to taunt you about it?'

'I did. And I'll be ready for that pint.'

They agreed to travel together from the stadium, since Harry didn't fancy going alone to the Kestrels stronghold. He went inside and told his teammates he wouldn't join them at the Spyglass. 'Kiely owes me a Guinness,' he explained.

'You earned it,' said Tuttle. 'If anyone still doubted you were a real Seeker, they won't anymore.'

'Were you struck by a Bludger?' asked Harry. 'Normally you'd insult me right about now.'

'I insult you when you win easy. Today you won hard. And tell Kiely he did a fine job too—that was a hell of a match.'

After a hot shower and a change of clothes, Harry found Kiely in the corridor outside the visitors' locker room. 'Where's my Guinness?' he demanded.

'Just through that fireplace. I'll go first to warn them—the Floo address is Dave's of Kenmare.'

When Harry arrived, a tense silence fell over the crowded pub. 'So, it's the English dandy,' announced a Kestrels fan. 'Are you here to lord over us?' he asked, with an emphasis on the verb.

'No, I'm here to find out if Kiely was talking bollocks about Irish beer.'

'I wasn't,' replied Kiely, and he asked the barman to pull Harry a pint. 'No pitchers here, Potter.'

He and Harry sat down, and the crowd became friendlier. 'You know, Potter, you were an honorary Irishman during the war,' said another Kestrels fan.

'Was I? Why?'

'Because the English had a price on your head. But now you're Cornelius bleeding Fudge.'

'Oi!' cried Harry, prompting laughter. 'Fudge was practically a war criminal as far as I'm concerned.'

'Asleep on the job,' said the wizard. 'Comfortable.'

'And that's what I am now?'

'You are. Posh as the Queen's tits.'

_What a ghastly metaphor,_ thought Harry. 'So I'm supposed to live in a tent and wear old Muggle clothes again?'

'No, you're hopelessly English, and there's no point pretending you aren't. But don't be an arse about it.'

Harry's pint arrived, and after a long sip he nodded in appreciation. 'Wow, this is good,' he said. 'But how do I avoid being an arse? It sounds like I'm one already.'

'You're teetering on the edge,' said Kiely. 'Are you planning to change your name?'

'Yes, next week.'

'Black, or Potter-Black?'

Harry frowned. 'The latter.'

The Kestrels fans nodded in approval. 'That's good. You shouldn't forget your da and ma,' said an older wizard.

'I don't want to,' said Harry. 'Which is hard, since I barely remember them. But what else should I do, or not do?'

'Stop pawing witches in public,' said the wizard. 'I don't care if they're throwing themselves at you—wait until you get home.'

'But what about my loose morals in general?'

'That's none of my business,' said the wizard. 'I can't speak for everyone here, but I'm more pagan than Catholic, so I don't consider sex a sin. But parading yourself is the wrong kind of pride.'

Harry grew deeply concerned about the contract he'd just signed. 'What about endorsements?' he asked. 'Do those count as parading?'

'Not flowers or wallpaper,' said Kiely. 'But you were bloody daft to turn down Silver Arrow.'

'Right,' said Harry, unsure how this applied to his underwear endorsement. 'What if I endorsed something that, er, called a lot of attention to myself?'

Kiely's eyes shot open. 'What did you get? Not Firebolt!'

'No, not a broomstick. Something unusual, and worldwide.'

'Coca-Cola?' asked another wizard, prompting more laughter, and Harry shook his head.

'If the pay is good and you don't take yourself too seriously, it's probably all right,' said Kiely.

'The pay is good,' said Harry enigmatically.

'Then buy the next round,' called a witch, who was eavesdropping from the next table.

'What, for everyone?' asked Harry, looking around the crowded pub.

'You owe us, after leaving Kiely in bits,' said the witch.

Harry eyed her suspiciously. 'Aren't you just preying on my insecurity as an Englishman in an Irish pub?'

'You're damn right I am! But do it anyway. I bet the Blacks stole some of their gold from the Irish.'

'They probably did,' said Harry, pulling out his pouch. 'You're lucky I went to Gringotts yesterday ... will thirty Galleons cover a round?'

'It'll cover several,' said a wizard. 'Did you hear that, Declan?' he called to the barman. 'The next few rounds are on Lord Black!'

The pub erupted into cheers, and Harry paid at the bar. When he returned, the older wizard said, 'That's a start, Potter. Now what else are you going to do to fix Anglo-Irish relations?'

'Er,' stalled Harry, unsure how to reply.

'Support some Irish charities,' said a witch. 'Muggle charities.'

'Muggle charities?' said Harry, surprised.

'You said it yourself, it's hard to starve as a wizard. But Muggles are perfectly capable of starving, and the English have a history of helping it along.'

Thus began a long lesson in Irish history, which left Harry appalled. 'Why couldn't Irish wizards help more?'

'Secrecy,' said a scowling witch. 'Fucking English secrecy.'

'But it's the International Statute of Secrecy, not the British Statute of Secrecy,' said Harry.

'Yeah, and who spearheaded it? The British!'

A bookish-looking wizard spoke up. 'Indeed they did. Including a certain Ralston Potter.'

'Who?' asked Harry.

'One of your ancestors, from the 1600s. He pushed hard for the Statute of Secrecy.'

'To be fair,' said a witch, 'he was arguing against wizards who wanted to declare war on Muggles.'

'Then why did the Irish oppose secrecy?'

'We got on better with Muggles than you lot did. Irish Muggles were less afraid of magic and knew better than to persecute our children, and we helped them in return. But the British made a mess of things in the colonies—and at home—which they believed justified secrecy.'

'And that's why the Irish starved?'

'There was more than one reason,' said the bookish wizard. 'But secrecy was a big part of it.'

'Then what's the best way to help poor Muggles?' asked Harry. 'I don't see much hope in overturning secrecy, nor am I convinced it's a good idea. It might work in Ireland, but I can't see America pulling it off.'

'No, they'd never agree to it,' said the witch. 'Not even the Irish-Americans, who call themselves Irish but wouldn't know a Porlock from a Moke.'

'So that leaves Muggle charities?'

'Yes, and don't make a big deal about it. No one wants to hear you gobshiting on the radio about how generous you are.'

'Right. Is there anything else I should be doing?'

'Keep pissing off the establishment,' said a wizard. 'There's nothing worse than a complacent, complicit Englishman.'

'Like Cornelius Fudge,' said Harry, draining the last of his Guinness.

'Exactly. Will you have another?' asked the wizard, indicating Harry's glass. 'Some lickarse left thirty Galleons on the bar.'

'No thanks, I'm a lightweight.'

'So that's where I can outpace you!' cried Kiely. 'Next time we face each other, we should drain a pint every half-hour.'

'Not bloody likely,' replied Harry, laughing.

He returned to Kenmare Stadium and used the portkey Lara left for him. _Thank Merlin I didn't have a second pint!_ he thought gratefully when he slammed to the ground. Nevertheless, when he went home he lay on the sofa for half an hour until Lisa found him.

'There you are!' she announced, entering the sitting room. 'Are we a little tired after the match?'

'No, I'm fine,' he said, sitting up. 'That's a lovely dress.'

'Cheers. I don't get to wear it often, but I suppose that could change if I don't blow it tonight.'

'Why would you blow it?'

'Because I speak my mind, even to the great Harry Potter.'

'That's fine with me. I just spent the better part of an hour being scolded in an Irish pub.'

'You choose weird ways to spend your time,' she observed. 'But enough talk ... show me that wardrobe of yours.'

He led her upstairs, and after laughing at the size of his bed she entered the wardrobe, which was freestanding and opened into a small room. 'Oh yes,' she said approvingly. 'This is everything I hoped it would be. But what's this? A three-piece suit?'

'Yes, I just bought it. With Alex, in fact.'

'You have to wear it,' she said, pulling it out. 'It's bespoke, right?'

'More or less. A Muggle would call it made-to-measure, but magic produces a result that's similar to bespoke.'

'Fantastic. Put it on.'

'Er, some privacy please?'

She exited the wardrobe and Harry changed clothes. 'Full marks!' declared Lisa when he emerged. 'You'll definitely make the cover of the _Prophet._' But then she turned pale. 'Blast! So will I!'

'Should I change into something less conspicuous?' he asked. 'I don't mind.'

'No, it's a Battle of the Dandies,' said Lisa. 'But maybe the _Prophet_ will photograph you and Rambo instead.'

'His name's Rocky,' said Harry. 'Do you want me to owl Rita Skeeter and ensure they don't run your picture?'

Lisa furrowed her brow. 'I don't know. My mates would be furious with me for turning down the opportunity, but I don't want everyone to assume we're sleeping together.'

'Between the _Prophet_ and the radio, I can get the message out that we're only friends. And as I pointed out yesterday, you can appear on the radio yourself to reinforce it.'

'You'd really let me slag you on the radio?'

'Lee and George do it all the time.'

'True. When are you announcing your name change?'

'Tuesday morning, in the _Prophet.'_

Lisa thought for a moment. 'It would make sense to have another Black on the air with you, to represent the rest of us.'

'I'd love that. I really don't want to turn the Blacks into the Harry Potter show.'

'We'll be the Harry Potter show for the next fifty years at least,' she said. 'Unless you count Walburga.'

'You're right. She's probably more famous than Sirius by now.'

'Easily. Everyone asks me if we're related.'

'Didn't people ask you about Sirius?'

'They did, but as far as anyone knew we were unconnected.'

'I wish you could have met him,' said Harry, adjusting his necktie in the mirror. 'And vice versa. He would have loved meeting all the new relations.'

'Even the Whites?' she asked slyly.

Harry peered at her. 'Weren't they friendly?'

'They weren't unfriendly,' she began. 'But they didn't exactly invite us round for Christmas.'

'If it makes you feel better, they didn't invite me round either.'

'Even after you offered to sponsor them?'

'You heard about that?' asked Harry sheepishly.

'Oh yes. They seemed very pleased. Have you heard from anyone yet?'

'No. Do you know what I should expect?'

'Let's just say I overheard the word "dowry,"' said Lisa.

'Bugger! Are you serious?'

'I am. Perseus White was an eldest son after all.'

'I know, but he wasn't in line to be Head of House.'

'The Blacks still had a lot of gold back then. He would have received a significant inheritance if he hadn't rejected the Dark Arts.'

Harry sighed. 'And I'm a Light wizard, so of course they expect me to admire that. And I do.'

Lisa was examining the array of boutonnières on the dresser. 'Do you wear flowers with a three-piece suit?'

'I have no idea. What do you think?'

She held one up to his lapel. 'No, it ruins the lines. And this way you'll shock everyone.'

'By not wearing flowers? I really don't recognise my life anymore.'

They started downstairs, and she asked, 'Can you afford to sponsor all your poor relations? I'm not asking for myself, but I'm worried you'll have a new millstone around your neck.'

'Er, can you keep a secret?'

Her eyes shot open. 'Were you lying? Are you actually richer than the Queen?'

'No, not at all! I said that under Veritaserum, remember?'

'Oh right. Carry on.'

'I signed a very lucrative contract yesterday,' he began.

'What kind of contract?'

He paused. 'I'm not sure whether I should tell you or show you.'

'Show me the contract?'

'No, show you the type of advert I've agreed to appear in.'

'Oh my god, there's nudity, isn't there!'

'Not full-frontal,' he said, but she started laughing.

'Do you have photos already? I need to see them.'

'Not of me, but Muggle adverts.' He led her to the sitting room and pulled out the dog-eared magazine and opened it. 'They won't run in Britain,' he said preemptively. 'Only abroad.'

She gaped silently as she flipped through the adverts. 'Does Narcissa Malfoy know?'

'She pretty much ordered me to do it.'

'Probably because her husband's in Azkaban and she needs visual aids,' said Lisa, smirking.

'She's old enough to be my mother!'

'You never know. I've heard pervy comments about you from women older than that.'

'Not from Narcissa, I hope!'

'Good lord no! All she said to me was that I looked like Callidora Black.'

'Believe me, I have no intention of sleeping with Narcissa Malfoy. Not only would Draco kill me with his bare hands, but the branches on the tapestry are already tangled enough.'

'You of all people should know you needn't marry the witch,' she said. 'And someone else might tangle the branches for you.'

'Do you mean Draco?'

'If Catherine White gets her way. She struck me as highly motivated.'

'She certainly seemed to fancy him.' With a chuckle, he added, 'She barely gave me the time of day.'

'Not with your vow, she wouldn't. In fact, I hope you thanked whoever suggested it, since she spared you any number of gold diggers. At least the ones with matrimonial ambitions.'

'Honestly, I've had almost no trouble with gold diggers. The most I've had to buy was an expensive dinner.'

'No jewellery or clothing?' she asked.

'Oh right, once. But that was with a Muggle who didn't know who I was, and I was the one to suggest it.'

'But never with a witch?

'No. In fact, Lydia probably spent more on me than I spent on her. Which reminds me, I should write to Rita.' He pulled his monogrammed stationery from the drawer and jotted a quick letter.

Lisa held a sheet of notepaper to the light and examined the watermark. 'Will you replace it after Tuesday?'

'Most likely, although I'll use this up when writing to friends. Should I get a stag watermark again, or is it too pretentious?'

'Why not a Slytherin watermark?'

'Tempting. But no.'

She frowned in consideration. 'It's definitely pretentious, but it's also cool. And isn't the stag your father?'

'You're right, it is. The stag stays.' He addressed the envelope and said, 'On a related topic, do you want to see my ravens?'

Lisa burst out laughing. 'Please tell me you use that line on other witches.'

'I don't, and they're not actually ravens.' He told her about the jackdaws as they walked up to the owlery.

Looking around the house, she asked, 'How many people were at your last party?'

'I invited the entire Quidditch league, along with their guests, which totalled around four hundred.'

'Four hundred! It must have been wall-to-wall people!' After he reminded her about the roof and the guest rooms, she asked, 'Will you throw another party soon?'

'My teammates are after me to do it, but I'm reluctant.'

'Why? You obviously have Rita Skeeter under control now.'

'True, but my teammates won't be satisfied with a regular party. They want a drag party.'

'Oh my god, yes! How do I get invited?'

'You alter the fabric of the universe such that I'm willing to throw a drag party.'

She interlaced her fingers and made a show of cracking her knuckles. 'No problem. What are you planning to wear in this altered universe?'

'A dress, I suppose. But the real issue is makeup.'

'Muggle makeup?'

'Yes. This all started when they censored that bit from my Veritaserum broadcast. It was about how a Frenchman chatted me up at a nightclub because I was wearing eye makeup.'

'That must have looked fantastic. Do you have photos?'

'Not a chance! And that's the problem with hosting a drag party—no matter how I try to prevent it, word is bound to get out.'

'You can make people sign a contract saying they won't talk about the party. And you can prevent photographs from being taken, even though that would be a tragic loss to future historians.'

He shook his head. 'It'll still get out. And it would be further proof of my debauchery.'

'Rubbish! This isn't anywhere near as debauched as what you've already done. And you can just blame the Light magic and say it's to balance your energies or something.'

'Are you making that up?'

'Mostly, yeah. But I've heard of male yogis who deliberately cultivate their feminine side in order to become spiritually complete. And vice versa, presumably.'

'Interesting,' replied Harry, recalling Alex's advice about being less needy.

'One could argue you've been doing it already, by wearing flowers and that French scarf,' she continued. 'Ask your teacher about it—I bet it's legitimate.'

'I'll think about it,' he said, although she'd already convinced him. 'Do you have mates you'd want to invite?'

'Do I ever! Are you serious?'

'Maybe. Although I wouldn't invite the Quidditch league to this one. Probably just school friends, my teammates, and their friends.'

'What about Draco Malfoy?' she asked slyly.

'Ugh, I suppose I'll have to. I already promised I'd invite his friend Pansy.'

Lisa sniggered. 'He'd go out of his way to make himself prettier than you.'

'Would he be prettier?' asked Harry competitively.

'I can't say. Your eyes are prettier—no question. But you have very masculine features, which mightn't work in your favour.'

'I lured a Frenchman,' he argued.

'Yes, but he was attracted to men. Honestly, you'll do better if you don't try to pass as female but just play with gender bending. Glam rock, you know.'

'You're not the first one to suggest that,' said Harry. 'But what would you wear? You'd look smashing in wizards' robes.'

Her eyes widened. 'Could I borrow some?'

'Of course, I already told Gemma she could. If I actually throw this party, that is.'

'You're throwing it,' declared Lisa. 'For one thing, you need something to distract you from the Alex situation.'

He nodded sadly. 'That's a good point. Did I mention I'm not looking forward to dinner?'

'Then why did you agree to it?'

'She wanted to introduce me to her fiancé,' he said. 'And probably reassure him that he's her true love and I was just some manwhore she used to pass the time.'

'Is that true?'

'She called it a pocket romance, which is more poetic than calling it a fling. But that's not what it was for me. I could have fallen for her. I almost have done.'

'I can see that. You really are romantic!'

'I know,' he said sadly.

After a long silence, she asked, 'Do you have many female friends?'

'There's Hermione. And my teammates, and a couple other school friends. But otherwise no.'

'That's not bad, actually. But I was surprised when you asked me to dinner, and it made me wonder why you didn't invite someone you knew better.'

He explained why he'd invited her, as opposed to Hermione or Gemma. 'Also, it gave me something to look forward to. I'm not used to having relations my own age. Wizarding relations, that is.'

'I'm not used to having relations or even friends from old wizarding families. I know that technically describes me now, but I don't think I'll ever leave off feeling like an outsider.'

'Those bloody wards,' muttered Harry. 'Phineas Nigellus didn't even turn up in his frame at the reunion.'

'No, but my brother saw him hiding behind a houseplant in someone else's frame.'

Harry looked at his pocket watch and sighed. 'Time for dinner,' he said, and he led her to the kitchen. 'If I were a better host I wouldn't make you use the kitchen fireplace, but my friends all use it.'

'I'm flattered you consider me worthy of your kitchen,' she replied with mock solemnity.

They travelled by Floo to the restaurant, which was crowded on a Saturday night. Harry's outfit attracted notice, but not as much as Lisa did. _Poor thing,_ he thought. _Everyone assumes she's my latest._ He deliberately stepped away from her and made sure his body language conveyed only friendship.

Alex and Rocky arrived a minute later through the front door. They didn't see Harry at first, which gave him an opportunity to look at Alex in plain admiration. _She's so elegant!_ he thought, and his heart leapt. But then Rocky drew his attention, and Harry couldn't ignore how perfectly they suited each other.

Rocky had worn a smart woollen jumper during the match, but now he was wearing robes that were subtly different to any Harry had seen. _They must be American,_ he supposed, and he was torn between resentment and curiosity.

'Harry!' said Alex, not taking his hand. 'I hope you've recovered from the match this afternoon. That looked exhausting.'

'I have done, thanks,' he replied, and he introduced Lisa.

'You look like Sirius,' said Alex, giving Harry a knowing look. But Harry shook his head minutely, as if to say, _You're not just going to fob me off onto another witch._

Alex seemed to deflate, which made Harry regret his hostile attitude. 'Our table is ready,' he said, trying to sound more upbeat.

He signalled to the host, who led them partway through the restaurant to a table in full view. _Bugger, I should have arranged for something more private, _thought Harry, not relishing having his heartbreak on public display. _But I let Alex make the reservation,_ he recalled, and he invited Light magic to help him through the evening.

'I have to thank you for referring me to your tailor,' said Rocky. 'After the match, Alex and I picked out my robes for the wedding, and they even gave me a discount.'

'They're the Montesquiou robes,' said Alex. 'The shop assistant showed us the picture you gave them.'

This led to a discussion about Paris and the revelation that Rocky spoke French, and that they were considering going there for their honeymoon. 'Obviously we want to see all the sights,' said Rocky, 'but I also have colleagues in Paris, so it would be a great opportunity to collaborate.'

_That doesn't sound like much of a honeymoon,_ thought Harry scornfully, but Alex expressed eagerness as well. 'I showed Rocky the duplicate version of that book, and he agrees completely that it relates to his team's work.'

'But you won't get a Philosopher's Stone out of it,' said Rocky. 'Is it true you once held one?'

'Yes, but only for a moment,' said Harry, trying not to think about how he'd killed Quirrell immediately afterwards.

'I learned about you growing up, but I had no idea until recently how badly the British newspapers treated you. We just heard bits and pieces in America.'

'It's true,' said Alex. 'I heard more because my parents sought out British news, but otherwise Americans are extremely parochial.'

Harry didn't know what parochial meant, and he didn't dare ask in front of Rocky. Fortunately Lisa rescued him. 'The British are just as bad,' she said. 'We scarcely know what's happening on the Continent, let alone America or around the globe.'

This led to a discussion of American wizarding politics, which Harry largely ignored. _Rocky's better-looking than I am,_ he thought sullenly. His hair was curly, mostly on top of his head, and it flowed loosely over his forehead. _I wonder if he'll go bald, _thought Harry, and he tried to decide whether Rocky could make it work as he'd done.

_And he's clever too_. _I probably look right daft to him, sitting here not saying anything while they're discussing issues of global importance. I'm just a bloody weapon who's stretching his time in the spotlight by playing Quidditch and modelling underwear._

'Harry, tell Rocky about your plans to rework the goblin treaties,' said Alex. 'Harry's terribly ambitious politically,' she explained. 'Not for public office, but to make a difference in the Wizengamot, which is the governing body here.'

Harry described his wish to unravel the restrictions on British goblins, which impressed both Rocky and Lisa. 'That's amazing,' said Rocky. 'You're really in a unique position, not only as a war hero and a Quidditch star, but also as a member of the ruling class. Normally I'm opposed to hereditary political power, since it usually just reinforces entrenched interests, but you can make a real difference.'

'That's where I come in,' said Lisa. 'On his own, Harry might only meet a handful of commoners like myself, and they'd all be overpaid Quidditch players. But I plan to force him to mingle with the hoi polloi.'

'You're making me sound like a snob!' said Harry.

'I hate to break it to you, cousin, but you are one.'

'What? No I'm not!' Frowning, he added, 'There's a difference between a snob and a toff, right?'

'You look through people you're not interested in,' said Lisa. 'I saw it more than once, back before we met.'

'I can't believe I'd have looked through you,' he said without thinking, and the women laughed.

'You most certainly did. Once was last year, while you were still dating Ginny Weasley, and the second time was earlier this month, when you were out with Lydia Travers. The two of you together looked like the snootiest couple I'd ever seen.'

They were all drinking wine, and only after his first glass did Harry remember he hadn't eaten since before the match. _That pint of Guinness was oddly filling,_ he realised.

'Does this happen to you?' he asked Rocky. 'Clearly you dress well—do people hold it against you?'

'All the time,' he replied. 'Particularly when I'm among No-Majes. But I'm not famous, so I don't make a lasting impression.'

Harry frowned. 'But I wasn't even dressed well last year,' he told Lisa. 'I was either wearing my Auror robes or jeans and a shirt.'

'The latter,' said Lisa. 'But it was your overall vibe, which said, _"Don't even think of approaching me." _I understood, though—you were still in mourning. I know I wasn't myself for a full six months after my grandmum died.'

'It's true,' said Alex. 'I wasn't myself for weeks after my parents' cat died—Rocky can tell you.'

'We also knew so little about you back then,' continued Lisa. 'None of us had any idea what a raging shagmonster you were.'

In an interesting juxtaposition, Alex reddened while Rocky turned pale. 'Oops, I probably shouldn't have said that,' said Lisa, who was also blushing. 'But at least it's out in the open now. I'm sure the conversation will become far more interesting, although I didn't have any complaints earlier.'

Contrary to Lisa's prediction, there was a long, awkward silence. Harry, throwing caution to the wind, refilled his wine glass and said, 'Will you two move in together after Alex returns to America?'

'Yes, and we quarrelled about it this afternoon,' replied Alex.

_Quarrelled?_ thought Harry hopefully, and he waited for Alex to explain.

'The problem is location,' she said. 'I've always lived on the North Side, but Rocky is an entrenched South Sider.'

Harry was bewildered. 'Why would that matter? I thought you said Apparition was common there.'

'It's not about location,' countered Rocky. 'It's about culture. Similar to No-Maj Chicagoans, wizards from the North and South Sides have completely different habits and attitudes. The short version is that South Siders are illiterate louts who'd just as soon punch you as use a wand, and North Siders are insular snobs who don't know the South Side exists.'

'He's exaggerating,' began Alex, but Rocky shook his head.

'I was exaggerating to make a point. Obviously I'm not much of a fighter, and Alex isn't a snob, but those are the stereotypes.'

'Didn't you go to school together?' asked Lisa. 'I'd have thought that would smooth out differences.'

'Yes and no,' said Alex. 'For one thing, Chicago has two different Quodpot teams, and the North Side supports one and the South Side supports the other. Loyalties are extremely high, and I've seen people fight over them.'

'Over Quodpot teams?' exclaimed Harry. 'What a completely daft thing to fight over.'

'Unlike blood purity, which is a clever and enlightened thing to fight over,' said Lisa.

'We also don't kill each other over Quodpot loyalties,' added Alex. 'But that's beside the point. There are also racial and ethnic differences between North and South Siders, and those don't just disappear because we're all magical.'

Harry studied Alex and Rocky, trying to discern the ethnic difference between them.

'I'm mostly Irish, with some Polish and Lithuanian,' explained Rocky. 'We'll leave Alex out, since she's atypical, but North Siders are generally less connected to their immigrant roots.'

'Then wouldn't you fit in better on the South Side?' Harry asked Alex. 'Your parents are immigrants, after all.'

'Yes and no. For one thing, they came to America as wizards, which already gave them a huge advantage. Whereas Rocky's forbears were Muggles and had to struggle a lot more.'

Harry remembered what he'd learnt that afternoon about the Great Famine, and he realised Rocky was probably descended from people who'd fled.

'Furthermore,' continued Alex, 'my family is English and mostly Protestant, which puts us at the top of the American hierarchy. Even working-class British people have a leg up when they move to America, since they already speak the language and have easily-pronounced surnames.'

'But the Irish spoke English,' argued Harry.

'Not all of them,' said Rocky. 'And most Irish immigrants were poor and uneducated, which meant they experienced discrimination for more than a century.'

'And that still persists among wizards?' asked Lisa.

'Not really. But resentment and clannishness don't disappear overnight, hence the divide.'

Alex looked embarrassed. 'I probably am a snob for not wanting to move to the South Side. And I need to get over it—we should live there.'

'But I'm being pushy,' said Rocky. 'And Harry's right—with Apparition it doesn't matter where we live.'

'Not as long as we're together,' said Alex tenderly, and Harry's heart broke, seeing her look at Rocky as she'd once looked at him.

'You can settle this on your own,' interjected Lisa. 'And I think we need more wine.'

'Agreed,' said Harry, who had finished his second glass. He allowed his hands to glow before waving for their waiter.

Lisa started laughing. 'Did you do that on purpose to get wine faster?'

'Yes, Draco Malfoy suggested it.'

They ordered another bottle, only this time Harry insisted on elf-made wine. 'I'll pay for it,' he said. 'I caught the bleeding Snitch, which means I get a bonus.'

'And he signed the contract,' whispered Lisa loudly.

Alex's eyes widened. 'It's official?' she asked, and Harry nodded.

'Including America,' he said. 'For all I know, my photo will be on a billboard next to the church where you're married.'

'They wouldn't put that kind of billboard next to a church,' scoffed Lisa.

'Oh yes they would,' said Alex. 'Remember this is America we're talking about.'

'I have no idea what's going on,' said Rocky.

'We can't talk about it in public,' said Harry in a stage whisper. 'Scandal, you know.'

'Isn't that what you're changing your name to?' asked Lisa. 'Harry Scandal Potter?'

'Potter-Black,' he mumbled. 'Harry Scandal Potter-Black.'

The wine arrived, and so did their starters. 'Oh my god, this is good,' said Lisa. 'Why didn't we order elf-made wine to start with?'

'I didn't want to look like I was asserting dominance by jumping to the expensive half of the wine list,' said Harry. 'Although I have no idea who's paying tonight—I assume we'll split it halfway.'

'That's what I assumed,' replied Rocky.

_It won't be the first thing we've split,_ thought Harry bitterly. 'What do you think of England?' he asked Rocky. 'Have you been here before?'

'No. Remember it was considered unsafe for years.'

'So I've heard,' replied Harry. 'But what do you think now?'

'I wish I had more time to spend here,' said Rocky. 'Between the Muggle and wizarding sights, there's so much I want to see. But unfortunately this was a quick trip.'

_Yes, to reclaim Alex from her manwhore,_ thought Harry. 'Will you be back?'

Alex responded in the affirmative, describing an itinerary they'd obviously worked out in advance. 'I went to some of those places as a child, but others I've only heard about. Rocky and I have long imagined where we'll go someday.'

'Do either of you intend to visit America?' asked Rocky.

'I'd like to go eventually,' replied Lisa, 'but I hardly know when. And how would I even decide where to go? It's so big!'

'You just pick somewhere,' said Alex. 'New York City, or the Grand Canyon, or San Francisco. And then next time you go somewhere else.'

'I hear the World Quidditch Conference will be in Chicago this winter,' said Rocky.

Harry was astonished. 'But, but why?' he sputtered. 'Americans barely play Quidditch!'

'That's just it,' said Rocky. 'Apparently none of the organisers could agree on a location this year. Everyone wanted it in their own region, and nobody was willing to compromise. They were stuck until they received a proposal from a Chicago-based event planner, and they agreed it was mutually disadvantageous.'

'I'm supposed to attend,' said Harry absently, thinking of the petition Krum was circulating.

'Then you can reject Jodi and Heidi!' said Alex jubilantly. 'Oh dear, that was rather loud, wasn't it.'

'You should arrange a publicity event relating to your scandalous endorsement,' said Lisa. 'Involving autographs, or perhaps a live fashion show.'

'Oi! That's not in my contract.'

'But you get a percentage of sales, right? My dowry won't come cheap.'

'I'm not paying your dowry.'

'Then no one will have me, and I'll be an old maid. I hope you can live with yourself.'

'I'm starting to piece together what this mysterious contract is about,' said Rocky.

'Shh, it's a scandal!' said Lisa. 'Alex has been shagging the most scandal-prone wizard in Britain.'

'Don't use the S-word,' said Harry. 'We were "dating."'

'Six times a night,' muttered Lisa.

'Not true,' said Harry, and Alex shook her head vehemently.

'Have we already finished this bottle?' asked Rocky, pouring the dregs into his glass.

'_Monsieur!'_ called Alex. _'Encore du vin, s'il vous plaît ... Oui, le même qu'avant.' _She turned to Harry and said, 'I ordered another bottle of the elf-made wine. You'll have to pay for it, though, because Rocky can't afford it.'

'I can so!' protested Rocky.

'Not after buying those robes, my dear.'

'She's brilliant, isn't she?' said Harry. 'But where's the rest of our food? I flew for nearly four hours today and all I've eaten are starters and a loaf of Guinness.'

'How would I know where our food is?' said Rocky. 'This isn't my country. And yes, she's brilliant. You earned my respect by appreciating her, although I could have done without the dating.'

'It's called "shagging,"' said Lisa.

'I think Americans call it "screwing,"' said Harry.

'Is elf-made wine particularly strong?' asked Alex, sniffing her glass.

They debated the virtues of elf-made wine until the next bottle arrived. 'But where's our bloody food?' said Harry. 'I should have had Kreacher send something to tide me over.'

'Show Rocky your trick!' insisted Alex.

'He made it clear he doesn't want to see my tricks,' replied Harry, causing Lisa to laugh again. 'Oh, you meant how I communicate with Kreacher, and not that thing with your shoulder blades.'

'Excuse me, I'm right here,' said Rocky.

'Relax, you won,' said Lisa. 'Alex is obviously crazy about you. Harry was just her manwhore.'

'The Manwhore Who Lived,' declared Harry. 'But should I really have Kreacher send food?'

'No, have him send boutonnières,' said Alex. 'Rocky was too proud to wear one.'

'I was not!'

'Your exact words were, _"I'm not going to dress like a Harry Potter fanboy."' _she said, and Rocky scowled.

_Kreacher! _called Harry silently.

_Yes, Master! _came the reply.

_Please send over a selection of boutonnières, to my table in the restaurant. _

_Yes, Master! With pleasure!_

A velvet tray with five boutonnières appeared on the table, and Alex and Rocky began debating which one he should wear. Lisa dismantled one and slid the flower behind her ear.

'You really are beautiful,' said Harry. 'The Blacks may have been mad as hatters, but they were good-looking.'

'Why won't you date each other?' asked Alex.

'Because I don't want to let you off the hook,' replied Harry. 'You broke my heart, after all.'

'You knew I had a fiancé,' she said firmly.

'I did, but that doesn't prevent me from being needy. Dead-mum trauma, you know.'

'He's terribly needy,' Alex told Lisa.

'I suspected as much. Harry, have you decided who you'll cling to next?' asked Lisa.

'Are you sure you're not interested? We're only fourth cousins, which Ron says doesn't count.'

'You're just saying that because I'm right here. And the answer is still no.'

'Why not?' asked Alex. 'Fourth cousins aren't close at all. And he is lovely. Go on, Harry, give her the Look.'

He tried gazing longingly at Lisa, but he kept breaking into laughter. 'Hang on, I need to warm up on Alex.' He turned towards her and was quickly overwhelmed by affection.

'There it is,' said Alex. 'Now transfer it. Go on, you can do it.'

Harry moved his gaze to Lisa and allowed it to settle. _She really is pretty,_ he thought. _And clever, and witty. And we're not closely related._

Lisa, who had been laughing, looked more serious than before. 'So that's how you do it,' she murmured. 'Impressive.'

Harry was torn between two impulses. _I could bring her home,_ he thought. _We could take it slowly even. _But he also yearned for her friendship. _If we were friends I wouldn't lose her._

He closed his eyes and shook his head rapidly. 'No, I'd rather be friends,' he declared. 'I like you too much.'

Lisa, whose cheeks were flushed, said, 'You're right, of course. And I could never go out with you.'

'It would save you money on her dowry,' prompted Alex.

'No, I'd definitely scare her off before I turned twenty-one. It's better this way.'

Lisa drank some water and said, 'If that was Light magic, sign me up.'

'No, that was just a sinkhole of emotional trauma,' replied Harry.

'And eyelashes,' added Alex.

'You're one to talk,' said Rocky fondly. He straightened and said, 'I think I've been a remarkably good sport, all things considered.'

'You can't fool me,' chided Alex. 'You're delighted to be part of an international scandal.'

'That's my new middle name,' said Harry.

Their food finally arrived, and the playful banter continued, culminating in a mock duel between Harry and Rocky, using cornichons. 'Victory is mine, Limey!' cried Rocky after Lisa stole Harry's cornichon and ate it.

'Watch your back, Yank!' retorted Harry. 'Do we want pudding?'

'Yes, please,' said Alex, waving over the waiter.

Their intoxication had levelled off during the main course, thanks to the food, but Lisa insisted on trying a dessert wine. 'I hereby relinquish any claim to a dowry. We can just spend it on wine, over the course of our long and platonic friendship.'

'Done,' said Harry, looking over the wine list. Alex and Rocky were holding hands atop the table, and Harry wasn't even upset. _They're a good couple,_ he thought indulgently.

When they were preparing to leave, they discussed their strategy for the photographers. 'How can we ensure this makes the _Chicago Beacon?'_ asked Rocky. 'I have a reputation to uphold, Potter, and you damaged it.'

'Potter-Black. And I know.'

They decided on the Battle of the Dandies. Harry and Rocky would stand in the middle, glaring at each other, with Alex and Lisa on either side. Alex would hold Rocky's hand while Lisa looked down her nose at Harry, deeming him unworthy.

'That suit is fantastic,' admitted Rocky. 'I'll have to save up for my next trip to England.'

'And you'll have to tell me where you bought those robes. In Chicago, I presume?'

'Yes. On the South Side, in fact.'

After their photograph was taken, Alex took Harry's hand. 'Thanks,' she said. 'For everything.'

'Will I see you in Chicago?' he asked.

'If you want to.'

'I'd like that,' said Harry, and she squeezed his hand before letting it go.

He and Rocky shook hands, and then Lisa hugged Harry goodbye. 'We came close, didn't we?' she whispered.

'This way is better,' he replied. 'I'd much rather keep you around.'

'Throw that party!' she ordered, before turning on her heel and disappearing.

Harry watched Alex and Rocky as they walked away, arm in arm. _They're a good fit,_ he thought, and he recalled when he'd first met her. _Three years too late? _he wondered._ Or maybe it was all perfect._


	93. Chapter 93

_Author's note:_

_Due to ongoing technical glitches on this site, I am now cross-posting on AO3 (An Archive of Our Own). New chapters will post on Wednesday evenings (USA Eastern Time)._

_-––—––—-_

As predicted, the Battle of the Dandies made the cover of the Sunday _Prophet_, and it was even billed as such. The photo was uncropped and showed all four participants: Harry and Rocky glaring at each other in their finery, with Alex's preference for Rocky in plain view, and Lisa's amused disdain for Harry.

He was impressed by how much Lisa, a self-proclaimed commoner, looked like a Black of yore. _She'll win plenty of admirers,_ he thought, noting her lustrous hair and alluringly hooded eyes. In fact, she looked almost haughty, but she occasionally cracked a smile, which revealed the young woman Harry had come to appreciate.

The article began:

_Harry Potter locked horns on Saturday night with an American rival for the affections of his erstwhile girlfriend, Alexandra Barrington. And the battle had not one but two dimensions: romantic and sartorial. But unlike Potter's afternoon battle in Kenmare Stadium, where he decisively beat Aidan Kiely to the Snitch, he was not the clear victor last night. _

_To be sure, his bespoke Muggle suit raised eyebrows, and his lovely companion drew praise. But Potter was unmistakably spurned by Miss Barrington in favour of her fiancé, Richard Stefanik of Chicago, USA. And although Potter was in high spirits during their night out at Mistigri, a favoured restaurant of the young Seeker, he displayed flashes of heartbreak._

_Potter informed the _Prophet _that he knew from the start about her prior entanglement. 'Alex told me about him at the beginning of our first date, and there's been no deception on any side. And as much as I fancy her, I have no intention of stealing her away from him, and I wish them all the best in their life together.' _

_His good will was evident in their dinner together. Eyewitnesses reported that Potter and his companions were occasionally boisterous but showed no sign of hostility, with only rare moments of awkwardness. Observers attributed this to the presence of Lisa Black, 18, fourth cousin to Potter through a recently-identified branch of the Black family. The two were clearly comfortable with each other, and onlookers described a moment of strong shared alchemy, but otherwise she seemed romantically uninterested in her _roué_ cousin._

_Although Potter conceded victory to Stefanik where Miss Barrington was concerned, their sartorial battle was hard-fought. Potter shocked fashion observers with his three-piece Muggle suit, custom-made by Benedict Thimble and worn without flowers. _Daily Prophet _fashion editor Xanthippe Codmopple expressed mixed feelings about Potter's bold choice._

'_Potter's suit is smart, to be sure, and well-made, but that doesn't erase its fundamental flaw, which is that it's unambiguously Muggle. Were it not for Potter's accidental Light magic, he could travel incognito in Muggle districts and only attract notice for being unusually well-dressed. But Potter is no Muggle, and his choice of outfit suggests he's more interested in shock value than sartorial excellence.'_

_By contrast, industry observer Reginald Hem had only praise for Potter's newest look. 'He's an unapologetic dandy, and shock value is part of the equation. As long as the outfit is impeccable, which Potter's suit most certainly is, it meets his prior standard and, to my mind, further enshrines him as Britain's leading style icon.'_

_Nevertheless, his American rival shone in what Codmopple called 'Harry Potter robes, with a twist.' Citing small details like rounded shirt cuffs and square buttons, she praised Stefanik's outfit and declared him the victor. Hem acknowledged that Stefanik held his own but granted victory to Potter for 'superlative English tailoring' and 'sheer cheek.'_

To Harry's dismay, Doctor Niffler was quoted several paragraphs down:

_Noted Mind Healer Cassia Dexter was intrigued by the various elements of Potter's night out. 'Because of Harry's Light magic, buried aspects of his psyche are quickly rising to the surface. Consider first his decision to pursue a witch who already had a fiancé: he willingly invited the loss of a nurturing female, which allowed him to safely revisit the tragic loss of his mother. I don't wish to discount the importance of his father, but as an unweaned infant Harry was damaged far more by his mother's death. Miss Barrington gave him access to warm, soft breasts—albeit not as large as a nursing mother's—but he knew from the start he couldn't keep them. With this knowledge he was able to cultivate acceptance, granting a degree of resolution to his old pain.'_

_Dexter went on to analyse Potter's choice of companion. 'Lisa Black, who so resembles Harry's late godfather Sirius, not only represents Harry's wish to merge completely with his adopted family, but she also allows safe expression of his deeply repressed homosexual urges. Although he stated under Veritaserum that he's not primarily attracted to men, he nonetheless has some homosexual tendencies, as do we all. I've seen no evidence of an inappropriate relationship between Harry and his godfather, but I've long wondered about Sirius's attachment to Harry's father, James Potter. The two were best mates at Hogwarts, and their contemporaries uniformly describe Black's relative lack of interest in witches and his devotion to James. The physical component of his devotion may have remained unexpressed, but by adopting Harry and making him his heir, Sirius was able to imagine he'd fathered a child with his much-missed companion._

'_Some might consider it a stretch to suggest that Harry has homosexual longings towards his late godfather,' continued Dexter, 'but as a near twin to James, Harry must have unconsciously detected Sirius's yearning. Similarly, Harry surely craved both emotional wholeness and sexual fulfilment as an adolescent, but circumstances forced him to bury his desires. Harry and Sirius, each stunted by tragedy, could only have longed for mutual comfort, but taboo—internal and external—kept them apart.'_

_Dexter's final remarks addressed the so-called Battle of the Dandies. 'With his bold fashion choices, Harry has decisively reclaimed masculine plumage, and the "battle" with his romantic rival was nothing less than a competition between preening peacocks. And I use the term with the utmost respect: Harry is in firm command of his powerful sexual energy, and naturally it would spill over to every aspect of his life, including outer display. His Quidditch feints in particular express procreative dominance, and his league rivals should fear his now-untapped power.'_

Harry was utterly aghast. 'What gives that fucking cow the right to talk about me like that?' he cried aloud. 'We didn't even leave the restaurant until half ten! Did they wake her up to produce this huge pile of bollocks?'

He was determined to act. 'Kreacher!' he called angrily.

_Crack! _'Yes, Master!'

'Is there any Howler stationery in the house? I don't have any, but maybe Walburga left some.'

'No, Master,' said Kreacher. 'Mistress never sent Howlers.'

'Really? I find that hard to believe,' said Harry, thinking of Sirius.

'Mistress considered Howlers both indiscreet and impersonal. Instead, Mistress sent Kreacher to retrieve the object of her ire.'

Harry blinked. 'Are you saying she had you abduct whoever she was angry at, so she could scold them in person?'

'Yes, Master.'

_Tempting,_ thought Harry, imagining a disorientated Doctor Niffler. 'No,' he said aloud. 'I shouldn't react in anger. It's better if I wait.'

'Has someone wronged Master?' asked Kreacher, his eyes glinting fiercely.

'Er, just the usual,' he stammered, not wanting Kreacher to seek vengeance on his behalf. 'You may go.'

Kreacher bowed and disappeared with a loud _crack,_ and Harry paused to consider his options. _The radio,_ he thought_. I need to let her have it on the radio_. Lisa would be there, and Harry was certain she would be the perfect ally, particularly since she'd been dragged into the middle.

He was composing a letter to Lisa when an owl arrived, bearing a note from Rita:

_Dearest Harry,_

_I'm as angry as you are right now! But first, let me apologise for not preventing this travesty. Timothy and I stole away on Friday evening to a secluded cabin, for a sort of writers' retreat, and I only returned to civilisation this morning._

_You are undoubtedly contemplating your next move. Personally, I recommend you show Cassia Dexter just how dominant you are, preferably on the radio Tuesday night. She may be a beloved Mind Healer, but she needs to learn that nobody crosses Harry Potter-Black, who looked simply divine in that Muggle suit._

_Yours devotedly,_

_Rita_

Harry felt himself relax as he read it. He hadn't thought Rita was involved, but it was a relief to know she was on his side. _I'd just as soon keep our unholy alliance intact_.

After finishing the letter to Lisa, he went up to the owlery to dispatch it, instructing Orsino to await her reply. 'But don't hassle her,' he told the jackdaw. 'If she doesn't want to talk to me, that's fine too.'

Orsino flew off, and Harry went back downstairs to finish reading the _Prophet. _The Quidditch coverage was highly favourable, praising his win against Kiely in such foul weather. _'Potter has proven that his record with the Cannons is no fluke. His single-minded determination yesterday recalled the young man who never wavered in the years-long fight against You-Know-Who. It is no longer premature to suggest that Potter fly for England, and we defy anyone to argue against it.'_

Harry could hardly believe what he'd read, and he was tempted to go talk to Ron about it. But Janet would kill him for interrupting them on a Sunday, so he set it aside for later.

Nevertheless, he kept thinking about the World Cup Final he'd attended in 1994. He imagined hearing his own name announced—_'I give you Potter!'_—and his heart swelled with pride. And as much as he loved his Cannons robes, he thrilled at the idea of wearing red robes for England and flying out with the top players in the league.

_But there's no way I'd make it to the final, _he realised in a belated surge of modesty. _I'm only nineteen, and I'd be flying against people like Krum, who can use the Firebolt Ultra._ Harry felt a renewed determination to master his Light magic, and he resolved to do whatever Davina advised that night.

He was replying to fan mail when a letter arrived from Andromeda:

_Dear Harry,_

_I was sorry to read that shocking article in this morning's _Prophet, _but please know I don't consider you even slightly to blame. I am, however, curious about your relationship with Lisa Black, and I have another question as well. I know you're terribly busy, but perhaps you can find time for a Floo call if nothing else._

_Yours affectionately,_

_Andromeda_

Harry supposed her other question was about Simon, who had probably invited her to dinner. He was inclined to visit straight away, but he was waiting for Simon to turn up for his day of recovery. It wasn't clear when he'd arrive, since Simon couldn't predict when he'd be strong enough to Apparate, but Harry had instructed Kreacher to monitor the back garden and let him inside.

Not long after, a weary-looking Simon arrived. 'Welcome,' said Harry, standing from his writing table. 'What do you need?'

'Just a place to sit down,' he replied, collapsing into an armchair. 'Apparition is terribly hard this early in the day, but it'll be worth it to rest in comfort.'

Harry reflexively offered him tea, which Kreacher brought him. 'Are you sure you wouldn't rather lie down?'

'Not right away. In fact, I'd appreciate talking first, if it's no bother. Helps me adjust to being human again.'

Harry suspected Simon wasn't sufficiently alert for deep conversation, so he merely recounted his experience at the Irish pub.

'I should teach you about world history,' mumbled Simon. 'Specifically all the ways the English have caused harm. We're truly a ghastly people.'

'That's the impression I got. It was mortifying to learn about the Irish famine, and all I could do was hope the Evanses weren't illustrious enough to be at fault. That's my mum's family.'

'Do you know much about them?'

'Not really. But I doubt they were important, or else my aunt would have bragged about them.'

'I'm glad they weren't important,' said Simon. 'I've no use for the idea that greatness runs in families.'

Harry wasn't sure what Simon meant, so he waited for him to say more.

'You're great,' he continued. 'Not because of the Killing Curse ... that was just good luck, or bad luck, rather. But the way you withstood your childhood, the years at Hogwarts, and the fight against Voldemort. And now fame, and wealth, and no end of witches. You should be a monster—worse than myself—but instead you're looking after me on a Sunday morning.'

'Kreacher fetched the tea,' said Harry sheepishly. 'He's the one who'll look after you.'

'You offered it. And when I asked about Andromeda, you didn't show a hint of scorn that I'd suggested it. I've learnt to recognise it, you know.'

'Scorn?'

'Yes, and often from people I trusted. It's subtle sometimes, the flash of disgust. But my heightened senses always catch it—that's the werewolf's true curse. I can literally smell their revulsion.'

'And Andromeda didn't have it?'

'No. Not a whiff, and when my senses were most acute. She's beautiful, of course, but her simple acceptance was even lovelier.'

Simon's eyes kept closing, in spite of the tea, and Harry asked if he wanted to lie down.

'Yes, I think it's time,' he said, rising heavily from his chair. Harry led him to the room Kreacher had prepared, assisting him up the three flights of stairs. 'I can't thank you enough,' he mumbled as he lay down.

'Sleep well,' said Harry, closing the door behind him.

As he walked down to the reception hall, Harry realised how fond he'd grown of his tutor. _I hope Andromeda gives him a chance,_ he thought, and he tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace.

He recited her address and poked his head through. 'Andromeda?' he called. 'Are you there?'

She didn't reply, but he heard loud wails from Teddy in the next room, so he stepped through to offer assistance. Entering the lounge, he saw her attempting to soothe the screaming toddler; she tried restraining his long tail, but it whacked in all directions, and his hair rapidly cycled through all colours.

'Shh,' repeated Andromeda, bouncing him. 'There, there ... I know.'

'Are you all right?' asked Harry. 'Can I help?'

'Please,' she said wearily, handing Teddy over. 'He's cutting a tooth, and he's been crying on and off since yesterday.'

'Aren't there potions that help?' asked Harry over the baby's shrieks.

'There's a salve, but it doesn't work on Metamorphmagi,' she explained. 'In theory it numbs the pain, at least for most babies, but it doesn't play well with his magic. Dora had the same problem.'

'Does anything help?'

'Try to distract him. He loves being held up high, but he's got too heavy for me.'

Harry raised Teddy over his head, up and down like a barbell, and after half a minute the toddler's cries were replaced by laughter. 'Do I just keep going?' asked Harry.

'You can lie on your back if you like. He'll want to keep moving, though.'

'I assume you can't just Levitate him?'

'No, he wants contact,' said Andromeda. 'And attention of course. Pain is very upsetting to babies, because they don't understand it, so they need love more than anything.'

'When will he finish teething?'

'He may have another year yet.'

'Sweet Merlin! Another year?'

'It's not continuous. Just the occasional rough patch. The rest of the time he's the usual Teddy.'

Harry had seen enough of the usual Teddy to know that was no picnic. 'Do you get enough help?' he asked.

'Yes, he has a carer most weekdays until five, and another at the weekend for a few hours. But she's on holiday, and I didn't fancy training someone else. He's not like most babies, you know.'

'No. And that still leaves you with nights and all the other times you don't have help.'

'It does, but that's motherhood,' she sighed. 'When Dora was pregnant, everyone told me how much I'd love being a grandmother, because I could enjoy the baby and then hand him back to his parents and go home. But I suppose I'll have to wait for great-grandchildren for that to happen.'

'I'm sorry I'm not more help,' said Harry as he lay on the floor, still keeping Teddy aloft.

'You've been a tremendous help. I couldn't afford those carers without what you've given him. Although I feel sheepish using Teddy's inheritance to buy myself some peace and quiet.'

'Nonsense. I'm certain Sirius would approve, and I know I do,' he said. 'And I'm relieved you have one less thing to worry about.'

'So am I. And it's made my reconciliation with Narcissa possible. Before you provided for Teddy, I think Narcissa was wary of getting too close.'

'Draco said something similar—that Narcissa needn't worry you'll ask her for gold.'

'Sad to say, that's how most people see her. That's why her inner circle is so small, because everyone else wants something from her.'

'Yes ... Draco's said more than once, _"Mustn't let commoners get too close. They always want something."'_

She nodded. 'Our mother taught us that, although clearly I never learnt it. And I'm glad I didn't, or else I wouldn't have met Ted.'

'Technically he did want something,' said Harry without thinking, and Andromeda laughed.

'You're right, he did. But so did I.' She smiled in remembrance and was briefly silent. 'This brings me to my question, actually ... I received a letter yesterday from your tutor, Simon. He invited me to dinner.'

'I know. At least, I knew he wanted to.'

'Oh? Did he consult you?'

'He asked if I'd object, and of course I didn't. He also asked if I thought you'd accept.'

'What did you say?'

'I said I didn't know whether you'd be interested, but that I didn't think you'd hold his lycanthropy against him.' Harry saw no reason to mention Simon's living situation or financial status.

Andromeda, true to her upbringing, didn't reveal her thoughts. 'And what do you think of him?'

'I like him a lot. He's an ideal tutor, and I've learnt heaps from him already.' He paused and added, 'I'll admit he reminds me of Remus.'

'He reminded me a little of Remus as well,' she said. 'Not physically, other than his scars. But his demeanour, and his obvious intelligence.'

'Will you go out with him?' asked Harry hopefully.

'I don't know. I'd probably enjoy his company for an evening, but I can't see anything coming of it.'

'Why not? If you don't mind my asking.'

She sighed. 'I just can't imagine feeling as close to anyone as I did with Ted. We grew up together, and built our lives together. We raised a daughter—a difficult daughter—which tested and strengthened our relationship in so many ways. Compared to that, I don't see how another man could do more than scratch the surface of my life.'

'Some people remarry,' said Harry tentatively.

'I know they do, but others don't. And then there's Teddy, who has to be my primary focus for the next ten years, until he starts school.'

'Don't you think Teddy would like having more grown-ups around? I suspect Simon could lift him up pretty well—most of the month, anyway.'

Andromeda frowned. 'That's another thing ... his lycanthropy.'

Harry was surprised—had Simon misread her? 'Are you worried he's unsafe?' he asked.

'No, I'm sure he's fine. But Narcissa would never approve.'

'Narcissa?' exclaimed Harry. 'Why does that matter? She hardly approves of anyone.'

'I know, but she seems to approve of me now. Not my marriage, of course, but she can't claim we didn't produce magical offspring. Frankly, I missed having a sister, and I don't want to lose her again.'

'And you're sure she wouldn't understand?'

'How could she possibly? She's reluctant even to invite the new relations over, and none of them are werewolves.'

'That's true. But you're her sister, and she finally seems to appreciate you—need you, even. She couldn't have got through the Wizengamot thing without you.'

'Oddly, you and Draco have brought us closer.' After another silence, she said, 'I suppose there's no harm in dinner. I could always use more adult conversation, if nothing else.'

Harry stood up again, holding Teddy under one arm. 'I'm sure you'll have a good time.'

Andromeda's frown returned. 'But I'm not sure I can find someone to watch Teddy at night. Do you think Simon would be willing to eat here? Teddy should feel better in a day or two, and he usually sleeps a lot afterwards.'

'I'm sure that would be fine,' said Harry, knowing Simon wouldn't mind saving a few Galleons.

'I'll write to him now, since I mightn't get another opportunity with Teddy like this.'

Harry spun Teddy around to keep him entertained while Andromeda wrote a short note. 'Oh bother!' she exclaimed. 'My owl hasn't yet returned from your house. Would you mind posting it for me?'

He said he would, knowing he'd slip it under Simon's door instead. 'So about your letter this morning,' he prompted.

'Yes, what's going on with you and Lisa Black? She didn't seem interested last Sunday.'

'She's not, but that's fine. I'd rather have a cousin—and a friend.'

Andromeda looked relieved. 'I wouldn't have objected to your marrying her. In fact, there's a lot to be said for the match. You're both half-bloods, so you'd still have hybrid vigour, and she'd tie you closer to the family. But between your vow and everything else, you almost certainly wouldn't marry, which would have been awkward.'

'I agree. Alex and I ended on good terms, but Lydia and I didn't, and I'd hate for something like that to divide the family.'

'Certainly not. Although Narcissa has the opposite worry,' she said ominously.

'Oh?'

'Draco seems rather taken by Catherine White. He's seen her twice since the reunion.'

'Is he courting?' asked Harry. 'Not that I actually know what that entails.'

'I'd describe it more as the circling phase. But it's all been very appropriate so far: daytime, in public, and so forth. Chaperoned even.'

'Chaperoned! By whom?'

'Nitta. Disillusioned, of course.'

'By a house-elf!' exclaimed Harry. 'Couldn't Draco just order her to look the other way?'

'Normally, yes. But in this case, Narcissa issues a prior order, which Draco can't countermand.'

Harry tried and failed to imagine going on a date with Kreacher present. 'So what's Narcissa's concern?' asked Harry, suspecting what the answer might be.

'She's convinced Catherine's interest in Draco is mercenary.'

'I see her point, but I also saw them together, and Catherine seemed genuinely attracted to him.'

'I'm certain she was,' said Andromeda. 'The question is whether she'd fancy him if he weren't Draco Malfoy.'

Harry frowned. 'Then shouldn't I have the same concern? I don't have as much gold as Draco does, but it's probably enough to attract gold-diggers.'

'Yes, and it worries me. But your ego is less fragile than Draco's, so you're less vulnerable to flattery.'

'Three cheers for my oversized ego! I'm glad it's good for something.'

'It is, apparently.' Her expression softened and she said, 'But how are you doing? I know you were awfully fond of Alex.'

'I was,' he sighed. 'I still am, in fact, but I always knew this was coming. Sooner than I would have liked, but that seems to be a theme.'

She nodded. 'And what about that article? There wasn't a byline, but was Rita Skeeter involved?'

'No, she sent me an apology this morning, with a very convincing alibi. But I was tempted to send Doctor Niffler a Howler.'

After Harry explained who Doctor Niffler was, Andromeda said, 'I wouldn't think less of you for expressing your anger towards her. She seems to have forgotten you're a real person, and that it's completely inappropriate to speculate about you like that. And what she said about Alex and Lisa was unforgivable!'

'Unless Lisa changes her mind, she'll be on the radio with me this week, in conjunction with my name change. So we can both give Doctor Niffler a piece of our minds.'

Andromeda took a deep breath. 'And now I get to worry about two members of the family misbehaving in public, to say nothing of Walburga.'

'Relax—we can't possibly be worse than Sirius or Bellatrix.'

Teddy had finally begun running around, giving Harry a break. 'He seems better for the moment,' said Andromeda cautiously. 'With any luck, he'll wear himself out and sleep some more.'

They wrapped up their visit, and Harry returned to Grimmauld Place with Andromeda's letter, which he slid under Simon's door. He resumed replying to fan mail, which seemed never-ending, but he eventually finished. _This might be the last time I sign my name as 'Harry Potter,'_ he thought, autographing the last photo.

'Bugger!' he cried aloud. 'I should have gone with Harry Black! It's shorter!'

'Yes, but what about your father?' asked Simon from behind him.

'You're awake!' said Harry. 'What time is it?'

'Three o'clock.'

'Blimey! I lost track of time ... which explains my headache. Are you hungry?'

'Ravenous, I'm afraid.'

Harry's face fell. 'Why didn't you call Kreacher?'

'I only just woke up, and I thought I'd reassure you I'm still alive, and that you don't have a corpse in your guest room.'

'No, but I have severed house-elf heads in the attic. Did you see the letter under the door?'

'I did. Was it your suggestion that she cook dinner?' asked Simon.

'No, that was her idea. There's no one to mind Teddy at night, although perhaps I should have offered.'

'It's quite all right. This way I can bring flowers, or a bottle of wine. Or both, even.'

'I don't recommend Prosecco,' said Harry, and Simon laughed.

'No, but I know some good Muggle wines that don't cost much.' After a silence, Simon asked, 'Is there anything else I should know in advance?'

Harry didn't want to betray any confidences, but he also didn't want Simon to expect too much from the evening. 'She misses her husband terribly,' he replied. 'I don't think she's dated since he died, and I'm not sure she ever intended to. But she could see that you're clever, and good at conversation, so I think that's what she expects from the evening.'

'Fair enough. I also don't have serious expectations, due to my circumstances, but dinner and conversation sound lovely.'

_Do you need a house-elf chaperone?_ thought Harry with amusement. They called Kreacher and asked for whatever he could prepare the fastest. Simon went back to sleep after eating, and Harry spent the afternoon with a book.

Orsino returned with a letter from Lisa:

_Dear Harry,_

_I thought I knew what to expect when I agreed to go out with you last night. 'Harry's not so bad,' I told myself. 'Just make him take three cold showers over the course of the evening and it'll be fine!' But how was I to know that your interest in me was because of a deeply buried urge to be molested by your godfather? In hindsight, I should have believed my friends who told me your rampant, age-appropriate heterosexuality was just a cover for your hidden desires._

_I would therefore welcome the opportunity to join you on the radio this week and tell all wizarding Britain how naïve I was, and that my impression of you as a thoughtful, witty, and surprisingly modest young man was wrong from start to finish. I should add that I was embarrassed when you tried suckling Alex one last time at the table, and that either you or Rocky dropped a peacock feather outside._

_Scornfully yours,_

_Lisa_

Harry nearly applauded after reading it. _I may have to pencil her in after Helena for my twenty-first birthday,_ he thought, _because she's bloody brilliant. _Although he was certain he'd see her only as a friend by then, same as Hermione. _She's mostly a friend now, _he knew, and he was glad they'd opted against romance.

He replied in kind:

_Dear Lisa,_

_I'm relieved you're still willing to appear on the broadcast with me. But I have one small request: Could you come to dinner at Grimmauld Place first? And as long as you're here, you could try on some of my robes, in preparation for the party you insisted I host. And instead of having Kreacher transfigure the robes to fit you, perhaps he could transfigure you to fit the robes. And I could wear my old Gryffindor robes and eyeglasses, just for fun. And then we could go into Sirius's old room, and you could ply me with Firewhisky until we finally throw taboo to the wind and achieve mutual, sinful satisfaction._

_Will six o'clock work?_

_Harry_

After dispatching his letter with Viola, he returned downstairs to find Hermione. 'There you are,' she said. 'How are you doing? This morning's article was truly horrid!'

'It was,' he agreed. 'But Andromeda gave me permission to rip into Doctor Niffler on the radio this week, and Lisa will be there with me.'

'Your cousin!' exclaimed Hermione. 'Do you fancy her?'

'She's pretty, and I'm tempted, but we agreed we're better off as friends. You'll like her though, and she'll be at my next party.'

'Another dinner party?'

Harry took a deep breath. 'No, she convinced me to throw a drag party. And be sure to tell Ryan, since he's one of the people who wants me to do it.'

'You're just addicted to scandal, aren't you?'

_It's my new middle name,_ he thought. 'No. I'm addicted to doing what sounds like fun, and not living in fear of what people think. Because even if I behave more or less appropriately, some cow like Doctor Niffler is going to spew a load of bollocks about it.'

'Don't call her a cow on the radio,' warned Hermione. 'That's sexist.'

'What about gobshite?'

Hermione thought for a moment. 'That's all right. Do you need help with the party?'

'Yes, I want people to sign a binding magical contract saying they won't tell anyone. So I thought you could reproduce what you did to the D.A. sign-up sheet. Er, only less permanent.'

She looked embarrassed, and Harry felt bad for reminding her what she'd done to Marietta Edgecombe. 'That's doable,' she said. 'What punishment are you picturing?'

'Darren suggested antlers for a month. And Janet suggested their teeth fall out, also for a month.'

'I can do antlers, but not the teeth.'

'Because it's not possible, or because it violates the daughter-of-dentists code?'

'The former. I can add something, but not take something away,' she explained. 'And to be safe we should limit it to a week, since I don't want to risk it being permanent.'

'All right,' said Harry. 'How large of antlers are you picturing?'

Her eyes gleamed wickedly. 'Prongs.'

'Fantastic. But how do we get everyone to sign the same contract? I assume you can't make a hundred copies.'

'No, but ...' She trailed off, and a guilty expression crossed her face. 'You could ask Kreacher to have everyone sign it. It would require a lot of Apparating, but he seems to tolerate it just fine.'

'Oh my god, he'd love that. But would you mind if I call it a punishment?'

Hermione sighed heavily. 'Go ahead. I hate to admit it, but he seems much happier since you started punishing him.'

'It might also be the Light magic. Did Ryan tell you about that?'

'Yes! And frankly, it's the only real good I've heard coming from a house-elf bond.'

'Do you really believe that, after all these years? Don't you remember how terrified all the Hogwarts house-elves were of clothes?'

'They were brainwashed! And don't you remember how happy Dobby was to be free?'

'I do remember, but he was an exception.'

'No, he was a proof of concept! Wizards like to say that house-elves need us to complete their magic, or some such rubbish, but Dobby proved that wasn't true.'

'He was still loyal,' countered Harry. 'And we were as good as bonded.'

Hermione's jaw dropped. 'Are you taking credit for Dobby's magic?'

'Of course not! Dobby saved our lives! All I'm saying is that you've never seen a house-elf who was completely independent of wizards.'

Hermione furrowed her brow and was silent for a moment. 'You're right,' she admitted, with more than a hint of surprise.

'I'm sorry, what just happened?' asked Harry. 'Did I actually out-logic you?'

'You did. And I'm embarrassed by how surprised I am—I thought I'd learnt humility after Ron broke up with me.'

'Maybe you did, but you've been with Ryan nearly the entire time since. He idealises you almost as much as Lydia idealised me.'

'He does, doesn't he? I wish I knew how to convince him I don't deserve more credit than you do for defeating Voldemort.'

'Don't expect help from me—you do deserve more credit.'

'No, I don't! Remember everything you had to do without us, like protecting the Philosopher's Stone, and slaying the Basilisk, and stopping Tom Riddle. And the Triwizard Tournament, and the fight at the graveyard. And the cave with Dumbledore, and–' She paused. 'And sacrificing your life.'

'You'd have done it too,' he said quietly.

'That doesn't matter. And besides, you were the one who taught me how to think quickly, and break rules that needed breaking. If it weren't for you, I'd probably have been on Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad.'

'Not bloody likely. And besides, I'm the Slytherin.'

Sniggering, she said, 'Will your Japanese underwear be embroidered with the Slytherin crest?'

'I'm doing North America too. And no.'

'I love it. In fact, I may need to invent a long-range Time-Turner just to go back and tell our younger selves.'

'They'd never believe it. Not in a million years.' He looked at his pocket watch. 'Are you hungry? I had a late lunch, but Kreacher can serve you now.'

'I am, thanks,' she replied, and they walked towards the kitchen. Kreacher greeted her delightedly and laid out several of her favourite dishes, which she started eating.

After a silence, she said, 'Harry, when I told you about seeing my grandparents, I left something out.'

Hermione had told him the previous Monday how she'd revealed her magic to her family. 'Oh? Did something go wrong?'

'No,' she began. 'But I learnt something ... surprising, and more than a little embarrassing.'

'Embarrassing? Are you willing to tell me?' he asked. 'Obviously I'm dead curious now, but I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.'

'No, it's all right.' She took a deep breath before continuing. 'I learnt where my magic came from.'

Harry's eyes shot open. 'Is one of your grandparents a Squib?'

'No, but my great-great-grandfather was. He used to tell my granddad stories about dragons and Quidditch, and so forth.'

'That's amazing!' he exclaimed. 'And I'm jealous! I doubt I'll ever know where my mum's magic came from.'

'You won't be jealous when you hear his surname.' She looked at her plate and said, 'Goyle.'

'Goyle!' cried Harry, and he immediately clamped his mouth shut.

'You're trying not to laugh, aren't you,' she said accusingly.

'Maybe. Are you sure it's the same family?'

'Yes. It was already clear from my granddad's description, but then I looked up the records at the Ministry. Greg Goyle and I are fourth cousins.'

'That's not so bad,' he said feebly.

'I was hoping for more distant. But apparently my great-great-grandfather and Greg's were brothers.'

'It's still pretty distant, or so everyone tells me.'

'Right, but it's a lot less mortifying to have Lisa Black as a fourth cousin than Greg Goyle.'

'I have two words for you: Dudley Dursley.'

Hermione chuckled. 'That's a good point.'

'And Bellatrix Lestrange,' he continued. 'And Walburga Black.'

'At least they were good-looking.'

'Excuse me, you're better-looking than I am! Clearly your Goyle blood didn't dominate. Except magically, of course.'

'It's funny, really. They were Dark wizards, and here I'm a Light witch. Although my granddad said his grandfather had a heart of gold.'

'No wonder he wasn't magical,' remarked Harry. 'He probably saw his family and unconsciously decided magic wasn't for him.'

'That seems unlikely, otherwise Sirius would have gone Squib as well.'

'Fair enough.' With a smirk, he asked, 'Are you going to change your name?'

'To Hermione Goyle?'

'Hermione Granger-Goyle. I hear hyphenation is the next big thing.'

'Oh my god, it probably is!'

After she ate, they went upstairs to greet Davina for their lesson. 'Thanks again for switching to Sunday this week,' said Harry. 'I could skip Seekers' Night Out if I needed to, but I'd rather not.'

'You warned me about the fourth Monday of the month,' replied Davina. 'So it's fine.'

'Still, you must be awfully busy now.'

'I am. But it's a good problem to have.'

They went to the library for their lesson, and she asked about their week. 'I'm lucky I can hide my Light magic,' said Hermione, 'because I'm useless at controlling it so far.'

'Can you call it up?' asked Davina.

'No, not like Harry can.'

Davina looked slyly at him. 'You mean to order drinks?'

'Yes, I know that was inappropriate,' he began, but Davina stopped him.

'No, it's perfect. This is how true mastery starts.' Harry looked at her sceptically, and she continued. 'If you're able to glow casually, at will, then you're clearly developing an inner facility for Light magic. This can only bode well for preventing unwanted manifestations. I had considerable trouble hiding mine for a long time, which caused problems.'

'How does yours manifest?' asked Hermione. 'I never asked.'

'It's evolved. It was originally triggered by strong emotions. Specifically pain, and loss. At least that's what I thought, until I found my first real teacher. But he helped me realise that it arose in response not to pain but to the power I was suppressing.'

Hermione looked lost, and Harry felt the same way. 'How do you mean?' he asked.

'You may recall that my first experience was the night I broke up with my first love. I felt as if I'd been forced by my family, when in hindsight it was entirely within my power to do as I pleased, and tell them to sod off. My experience was primarily pain, of course, but on a deeper level it was from suppressing my own power rather than asserting it.'

'Was there a physical manifestation?' asked Hermione.

'Not until my teacher helped me identify the real source. Until then, I only felt what could be described as bittersweet bliss.'

_What a strange concept,_ thought Harry. 'What happened once you stopped suppressing your power, or when you at least realised what was going on?' he asked.

'It's probably easier to show you than describe it,' said Davina. 'Mind you, this is the more advanced version—it's taken decades to come this far, and I'm not done yet.' She closed her eyes a moment, and a subtle change overtook her.

It came on gradually. At first, she simply appeared more purposeful. But as time elapsed she seemed to come into sharper focus, with a sort of dynamism Harry realised other people lacked. For a moment she reminded him of Voldemort, only without his underlying thirst for power. _She doesn't thirst for power,_ he thought with amazement. _She is power._

The air seemed to crackle around her, and neither Harry or Hermione could look away. 'These are interesting times,' she said. 'For wizards and Muggles alike. It won't always be pleasant, particularly on the Muggle side, but love will prove stronger than hate.'

When she said 'love,' Harry began to glow, which caused Hermione to spark. 'How do I help?' asked Harry.

'You practice. And teach. And wait.'

'Wait?' asked Hermione. 'How long?'

'Until it's time. Don't worry—you'll keep busy. There's no end to the path. But there's a threshold, and it's getting closer.'

'What do you mean when you say it won't be pleasant for Muggles in particular? Are you a Seer?'

'No, I just notice trends, and I've learnt to spot emerging behaviour. It's getting easier for individual Muggles to cause great harm,' she declared. 'That's what people do when they're in pain, and they don't know how to express it: they cause harm. You've seen it in wizards, only we have wands.'

'Yes, everyone is armed with a deadly weapon,' said Hermione. 'And Muggles?'

'They have words, and weapons. And centuries upon centuries of suffering, often lacking basic necessities. And those who don't lack necessities—or even have a superabundance—are propelled by fear of losing what they have.'

'How do we stop this harm?' asked Hermione.

'We can't. But we can love, and identify our own pain, and our own hatred—the parts of us that would rather kill than be exposed. That's what Light magic is. Charms and Potions are merely an expression of it.'

Harry was beginning to feel overwhelmed. 'Alex ...' he said longingly.

Davina smiled, and her intense power eased. 'Women are your outlet.'

'Oh god, yes,' he exhaled.

'You really have been a model of restraint, all things considered.'

Remembering his conversation with Ron, he said, 'But I can't manage to keep witches around. And if I keep scaring them off, I'll be into triple figures by the time I'm twenty-one. I don't want that.'

'May I offer a suggestion?' asked Davina. 'It'll help with your accidental Light magic.'

'Yes, anything!'

She chuckled. 'You mightn't feel that way when you hear it.'

Bracing himself, he said, 'Just tell me.'

'A vow of celibacy.'

Hermione burst out laughing. 'That can't possibly work! For one thing, he's the head of two houses. But more importantly, he'll go out of his mind after a fortnight, if not sooner.'

Harry was silent with horror, and Davina continued. 'Don't worry, it's not permanent. In fact, I was going to suggest a fortnight.'

'But how would that make a difference?' he asked. 'Obviously I've gone a fortnight before, although not lately.'

'Did you take a vow?'

'Well, no. It was all circumstance.'

'That's the difference. When you take a vow—even a temporary one—it has a huge effect on the psyche. Which could make the difference as far as your accidental Light magic is concerned.'

Harry's glow had faded completely. 'Two weeks?'

'That's what a fortnight is,' said Davina dryly. 'Do you think you can handle it? I certainly won't force you.'

Grasping at straws, Harry asked, 'It's already been three days. Well, two and a half. Do those count?'

'No. It starts with the vow.'

_I'd have to put off the party until after the vow is over, _thought Harry. _But that's all right—it'll take time to get everyone to sign the contract. _'Do you reckon I should take it now, or is it better to go out with a bang? Er, so to speak.'

'That's up to you,' she said. 'You could nip off to France right now and take the vow yourself in an hour.'

'I'd need more than an hour,' he said automatically, and both witches laughed. 'But no, not a prostitute. It's better if I start now.'

'Harry, are you sure?' asked Hermione. 'I'd have a hard time and, well, I'm not you.'

'I don't have a girlfriend, so it's not like I'd be disappointing anyone. But Davina, how will this help?'

'It'll force you to work with your excess energy, rather than just releasing it.'

The words 'releasing it' raised an alarming new question in Harry's mind. 'Oh my god, you mean total celibacy, don't you?'

'No charms for the single wizard,' smirked Hermione. 'Or Muggle methods.'

Harry closed his eyes. _I went longer during the war,_ he recalled. _Yes, but you had a Horcrux in your skull and another around your neck. _'Will you give me, er, coping methods that involve Light magic?'

'Yes,' replied Davina. 'But I think you know what to do already. When you feel a strong need, allow your Light magic to meet it, instead of looking for outside relief.'

He nodded. 'All right. Let's get this started. No time like the present.' Without intending to, he glanced at the clock.

Hermione laughed again. 'You just checked the time, didn't you?'

'I'd hate to accidentally break my vow by being imprecise.'

Davina showed him how to take the vow, which mostly involved clasping his hands and clearly stating his intention. Following her instructions, he took the vow for a fortnight.

'It'll end on Sunday, the tenth of October, at seven thirty-nine. And twelve seconds,' announced Hermione, looking at her wristwatch.

Davina looked pleased. 'Harry, I'm impressed. You're obviously committed to developing your Light magic.'

'And desperate to get through the accidental phase,' he admitted. 'You said yours got you into trouble. Do you mind saying what happened?'

She was silent before answering. 'Christopher, my late husband, used to describe what you saw as my "powerful aspect." But when it was new, it could be better described as "strident," or even "ferocious." To make matters worse, I was strongly convinced of my own viewpoint, which meant I burnt some bridges.'

'With your family?' asked Hermione.

'Yes. With my father in particular. Harry, I know you've met him, so you're aware of how ... attached he is to his viewpoint.'

'I noticed that,' he replied.

'When I announced I was marrying Christopher, my parents objected. But there was no chance they'd dissuade me, as they'd done years earlier, and I met their objections with pure fire. Not anger, but a much fiercer version of what you saw earlier. I might have been forgiven if I'd had magical offspring, but I didn't, and my attempts at reconciliation were rebuffed.'

Harry was unsure how to reply, so he was relieved when Hermione spoke. 'I'm so sorry,' she said. 'I almost lost my family, in a completely different way, and it was a terrible feeling.'

'It was hard, and I regret how uncompromising I was at the time. But what's done is done.'

Davina seemed disinclined to keep talking about it, so Harry posed an unrelated question. 'A friend told me yesterday about male yogis who deliberately cultivate their feminine side, in order to balance their energies. Have you heard of this, and does it relate to Light magic at all?'

She chuckled softly. 'Your friend was clever to mention it. Yes, it's a legitimate practice, although not a requirement. Are you inclined in that direction?'

'Not beyond what I'm already doing, with the way I dress. But my teammates want me to host a drag party, which I'll take pains to keep secret, and I'm wondering if the yogi thing would be a good excuse if people find out.'

Davina laughed out loud. 'Are you asking whether I'll tell the _Prophet _that dressing up in women's clothing is essential to your journey as a Light wizard?'

'Not exactly—I don't want to scare everyone else off learning it. But it would be nice if you provided counterpoint to the people who call me debauched.'

'I'd be glad to,' she replied. 'And I meant it earlier when I said you'd shown restraint. My first teacher—the one who helped me identify my powerful aspect—ended up taking advantage of some of his female students. Not me, thank heaven, but no small number of others. And even when his bad behaviour came to light—on top of everything, he was married—he argued that his Light magic made it a virtue.'

Hermione was aghast. 'Did his wife consider it a virtue?'

'No, she left him. And then he married one of his students, and cheated on her as well.'

'I cheated on Lydia.'

'That wasn't the same, and you know it,' snapped Hermione.

'It wasn't good,' he argued.

'But you've sworn off brothels!' she retorted, and Harry felt himself turn red.

'At Pratt's,' explained Hermione. 'Lydia insisted he go to the brothel and tell her about it, but not go upstairs. But this is Harry we're talking about, so obviously that didn't happen.'

'Can't you hear yourself?' he asked. 'In the same breath you're defending me and also saying I'm an out-of-control sex-addict!'

'Harry, I know about those places,' said Davina. 'There's no way you could have resisted once you entered—especially not with your Light magic.'

'I was warned,' he continued. 'But I thought I was superhuman and could resist.'

'You aren't superhuman. None of us are, nor ever shall be—not in this body. And no matter how far you go in your Light magic, there's always room for improvement, and humility is essential.'

Harry couldn't help smirking. 'That's why I keep Hermione around. She always puts me in my place.'

'Then keep her nearby. There's no greater asset in Light magic than a trusted peer. My teacher didn't have one, which is why he spun out of control. In fact, the main reason I went to the Continent a few weeks ago was to meet with my peers and discuss formalising the process. And just in time, because we've all been flooded with new students.'

'Because of Harry?' asked Hermione.

'In large part, yes. Harry's announcement spread quickly through the wizarding world, which led to other witches and wizards coming forward. Harry, this really is the best possible thing you could do with your fame.'

Harry, who was still recovering from Davina learning about his trip to the Boudoir, chose not to mention his underwear adverts. 'I'm glad if it helps,' he said uncomfortably.

Davina focussed on Hermione for the rest of the lesson, and although Harry paid attention he kept thinking about the vow he'd taken. _Two weeks,_ he repeated inwardly. _And not just sex—two weeks with no one to wake me from my nightmares, or eat breakfast in bed with._

_I've survived worse,_ he reminded himself. _And my teammates can take the piss, which will at least be funny. _He made a mental note to ask his florist for more celibacy boutonnières, as he'd worn the night he shaved his head. _And this will make a hell of an episode of Weasley's Wizard Wireless,_ he thought with amusement.

After Hermione and Davina left, Harry and Simon devoured a late dinner. 'I feel better than I normally do this soon after transforming, and I could probably go home,' admitted Simon. 'But I'm curious to see what difference spending the night will make.'

'I'm glad you'll stay, and as you can see it's no bother.'

Simon paused and added, 'I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable when I gushed over you this morning. I'm rather candid when I'm exhausted.'

'It's all right,' replied Harry, a little embarrassed.

'It must be a heavy burden, being crowned as a hero so young. But you seem determined not to rest on your laurels.'

'What would that even look like, resting on my laurels?'

'It certainly wouldn't involve playing Quidditch six days a week. I realise it's a glamorous job, but it requires strong discipline. No, resting on your laurels would involve a cushy post at the Ministry—not as an Auror—and peddling influence.'

'That sounds excruciating,' said Harry, thinking of Charles Selwyn. 'I'd probably need to drink just to get through the day. Have I mentioned how much I like flying?'

Simon laughed. 'I'm relieved you feel that way, and it bodes well for your future happiness. That and your drive to improve yourself. After all, there are a lot more exciting things you could do with your time than studying history and the humanities.'

_Not for the next two weeks,_ thought Harry wryly. 'I appreciate the opportunity. And if it means I won't become a pathetic has-been, so much the better.'

When Harry retired that night, his bed looked even more enormous than usual. 'It'll just be you and me for the next two weeks,' he said to the bed. 'Unless I bring in one of the portraits.'

_Actually, that's not a bad idea, _he thought, and he called Kreacher. 'Could you find a severe-looking portrait and hang it in here? Maybe one of those old ladies who doesn't talk much but just scowls.'

'Yes, Master!' replied Kreacher, before disappearing with a loud _crack._ A minute later he returned with a frame containing a truly grim-looking witch. 'What do you want?' she said disapprovingly.

'I need a chaperone,' he explained. 'I've taken a temporary vow of celibacy, and it'll help to have someone keeping an eye on me. Are you willing?'

She glared at him. 'I won't have to watch any funny business?'

'No, that's the whole point. All I'll do in here is sleep, and get dressed.'

'All right,' she agreed.

'Thank you, I appreciate it. What's your name, by the way, and when were you alive?'

'I'm Banthora Black, and I died in 1810.'

'Were you born a Black, or did you marry into the family,' asked Harry, knowing that wasn't strictly an either-or question.

'I was born a Black, and I never married.'

Harry refrained from asking if she was a virgin, but he suspected she was. 'Thanks again for being willing to help.'

She nodded. 'I'll stand vigil, unless I fall asleep. But I'm a light sleeper, so don't think you'll get away with anything.'

'That's perfect. Good night, Miss Black.'

'Call me Banthora,' she said. 'You're Head of House, after all.'

'Then you must call me Harry.'

He turned off the lights before getting into bed, preferring not to have Banthora see him in his boxers. _But she'll see them in the morning,_ he mused. _And so will the entire wizarding world in a few months. _He chuckled, supposing the words 'underwear model' and 'vow of celibacy' didn't normally go together, but little about his life made sense. _So why should this be any different?_


	94. Chapter 94

_Author's note:_

_For some reason I don't get very many reviews. Which is fine—I'm more interested in Follows and Favorites, since that's how people will find my story—but I'd love to hear from the brave souls who have made it this far. You survived the great Harry-nerfing of chapter 7 (I got another nasty review about it just yesterday - lol), and you've gotten to know a zillion original characters._

_Do you have a favorite OC? For me it's a toss-up between Lydia and Lucinda, but I'm curious who you like (and who drives you nuts). Most of them just show up spontaneously when I write, which is a strange experience!_

_Anyway, stay safe and be well :)_

-––—––—––-

'Wake up, young man!' shouted the portrait. 'You heard me, wake up!'

'What?' replied Harry, disorientated. He slid his hand along the bedsheets but no one was there.

'You were having a nightmare. I've been shouting at you for nearly a minute.'

It took Harry a long moment to remember who was talking to him. 'Banthora?'

'Who else would it be, unless you already lured someone up here?' she said accusingly.

'No, I'm alone,' he replied, massaging a tense jaw muscle. 'How did you know I was having a nightmare?'

'You were thrashing and moaning like a wizard possessed.'

'Thank you for waking me,' he said. 'I hope I didn't disturb you too much.'

'You disturbed me greatly. But it's no matter—are you all right?'

Harry was unaccustomed to kindness from a Black family portrait. 'I'll be fine. I have nightmares fairly often, so I'm used to it. But if it's a problem, in the morning I can have Kreacher put you back where you were.'

'It's only for a fortnight,' she said. 'But what will you do? Can you fall back asleep?'

'Yes, but I should wait a few minutes, or else the nightmare might start again.'

It wasn't his usual Voldemort dream but instead involved a screaming, inconsolable Teddy. Harry tried desperately to calm him, but nothing worked, and Andromeda was gone. Alone with the wailing baby, Harry found himself in the Forbidden Forest, where he retrieved the Resurrection Stone.

He quickly turned it over in his hand, and Remus and Tonks appeared. 'Take care of Teddy!' he shouted. 'Don't leave him like this!' Their shades stood there but they didn't seem to hear him, or even care. 'Why won't you help?' he screamed repeatedly. 'You're bloody useless!'

Teddy never quietened, and by the time Banthora woke him, Harry was a jangle of fury and frustration. And even after talking to her, he fruitlessly ran his hand along the cool sheets, in search of human comfort. _I'm alone,_ he thought sadly, turning towards the edge of the bed.

For some reason, Harry remembered the long string that hung from the lightbulb in his cupboard, back on Privet Drive. The light was controlled by a pull-chain but he couldn't reach it from the bed, so Aunt Petunia had tied a string to it. It was knotted and frayed at the end, and he'd pretended it was a sort of tassel even though it had only six strands.

In the dim light of his bedroom, he could see the thick tassel at the end of the silken cord holding back the bed curtain. _No imagination required,_ he thought; it was definitely a tassel, and not a frayed piece of string. But it was too heavy to flick with his fingernail, as he'd done incessantly with the string in his cupboard, so he merely looked at it.

_They probably stashed me in the cupboard when I was teething, _he realised. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have known about the salve his parents had used, and of course Dumbledore hadn't included any in his basket. _I'd probably never felt pain before they died, except for tummy aches or falling off my toy broom. And even then I was probably soothed straight away._

He longed to hug Teddy and comfort him, and his Light magic began to stir. Harry willed it to go where it was needed, as he'd done that last night with Alex. _May it find Teddy, and Andromeda as well._

Sleep overtook him, and when he awoke it was light. 'One night down, thirteen to go,' he said aloud.

'I trust you refrained from onanism?' asked Banthora sternly.

'If that means what I think it does, the answer is yes.'

'Excellent, your vow is intact.'

Harry needed to use the toilet, but he had a new problem. 'Er, Banthora ... are you aware of how men tend to wake up?'

'Like snarling dragons? Yes, I had two brothers.'

'That's not what I meant,' began Harry. 'I'm not sure what the mechanics are, but it's typical for men to, er ... wake up at full attention.'

'In a state of priapism, you mean?'

_Did she know Priapus Maximus? _he wondered. 'That's right. I think I'll hold a pillow in front when I walk to the toilet.'

'If you insist. Although I never saw one when I was alive, and I'm rather curious.'

_I'm not going to oblige her,_ he thought, placing a pillow over the area in question. 'Have you at least seen pictures? I'm sure there are anatomy books in the library.'

'Those were drawings,' she said scornfully. 'I died before photographs were invented.'

He closed the bathroom door. _At least she never spied on Sirius,_ he mused, recalling the more intrusive portraits he'd met over the years. When he emerged, he said, 'I won't show you myself, but I could find you photographs if you like.'

Her eyes gleamed. 'Wizarding photographs?'

_Sweet Salazar, she wants porn_. 'Er, all right.'

Harry still had a couple of magazines Ginny had insisted they buy, which in hindsight should have been a clue about her sexuality. But they mostly showed women, and the men were mere props. _I should talk to Suresh,_ he decided.

After getting dressed, he went downstairs and found Simon in the kitchen eating an enormous breakfast. 'You're looking well,' Harry told him.

'I feel well,' he said. 'This is the best I've ever felt so soon after the full moon. I can't thank you enough.'

'You can thank me by coming back next month.'

'Only if you don't have guests.'

'Bollocks—the house is huge, and I can always Apparate a witch straight to the bedroom and take breakfast in bed if we want privacy.'

Simon closed his eyes for a moment. 'Thank you, I'd appreciate that. With any luck, I'll be able to afford a proper flat before long, and it won't be necessary.'

After a pause, Harry said, 'It occurs to me I've never mentioned you on the radio, or that I even have a tutor. Would you mind if I said something tomorrow night? Maybe you'd get more clients that way.'

'That would be very kind, but I insist you not mention me by name, and refer only to FLOOF. There are several former teachers among us, and they could all use the work.' With a chuckle, he added, 'Perhaps you'll make self-improvement fashionable as well.'

'It'll be the next foulard!' joked Harry.

He arrived early to practice and looked in on Mrs Thwip. 'Good morning, Mrs Thwip. I finished this weekend's pile,' he said, handing her a thick envelope.

'Good morning, Mr Potter. You received more post over the weekend. I'll have a stack for you this afternoon.'

He sighed. 'I feel like I've written to every child in Britain by now.'

'You haven't. But you're starting to hear from foreign children.'

'Foreign children? Are Cannons matches even broadcast abroad?'

'I'm told they are now. Not only are you famous, but your style of play is apparently very entertaining, even on the radio.' Her tone conveyed disapproval.

'Right,' he said awkwardly. 'On another topic, could you please prepare another list of charities? I'd like to significantly increase the amount I'm giving away, and to include Muggle charities as well.' He explained his particular wish to help Muggles in Britain and abroad who lacked basic necessities.

She looked at him sharply. 'Might I ask what inspired this decision?'

Harry wasn't sure what she was getting at, but he answered honestly. 'I earn a lot from the Cannons—far more than I require—and I'm likely to earn even more from my new endorsement contract, and other investments. My primary aim is to rebuild the Black family assets and help my relations who need a leg up, but I don't want to go overboard and establish a dynasty of spoilt layabouts. Furthermore, I'd rather my earnings help people now, instead of just piling up in Gringotts.'

'Do you plan to publicise this?' she asked.

'I don't want people naming hospital wings after me, if that's what you're asking. No, I'd rather keep it private.'

'Unless you give anonymously, people will find out.'

'Is that so bad? People speculate about me regardless, and I'd rather they not think I'm some kind of miser. The biggest risk is that I'll keep getting requests from the Brotherhood for the Lost Art of Vermimancy, but thanks to you I can ignore them.'

'It will be my honour to turn them down as many times as they require,' she said crisply.

Her approval was unmistakable. _Well done, Harry! _he thought. _Hopefully I just earned myself a free pass the next time she wants to sack me._

After talking with Mrs Thwip, he looked in on Susanna and Thaddeus. 'Is everything set for my name change tomorrow?'

'Yes,' said Susanna. 'We sent time-activated letters to all our retail partners, with instructions to accept your old merchandise from customers who want an update. We also offered to exchange unsold Potter inventory for the Potter-Black version.'

'But no one's going to take you up on it,' said Thaddeus. 'I heard your existing merchandise is already selling out, in anticipation of your name change.' With a smirk he added, 'You made the right choice, leaving the Ministry. It would have taken you a decade to earn what you'll make here in a couple of months.'

'That's not why I left!'

'We know,' said Susanna. 'But he's right. We've received requests from Quidditch shops worldwide who want to carry your merchandise—your lightning bolt emblem in particular.'

'Is this because of the foreign broadcasts?' asked Harry.

'In part,' she said. 'Incidentally, negotiate a better contract at the end of the season. The team is making a killing off you, and they can afford to share.'

Harry nodded and thanked her, feeling uncomfortable again. As he walked towards the main entrance, he thought, _I'm a bloody commodity, probably thanks to Voldemort. Talk about unintended consequences._

'Look who's here!' exclaimed Janet. 'The preening peacock!'

'Ugh, I'd already forgotten about that. But go ahead and take the piss—I have Seekers' night out tonight and need to be ready.'

'You unlucky bastard! Of all the nights to see Andrew Gilstrap and Allie Hobbs! Can you at least console yourself afterwards with that tasty cousin of yours?'

'No. For one thing, she's not interested. And for another, I've taken a two-week vow of celibacy.'

Janet blanched. 'What? No! Why?'

He explained Davina's advice to Janet and the small crowd that had gathered. 'It's only a fortnight, and I might be able to use the Firebolt Ultra afterwards.'

Darren shook his head in disgust. 'I'm all for team loyalty, but that's just wrong.'

'I'd also be able to eat with the starters again,' argued Harry. 'Candice has to be asking questions.'

'She has been,' said Renée. 'She keeps dropping hints about Kosovo and its relationship with Albania.'

'But celibacy!' cried Darren. 'That's the nuclear option!'

'I know, but at this rate I'll be into triple figures by the time I'm twenty-one.'

'You make that sound like a bad thing,' said Darren. 'Admittedly I'm not there yet—not even close—but things are looking up.'

They walked outside, and after Tuttle's lecture Harry began running and joined Suresh. 'What are you doing in the slow lane, Snitchbottom?'

'I have a question, or possibly a favour to ask,' replied Harry.

'Do you want me to teach your house-elf to make better curries?' asked Suresh patronisingly. 'His aren't bad, but my mum's are much better.'

'Would she be willing to teach him? I could offer a day of free house-elf labour in exchange.'

'Done. Was that your question?'

'No, I'm looking for some gay wizarding porn.'

Suresh stopped running. 'You're having me on, right?'

'It's for one of the portraits. Banthora Black has never seen an erection, and all we have in the house are old anatomy books.'

'I have so many questions,' said Suresh, beginning to jog again. 'My first is, how did this even come up?' They both sniggered, and Suresh continued. 'Did you wander the guest rooms, quill in hand, asking the portraits whether they had any unresolved issues you could help them with?'

Harry explained how he'd moved her portrait into his bedroom and their conversation that morning.

'And would it be a violation of your vow just to show her yours?'

'It would be a violation of the laws of the universe. Furthermore, the last thing I need is for the portraits to start demanding peepshows.'

'Good point,' said Suresh. 'And yes, I can recommend a magazine to buy. What do you know about her taste?'

'Not a thing. But I'd rather not shock her senseless—are any magazines more tasteful than the others?'

'This is gay porn you're talking about—being tasteful isn't a priority. Other than the hairstyles, that is. As far as I'm concerned, nothing kills the mood like feathered hair.'

'Right. So I guess whichever magazine is the least appalling.'

'That'll be _Blood Traitor,'_ said Suresh approvingly.

'_Blood Traitor?' _exclaimed Harry. 'What kind of name is that for a porno mag?'

'It's a perfectly brilliant name, and it works for everyone. Think about it.'

Harry recalled the many times he'd called Ginny a blood traitor in private, to great effect. 'You're right, it is good. Where do I buy it?'

'Oh, Harry,' began Suresh. 'I'm not so cruel as to make you purchase it yourself, although I'd be sorely tempted to follow you and take pictures. I'll get you a copy tonight.'

Harry ate lunch with the reserves at a wizarding restaurant, and with his permission they mocked him mercilessly about Doctor Niffler's comments. 'I can't wait to see what she says about your name change,' said Lyle. 'I bet it'll be something about how you're fulfilling your lifelong wish to marry Sirius Black.'

'Bugger, you're right!' cried Harry. Then he widened his eyes, and in a dreamy voice he said, 'Mrs Sirius Black. Finally!'

'Have you picked out a wedding gown?' asked Gemma. 'If you ask me nicely, I'll let you wear the tiara.'

Harry batted his eyelashes and said, 'Forget the tiara—just imagine all the flowers I could wear!'

'They really need a wizarding equivalent to Photoshop,' mused Gemma. 'Because I'd love to see a photo of you in a wedding gown. Can you wear one to the party.'

'Shh,' he said, his smile fading. 'If you can't keep it secret, I won't throw it.'

Gemma clamped her mouth shut, and Elspeth said, 'Don't blow this for us, Rees. It needs to happen.'

'I should have Hermione prepare the contract straight away,' muttered Harry. 'And force you lot to sign it.'

'How can you accuse us of betraying you, after all the secrets we've kept?' said Gemma.

'On a reserve's salary,' added Lyle. Looking around the table, he said, 'Raise your hand if you've been offered gold in exchange for dirt on Harry.'

Every hand went up. 'Are you serious?' said Harry. 'By whom?'

'Seedy journalists,' replied Lyle. 'And they haven't actually offered much.'

'Speak for yourself,' said Gemma. 'Last week, someone offered me a hundred Galleons for information about Harry's private life.'

'A hundred Galleons!' exclaimed Titus. 'And you didn't take it?'

She scowled at him. 'No, I didn't take it.'

'Why didn't you tell me?' asked Harry.

'I didn't want to make you paranoid. So well done, Lyle ... now Harry's going to worry about which one of us will sell him out.'

'No, I won't,' said Harry, although he was uncomfortable with what he'd just learnt.

It was still on his mind after lunch, so he found Owen before Seeker training. 'The reserves just told me they've all been offered gold for dirt on me.'

Owen sighed. 'Yes, same here. No small amount, in fact.'

'Recently, or back when I still had secrets?'

'Both. But obviously I haven't given them the time of day. Are you worried?'

'Not exactly. I trust everyone, but I know the reserves aren't paid as well as the starters, and except for Gemma they hardly have any merchandise sales. I don't know specifically what they earn, but I assume the extra gold would come in handy.'

'Reserve pay isn't bad. I supported a family on it, modestly at least. And it's worth it to get to play Quidditch all week. But some extra Galleons wouldn't have gone amiss.'

Harry was quiet for a moment. 'Do you think I could negotiate an across-the-board pay rise? Susanna told me the team is making a killing off me, and that I should demand a better contract next time around.'

'She's not wrong. And it's not just ticket sales and merchandise: the foreign broadcasting rights are huge. So far they've just been airing the English-language version, either live or recorded, but now there's demand for foreign announcers as well, like with the World Cup. Which means we might have more people in the broadcasting booth soon.'

'Does the team get paid for that?'

'Yes, amply.'

'Do you think I could ask for an all-Cannons pay rise?'

'Frankly, you could ask for an ownership share. The Cannons have always done well, thanks to the fans, but now we're by far the most profitable team in the league. And with minimal added expense.'

'Just Mrs Thwip,' mused Harry. 'And you, of course. Although I hope your pay is more than minimal.'

'It is from where I'm standing, definitely. But in answer to your question, go ahead and ask for a team pay rise, although you mightn't get it until your contract comes up for renewal, presumably at the end of the season.'

Harry sighed. 'I'd prefer sooner. I'm not so worried about the other players betraying me, but there's the staff as well. No one said a word about my Light magic, and they could have done.'

'I'll argue on your behalf,' said Owen. 'It'll be good for morale, which is crucial if we want to keep winning.'

'Should I talk to Tuttle first, or go straight to Darius?'

'What did you do when you proposed hiring me as a trainer?'

'I went straight to Darius. He was afraid I'd come to tell him I was moving to France, so he was relieved I was only suggesting keeping you on.'

'Then talk to him first. In fact ... go ask Lara right now if you can talk to Darius after the practice match. That's enough time for him to worry but not so long as to torture him.'

'Barrowmaker, you're a true Slytherin,' said Harry, smiling.

He dashed into the building to ask Lara for an appointment. 'Is everything all right?' she asked.

'Mostly,' he said, with deliberate vagueness. 'There's just something I need to talk to him about.'

Harry was almost disappointed when the practice match ended early, since it meant Darius hadn't been in suspense quite as long. But Harry made the catch after a spectacular chase through the Beaters, and he knew Darius was watching.

After Tuttle's notes, team stretches, and a particularly long shower, Harry knocked on Darius's door. 'Come in, come in!' boomed Darius, with only a slight quaver in his voice. 'Please, sit down. Do you want some tea?'

'No thanks,' said Harry, not wanting to draw out the tension any longer. 'There's something I was hoping to discuss.'

'Yes, of course,' said Darius as they both sat down. 'That was a tremendous catch, by the way. Simply marvellous!'

'Cheers.' Harry took a deep breath and invited a trickle of Light magic to arise. 'I've heard team revenues are way up, and that we've had requests for foreign language broadcasts.'

'That's right,' said Darius uncertainly. 'So far we've been approached for broadcasting rights in French, Spanish, German, Russian, and Japanese.'

_Japanese? _thought Harry. _Interesting. _'I'll be frank,' he said. 'I know I've played a large role in the increased revenue, both by catching the Snitch regularly and by being famous to start with. But I couldn't play this well if I didn't trust my teammates and the entire Cannons organisation.'

Darius frowned. 'Are you concerned about someone in particular?'

'No, not at all. Nobody breathed a word about my Light magic, nor other things that were private. But I learnt today that journalists have repeatedly attempted to bribe my teammates. The reserves even.'

Harry could see that Darius had spotted where he was going. 'What do you want?'

'An across-the-board pay rise for the entire organisation, excluding myself and anyone else you think is above the bribery threshold.'

Darius's eyes flitted as he thought. 'The starters are cleaning up on merchandise. Not like you, of course, but much better than before. Tuttle and Barrowmaker are fine.' He looked at Harry and said, 'This will affect your next contract. The money has to come from somewhere. Obviously we won't lower your pay, or your merchandise share, but we can't give you the pay rise you might be expecting.'

_I honestly didn't care, _thought Harry. 'I know,' he said simply. 'But I signed a lucrative endorsement contract last week, as you may have heard.'

'I did, and I was glad to hear it. Admittedly the team might get some blowback from the "Mothers Against Harry Potter" crowd, but scandal equals Galleons where you're concerned.'

_That should be my new middle name, _thought Harry with a sigh. _Harry 'Scandal Equals Galleons' Potter-Black._ But he was relieved that Darius seemed amenable to the all-Cannons pay rise.

'How soon can it take effect?' he asked.

'I'll have to talk to the finance department, and legal. And the other shareholders of course.'

'How many are there?' asked Harry, who knew little about team governance.

'Dozens of individuals, loosely grouped by family, including my own. But there's a board of trustees, and we meet quarterly to discuss matters that go beyond the day-to-day.'

'When's your next meeting?' persisted Harry.

'The first of December.'

Powerful energy filled Harry's torso, although he didn't glow. 'Can you move it up? I rely on everyone here, and I'll feel better knowing there's more than just good will ensuring their loyalty.'

'You can't buy loyalty,' cautioned Darius.

'No, but everyone knows team revenues have skyrocketed, and I think they'll feel better if the owners and I aren't the sole beneficiaries.'

Darius was silent but then nodded. 'I'll talk to Victor and we'll go from there.'

'Thanks,' said Harry, and the tension around his Light magic relaxed, causing him to glow. 'Oh, bugger.'

Darius laughed out loud. 'You'll really need to learn to control that, next time you're in a negotiation. You and I are at least on the same side, in most respects, but the goblins aren't as soft a touch.'

'You're right, and I need to negotiate with Gringotts later this week.'

'Do you need advice?' asked Darius. 'I've had my share of dealings with them.'

They agreed to have lunch at Pratt's on Wednesday. _I should have known he was a member, _thought Harry as he left Darius's office.

After collecting the latest stack of letters from Mrs Thwip, he returned to Grimmauld Place and responded to his unending fan mail. But the letters from foreign children were entertaining, and some included stories and photographs depicting wizarding life abroad:

_Dear Harry,_

_My name is Katja, and I am a ten-year-old witch in the Netherlands. I love flying, and I hope to play Seeker when I start wizarding school next year. My favourite team is the Leiden Zilverreigers, but I like the Chudley Cannons second best. I started learning English when I was six, which means I can speak and write pretty well, but your broadcasts are harder to follow. George and Lee sometimes speak very quickly, and you also use words I don't know. But I want to go to England and see a Cannons match, and also visit Weasley's Wizard Wheezes._

_Yours truly,_

_Katja Vinke_

Harry grinned at the photograph of the little girl holding a broomstick that was too large for her. She wore a white Quidditch jersey with a very determined-looking bird on it and also held a Cannons pennant, which she waved enthusiastically.

_I hope I don't traumatise her with my adverts, _he thought sheepishly, and he wondered what he would have thought at age ten if one of his role models had posed in their underpants. For a moment he was mortified, and he wondered if it was too late to back out of the contract. But then he remembered his privacy was long gone.

_I haven't any secrets left, _he recalled_. _It was truly freeing, and he had an urge to give Rita flowers the next time he saw her. The next challenge, of course, was not to be upset when people criticised him. He'd grown accustomed to it, but there was always a sting, no matter how small.

_At least I'm free to glow tonight at Seeker's night out,_ he thought. Sarah Trent had owled him the location, and he was going to arrive with Gemma since it was her first time.

After dinner he travelled by Floo to Gemma's house. She had given him a precise window when she was certain no unauthorised Muggles would be present, and Harry arrived right on time.

'Well done, Toffer,' declared Gemma, as he emerged into the lounge. 'I'm surprised your fireplace didn't physically bar you from going to a Muggle abode.'

'Speaking of Muggles, I'm Davy,' said a young man. 'And you're the legendary Harry Potter.'

Harry extended his hand to Gemma's elder brother. 'It's nice to meet you, Davy.'

'I taught Gemma everything she knows about trash-talking, which I heard is what got her the job.'

'That and my flying, arsehole,' said Gemma. 'Which I haven't seen you doing much of.'

'That's because I'm not a devil spawn,' joked Davy. 'You'd have been drowned a couple centuries ago.'

'Not before spooking your livestock and laying waste to your crops,' she retorted.

Gemma's mother, Rose, emerged from the kitchen. 'Harry, it's good to see you again. But I'm sorry you can't meet the twins—they just started university.'

'And they're out from underfoot!' said Gemma jubilantly. 'All we need now is to get rid of Davy, and it'll just be us girls.'

'You're the professional athlete,' said Davy. 'Shouldn't you have your own flat by now?'

Gemma looked annoyed. 'I'm choosy. I'd rather wait for something perfect to turn up.'

'That's not what I've heard,' said Davy, and she made a rude gesture at him.

Rose glared at them, then turned back to Harry. 'You've made Gemma feel so welcome in the wizarding world,' she said warmly. 'Not only that, she says people recognise her in public already and tell her she has a great career ahead of her.'

'It's true, I've seen it,' said Harry. 'And they say the same thing behind her back.'

'People talk to you about me?' asked Gemma, surprised.

'All the time. I suspect some of the other Seekers you'll meet tonight are wondering if you're going to steal their job.'

'Only with magic could a shrimp like Gemma be a pro athlete,' teased her much-taller brother.

'Same here,' said Harry. 'But fortunately Seekers are small.'

They left for the pub, which was inauspiciously called 'The Kelpie's Lair.' But it was cosy and welcoming, and they were ushered into a private room.

'Look, it's Lord Whatsisname!' cried Julian Barnwistle. 'And the most talked-about reserve in league Quidditch!'

'Because she's the only one who can beat Lord Whatsisname,' said Jerome Wither.

'Speak for yourself,' said Allie Hobbs imperiously. 'I told you he wasn't invincible.'

'Everyone, this is Gemma Rees,' announced Harry, taking a seat, and the other Seekers introduced themselves.

'So, Rees, we all have a burning question,' said Gilstrap. 'What's Harry Potter really like?'

'I've heard he has a good right hook,' retorted Gemma, prompting laughter.

'You're small even for a Seeker,' said Trevor Underhill, who was in charge of the beer. 'Do you want a half-pint or just a thimble?'

'Do you really want to make fun of my size?' asked Gemma.

'We seldom get the opportunity,' said Kieran Sheppard, and everyone swapped insults they'd received about their stature.

'But why aren't we mocking Potter?' asked Carl Wainwright. 'The _Prophet _provided even more ammunition than usual.'

'Because you're afraid he'll crush you with his Light magic,' replied Gemma.

'Or his "procreative dominance,"' quoted Hobbs. 'How much did you pay them to print that, Potter?'

'It's Potter-Black,' scoffed Gilstrap. 'So unwieldy ... can't we just call you "Plock?"'

'I like it,' said Phil Routledge, taking a seat. 'Harry, I dub thee Lord Plock.'

'No, no no no no no,' protested Harry.

'Lordships are bollocks,' said Barnwistle. 'He's Sir Harry Plock, of the Plockington Plocks.'

'Why exactly do I come to Seeker's night out?' groaned Harry, taking a long sip of beer.

'Because you owe us an update,' said Trent. 'On the doomed effort to change Quidditch scoring.'

'Right, yes,' he said, pulling a parchment from his pouch. 'You may have heard by now that Viktor Krum has circulated petitions among Seekers, and they're all linked. As you can see, we have well over a hundred signatures, and it keeps growing. You're all welcome to sign it if you like.'

Trent took a quill from her bag and added her name. 'It won't work, but at least we're doing our part,' she said, passing the parchment to her neighbour.

'What use is a petition?' asked Hobbs. 'Is Krum planning to present it somewhere?'

'No, because he's convinced it'll fail,' said Harry. 'But he suggested I talk to the team owners, who have a similar petition, and that we make our case at the World Quidditch Conference this winter.'

'Well done, Lord Plock,' said Gilstrap. 'You're clever to plan your press coverage so far in advance.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'If someone else wants to present it, be my guest.'

'No, you're our best hope,' said Isla Preston. 'You're the only one of us with name recognition outside Britain.'

'Particularly if you fly for England,' muttered Phil.

Hobbs raised one eyebrow. 'Trouble in paradise?' she asked. 'I thought you two were best mates.'

'They were until the _Prophet _suggested Potter fly for England,' said Sheppard. 'Routledge thought he had it in the bag.'

'I beg to differ,' said Gilstrap.

'They'll never pick you,' scoffed Wainwright. 'It's an international competition, and England isn't going to let someone like you represent us.'

'Because my parents are Muggle-born?' said Gilstrap indignantly.

'No, because you're a huge wanker,' replied Hobbs. 'No offence.'

'Rees, what do you think of Seekers' night out so far?' asked Underhill.

'You're the most premenstrual lot I've ever met,' she said. 'And I'm talking about the blokes. Are they always like this, Toffer?'

Harry tried not to grimace. 'No, they aren't. What's the matter with everyone?'

'We miss Barrowmaker,' said Ekantika Singh. 'He had a calming influence. Elder statesman, you know.'

'Preston, you're the senior Seeker now,' said Wither. 'Can't you impose order?'

'I have a kid at home already. I don't need to play mum here.'

'How did you manage that?' asked Gemma. 'Lord knows I'm in no hurry, but how were you able to fit pregnancy into your career?'

'I owe it all to a charming wizard best known as "You-Know-Who," who decided that witches like me are abominations. My husband and I left for France, and none of the teams were interested in hiring an exiled _rosbif_, as they call us. So we decided to sprog instead.'

'That's France for you,' said Harry. 'Was your baby born there?'

'No, she was born here after the war ended, thanks to you and your mates.'

'Did you name her Harriet?' asked Gemma.

'No, Hermione. Hermione Chloé Preston.'

'That's beautiful,' said Harry tenderly, and he started to glow.

'Drink!' cried Wainwright, and several of the other Seekers drained their glasses.

'This can't end well,' said Trent.

'I don't believe for a minute you can't control it, Potter,' scoffed Gilstrap, who hadn't drunk. 'This is just another bid for attention.'

'It really isn't,' said Gemma. 'He still can't eat in Muggle restaurants, because he glows at the drop of a hat.'

'Why would you want to eat in a Muggle restaurant?' persisted Gilstrap. 'You'd be completely anonymous there.'

'You've answered your own question,' said Harry, still aglow. 'And besides, I need to get this under control if I want to fly the Firebolt Ultra.'

'So you really like it now?'

'I do.'

'Then it's a good thing you didn't endorse Silver Arrow,' said Sheppard. 'Even though I thought you were daft at the time.'

'He was daft,' said Phil. 'But I hear you have a new endorsement lined up.'

Harry frowned but said nothing. _What do they know? _he wondered.

Gemma followed his lead. 'I haven't heard about any new endorsement, Toffer. What is it?'

'That's just it,' said Phil. 'No one knows. But according to my mate who plays for the Kestrels, you told Kiely you signed an unusual, worldwide, and highly lucrative contract.'

'Damn you, Toffer!' cried Gemma. 'Aren't you rich enough?'

'He has poor relations,' said Hobbs. 'At least that's what Ginny said.'

_Ginny! _thought Harry, with a stab of betrayal. But his hurt vanished when he realised Hobbs was exaggerating, and that she'd probably overheard it.

'I'm under a lot of pressure to make up for centuries of profligacy by the Blacks,' he admitted. 'I turned down Silver Arrow because I thought it would reflect poorly on the family, but it turns out my chief responsibility as Head of House is to earn money.'

'So this has nothing to do with your own ego,' said Gilstrap. 'Furthermore, you wouldn't mind having middle-class descendants, but as Head of House you're morally obligated to perpetuate a dynasty?'

'Two dynasties,' said Hobbs. 'Potter and Black.'

'The Potters aren't that kind of family, but it hardly seems fair to favour some of my future offspring over the others,' replied Harry. 'And if you can think of a better approach, I'm all ears.'

'Give it all away,' said Gilstrap. 'And when your kids receive Hogwarts letters, turn them down and enrol them at East Nowhere School of Magic.'

'Why shouldn't he send his kids to Hogwarts?' asked Gemma. 'Getting a shitty but prestigious education is a centuries-old Potter family tradition.'

'Hogwarts seems to be improving,' said Wainwright. 'But Gilstrap clearly wishes he'd attended a poorly-run, elitist death trap.'

'I wish wizarding Britain had at least a semblance of social mobility,' said Gilstrap. 'But thanks to people like Lord Plock it's hardly better than King Arthur's court.'

'And how is that Harry's fault?' asked Gemma. 'He's done more to help Muggle-borns from obscure schools than any wizard living. Between keeping us alive and helping remove those wards, he's the—I dunno ... Gandhi of wizarding Britain.'

'Gandhi?' said Hobbs incredulously. 'Maybe because he strips down to his underwear at every opportunity, but he's hardly a spiritual leader.'

'Ahem, Light magic,' said Underhill.

'I am nothing like Gandhi,' said Harry. 'Can we drop this?'

'But it's so much fun!' said Wither. 'Sorry, Potter—it's nothing personal. We always take the piss out of the league's best Seeker.'

'Then why aren't you slagging Routledge?' asked Harry.

'He's right,' said Phil. 'Not that I'm necessarily the best Seeker, but that we're ganging up on him. Harry's been nothing but decent to all of us, and we're treating him like shit tonight. Myself included—I'm sorry.'

Harry, whose glow had long since faded, felt himself relax slightly. 'Thanks, and it's all right.'

'He's used to it,' said Gemma. 'I don't know why, but it's easy to forget he has feelings, which is daft since he tells me and the other Cannons how much he loves us at least once a week.'

'Are you sure he's not just trying to get into your knickers?' asked Wainwright.

This led to a spirited discussion about team fraternisation, and not just amongst the Cannons. There was considerable gossip about who was dating whom between teams, and how many couples had formed during Harry's last party.

'England is bound to win the World Cup in twenty-five years, thanks to the breeding programme that began in Potter's guest bedrooms,' said Barnwistle.

'Yes, but what about Seekers?' asked Preston. 'I blew my chance by sprogging with a civilian, but have any of you lot paired off?'

Nearly everyone looked at Harry. 'Oi! I've barely been in the league for three months!'

'You're a fast worker,' said Underhill. 'You don't beat about the bush.'

Phil threw a beer mat at him. 'That was a foul for sure. But Harry's too indiscreet—everyone knows who he's shagged.'

'Not the _Sorceress_ witch,' said Sheppard.

'She's not a Seeker,' said Harry.

Sarah Trent smirked and said, 'No, and she definitely wouldn't have been able to sit a broom the next morning.'

Harry eventually excused himself to go to the loo, but before he returned to the table, Phil Routledge ambushed him. 'Harry, I'm sorry about earlier.'

'You already apologised. And don't worry about it.'

'No, it was childish of me. It's not your fault the _Prophet_ said you should fly for England. By all accounts, your performance against Kiely was world-class.'

'But you have far more experience than I do, and you're less controversial. England deserves a proper national team and not a bloody circus.'

'They deserve the best Seeker,' argued Phil. 'And that may well be you.'

'Or Hobbs,' said Harry. 'But probably you.'

Phil chuckled. 'They'd never pick Gilstrap. It's ironic, really—he thinks he needs to be a dick to succeed, but it's actually holding him back.'

After chatting a little longer, Harry proposed they have dinner together sometime soon. 'But no pulling—I'm taking a break.'

'Alert the media,' joked Phil. 'Or are you saving it for tomorrow's broadcast?'

'Yeah, I think I need accountability,' said Harry as they returned to the table.

'Did you two kiss and make up?' asked Hobbs.

'We decided to settle it over the pitch in November,' replied Phil. 'So not only will Puddlemere win the cup, but I'll defeat Potter as well.'

After more beer and conversation—heavily salted with quotes from Doctor Niffler—the Seekers began to disperse. Gemma and Harry left together, which earned hoots from the others. 'Don't violate Cannons rules, you two!' said Wainwright. 'Or else you'll both be sacked, and they'll have to bring back Barrowmaker.'

As they walked to the fireplace, Gemma said, 'How are you doing? Do you need a few minutes with Friendly Gemma to recover?'

'Friendly Gemma?' asked Harry. 'Have I met her before?'

'Of course you have! She's the one who calls you Harry sometimes.'

'Oh, right—when we first met. Yes, I could stand a few minutes with her, for old times' sake.'

They went to Grimmauld Place and flopped down in the sitting room. 'Are they always that hard on you?' she asked.

'No, it gets worse every time. At first it was only Gilstrap and Hobbs, but now it's nearly everyone. Am I doing something wrong?'

'You've won nearly every match you've played, without having to faff about in the reserves. And you'll probably earn more than all of them combined, once your underwear earnings start rolling in.'

'So they're jealous?'

'Duh! And this is news somehow?'

Harry sighed. 'What do I do about it?'

'You're asking the wrong person, since I'd probably just hex them. But you should probably take the high road. Turn the other cheek, or something.'

After a silence, Harry said, 'I remember when Dudley learnt that expression. We were eight or so, and Aunt Petunia decided we needed to go to Sunday school. Not for actual moral instruction—at least not for Dudley—but because our new neighbour was scandalised when she found out we didn't attend.'

'That was right Christian of her.'

'Anyway, Dudley barely paid attention, but the "turn the other cheek" story got through somehow, only completely backwards.'

Gemma scowled. 'That fucker said it when he hit you, didn't he?'

'Three cheers for magical healing,' said Harry dryly. 'It probably inspired Dudley to punch harder.'

'Right,' said Gemma. 'I take it back—don't turn the other cheek.'

'No, it's good advice, considering the Seekers aren't actually punching me. And besides, if they really are jealous, that's no fun. I certainly know what that feels like.'

'From growing up with your cousin?'

'Yeah, when we were little. And then at Hogwarts, when my mates all had families to go home to. But at least I had Sirius for a while.'

Gemma's expression was softer than he'd ever seen it. 'God, we all have such short memories. It's not like it was even that long ago that the stories about your family came out, but everyone's forgotten already.'

'I'm thrilled they've forgotten. I'd much rather be known as a spoilt manwhore than as the Boy Who Was Abused.'

After another silence, she said, 'Do you normally even talk about this?'

He shook his head. 'No, it's probably the beer talking. That's the problem with alcohol—you never know if it'll put you in a great mood or just make you maudlin.'

Gemma eyed the record player. 'Would music cheer you up?'

'Actually, yeah.' He walked over and pulled out an album. 'Is Squeeze all right?'

'Good choice,' said Gemma. Harry put on the record, and they listened to several songs without talking. 'You didn't have this growing up, did you?' she asked.

'Squeeze?'

'No. Sitting in the lounge with your family, listening to records.'

'Maybe when I was a baby,' said Harry. 'But otherwise, no.'

'My siblings and I used to fight over what to listen to, so the rule was we could each pick one side, and then it was someone else's turn.'

'Not the whole album?'

'No, the whole album's too long. Which meant I always had to pick my favourite side.'

'Couldn't you make a deal with one of your siblings, and they'd pick the other side so you could hear the whole album all at once? And then the next day you'd pick their album.'

'We tried that, but enforcement was a problem. Which led to more fighting.'

Harry looked at her carefully. 'Did you fight a lot?'

'All the time. But not like you're thinking.'

'You mean not like Dudley and me?'

She nodded. 'Yeah. We still loved each other, and we had each others' back. My mum was strict about that.'

Harry wasn't surprised—Gemma's mum had struck him as kind but steely. 'That must have been hard, raising four kids on her own without magic.'

'If only! I had accidental magic, remember?'

'Oh right. Did you do anything exciting?'

'Petty larceny, mostly.'

'Larceny?' said Harry. 'From shops, you mean?'

'No, from my siblings. For example, Davy had a Swiss Army knife from our dad, only it kept turning up with my things.'

'And you didn't take it?'

'No. Except everyone thought I did, no matter how much I said I didn't. I was convinced Davy was putting it there himself, just to get me into trouble.' After a pause, she said, 'One time I found it before he noticed it was gone, and I tried putting it back, only I got caught. So then they had proof I was stealing.'

Harry's heart sank. 'What happened?'

'I was punished. We'd been planning for ages to go to an amusement park, but my mum made me stay with a neighbour instead. They all went without me.'

'How old were you?'

'Nine. It was right after my birthday, and I didn't get much in the way of presents that year because my mum was going to let me get a souvenir instead.'

Harry felt his Light magic stir. 'I'm so sorry, Gemma. I wish the Ministry weren't so inept when it comes to accidental magic and Muggle-borns.'

'Yeah, well, that's the Ministry for you. At least I was forgiven two years later, when we learnt I was a witch. My mum felt terrible when she realised what had happened.'

'Still, that's awful,' he said. 'For nearly a year everyone thought I was lying about Voldemort coming back. I don't know if there's any worse feeling than when you're telling the truth and no one believes you.'

'That was a lot worse than what I went through!' said Gemma. 'People died because no one believed you. I just missed out on a rollercoaster and hot doughnuts.'

'I guess, but it's still the same feeling, when people treat you like a liar.' He was fully glowing by then, and he looked at her with deep compassion.

Gemma didn't respond right away, and instead she seemed to drink in his compassion. 'Thank you,' she said, blushing. 'I mean it.'

Harry was awash in Light magic and simply closed his eyes. The record reached the end of the side, and then turned over magically.

'Both sides of the same album in one sitting?' said Gemma. 'You really are spoilt!'

Harry chuckled. 'Be sure to tell the other Seekers.'

'I will.' After a pause, she said, 'You know they wouldn't take the piss if they didn't like you, right?'

'Hobbs and Gilstrap don't like me.'

'True, but everyone else does. When you went to the loo, they didn't slag you at all. And Wither said you were an unbelievably good sport.'

'I suppose that's comforting.'

'That's the thing about being jealous of you. Everyone knows you deserve what you have, which makes it harder somehow. Wankers like Gilstrap say you've had everything handed to you, but that's bollocks and he knows it. What he doesn't want to admit is that you've worked like crazy for years, and almost entirely for unselfish reasons. Even now ... the only reason you're dropping your trousers for those adverts is to help a bunch of freeloaders.'

'You mean my descendants?'

'I was thinking of all your new cousins, but I suppose your kids count too.'

'It doesn't feel unselfish. I think Gilstrap was right when he said my ego is involved.'

'Of course it's involved! Your ego is huge!'

'Cheers.'

'Sorry, old habit,' said Gemma. 'Are you talking about when he was saying you should just give everything away and send your kids to East Kettleton?'

'I think he said East Nowhere.'

She shrugged. 'That's just him being jealous again. I know I give you a hard time about noblesse oblige, but you actually use your advantages to help people. And so what if you want your kids to be rich and go to Hogwarts, only without anyone trying to kill them? I want my kids to grow up with magic and have cool toys from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and never have to stay home with the neighbours while everyone else is at a theme park.'

Harry looked at the clock. 'I should probably turn in. I need to go to the Ministry before practice to take care of my name change.'

'Oh right! This is your last night as Harry Potter. Are you going to commemorate it somehow?'

'Yeah ... by drinking and getting insulted by other Seekers, but then letting my teammate cheer me up. Thanks, by the way.'

'Don't mention it, Toffer. I had a good time—we should do this again.'

'My schedule is wide open for the next fortnight,' he said. 'Just say when.'

He saw her out the kitchen fireplace and turned off the record player, even though the album wasn't over yet. On his way upstairs he paused before Padfoot, who was resting on his belly with his front paws outstretched. 'This is all your fault, you know,' said Harry, and Padfoot's ears pricked up. 'That's right—I'd have been Harry Potter my whole life, except you wanted to shaft the Malfoys.'

Padfoot rose to a proper sitting position and Harry tossed in a treat. 'Good boy,' he said fondly when the dog caught it. He recalled the final letter Sirius had written him, urging him to steer House Black to the Light. _I'm trying, _he thought, touching the spot on his finger where the family ring was hidden. _Truly I am._


	95. Chapter 95

'Is that what you're wearing?' said Banthora, when Harry emerged from the wardrobe.

'What's the matter with it?' asked Harry, looking down at his casual daytime robes.

'You're going to the Ministry to officially change your name. You need to properly represent House Black.'

'But it's first thing in the morning, and I'll only be there a few minutes. It's not as if I'm wearing a tracksuit.'

'Nevertheless, you're a true Black now, and it's your responsibility to always look impeccable.'

_I already do, _he thought indignantly. But Banthora had soothed him that night after another nightmare, so he decided to make her happy. 'I'll let you pick,' he said, returning to the wardrobe.

Harry held up successive outfits until she said, 'Those.' He frowned, recognising a set of robes Lydia had chosen, and which he'd almost rejected for being too much like something Lucius Malfoy would wear. 'These are unmistakably Death Eater robes,' he'd told Lydia. 'All they're missing is an access panel for my Dark Mark.'

'No, they're the height of elegance,' she had said. 'The black brocade with a hint of green was made for you, and that cut has "Seeker" written all over it.' But he'd been reluctant to wear them ever since the _Prophet_ had derided his 'aristocratic pretensions,' and he had yet to figure out the proper occasion for them.

'They're perfect,' said Banthora. 'And Phyllida Black will appreciate them. She was Registrar General when I was a girl, and I believe her portrait still hangs there.'

'Fine,' said Harry, walking back into the wardrobe to change. 'But I won't be there long, so she probably won't even notice.'

Banthora sighed with pleasure when he emerged. 'You're worthy of the family name,' she declared. 'A true gentlewizard.'

'A gentlewizard?' said Harry. 'Manwhore, more like.'

'Don't use that expression. And besides, your predecessors were no angels.'

'Oh? Do you have stories?'

'I have many. Alphard Odysseus Black, for example, had an insatiable desire for Muggle actresses. He was gifted with languages, which brought him all over Europe, and he had mistresses everywhere. Paris, Vienna, Budapest ... he installed his favourites in sumptuous flats and showered them with luxuries.'

'This goes far to explain why I need to flog underwear to rebuild the family fortune,' said Harry. 'Did he have children with any of them?'

'Merlin, yes! But he never claimed them, other than to pay for their upbringing and education, usually in the provinces.'

'Weren't they magical?' asked Harry. 'How did their mothers cope?'

'Their mothers seldom saw them, as was common back then. And some were undoubtedly magical. But none of them knew their real surname, since Alphard's wife Ariadne, who was born a Rowle, magically prevented it.'

Harry was baffled. 'How would that even work?'

'Alphard and Ariadne were married at seventeen, at the insistence of his father, who worried about his vast appetites. You see, when Alphard came of age, he spent two whole days at Pratt's, costing hundreds of Galleons. Gold was plentiful back then, but his father was irate and demanded he marry straight away, on pain of being disinherited.'

'Didn't his wife suit him?' asked Harry.

'Briefly. But he strayed within a year, and she was furious, so she used Dark magic to prevent him from writing or even uttering his own name.'

'What? How would that help?'

'She naively hoped he'd be unable to go to Pratt's or authorise brothel payments, since they both require a signature. But she hadn't anticipated his uncanny gift for languages, nor the willingness of the goblins to establish false identities for him. So he became Monsieur Lenoir, Signor Neri, Herr Schwarz, and so forth, and spent months on end abroad.'

'So are there wizards running around Europe who are descended from him?'

'Almost certainly, although the tapestry doesn't display bastards. And he gave his wife six daughters as well. He was an exceedingly virile man, you know.'

'I feel like a saint by comparison.' _And a little jealous, _he thought, trying not to imagine what two days in the Boudoir would be like. _Twelve more days of celibacy._

He ate breakfast in the kitchen, where a jubilant Kreacher had festooned the walls with multiple copies of the _Prophet _front page._ 'Harry Potter-Black,'_ announced the headline, with Rita's article underneath. He'd already read it, since she'd sent him an advance copy, but he hadn't yet seen all the photographs. He'd provided a picture of his father with Sirius, which showed Harry's strong resemblance to James. But Rita had also unearthed a photo of Sirius holding a newborn Harry at his christening.

_Where did this come from? _he wondered, awestruck. His parents were already in hiding, and presumably only close friends had been invited. Rita had probably stolen the photo, or Confunded someone to get it, but he didn't care. He dashed a quick letter to his florist, ordering a large arrangement to be delivered to her table at the Dapperling Tea Shop, along with a note that simply said, _'I want that photo.'_

He left for the Ministry, intending to arrive at the Registrar's office as soon as it opened at half past eight. But to his dismay there was a sign on the door with clock hands indicating the office wouldn't open until quarter to nine. And although there was room for a waiting area, there was a curious absence of chairs.

'Are you here to change your name?' asked a witch, who was also looking at the sign.

'I am. But I thought they opened at half-eight.'

'They usually do,' she said. 'I come here every week from St Mungo's to validate birth and death records.'

Harry looked down the corridor. 'Is there nowhere to sit down? I'm all right, but perhaps you'd like a seat.'

'Bless you, I'm fine,' she said. 'But it's strange ... normally there's a sofa out here, and a table with some magazines.'

'Is it usually quick once they open? I have my paperwork ready—I just need for them to inscribe it.'

'That shouldn't take more than a minute,' said the witch. 'Assuming you filled out the form correctly.'

'It seemed pretty straightforward. The goblins handled most of it, but they said I needed to do just this bit.'

'You'll be fine, love.' Eyeing his robes, she said, 'You certainly dressed for the occasion.'

'One of the portraits insisted. And she's the first family portrait who's been consistently nice to me, so it was the least I could do.'

'You're dressed like a proper wizard. No one can claim you aren't.'

She took some knitting from her bag and cast a charm that made the needles work independently in mid-air. 'Are those socks?' asked Harry.

'They are. I make them two at a time, using a Muggle method, only with magic. They come out more even that way.'

'That's good. I had high hopes for some hand-knit socks I received as a present recently, but they were two different sizes,' he said, recalling the socks he'd been sent in the wake of the article about his childhood. 'And another pair fit all right, but the heels kept migrating to the top.'

'Sloppy charms—it's more common than you'd think.' She looked at his feet and asked, 'What size shoe do you wear?'

'Oh! I wasn't hinting after a pair!'

'I know you weren't. Believe me, people are seldom subtle when they see me knitting. But I'd be glad to make you some, if you'll show me those feet of yours.'

A few people were waiting in the corridor, but Harry didn't think there was anything inappropriate about taking off his shoes in public. 'That's very kind of you,' he said, removing the low boots Lydia had insisted he wear with the robes.

Using her wand, the witch conjured models of his feet and ankles. 'We'll get a better fit that way,' she explained. 'You have a narrow heel, you know.'

'I didn't know that,' he said, unsure what that indicated.

'Didn't you learn Podomancy at Hogwarts? It's a form of Divination.'

'Er, no. I failed my Divination O.W.L., so I never studied it after fifth year.'

'That explains it; Podomancy, also known as Solestry, is a N.E.W.T.-level practice. But a narrow heel is good, and it's usually correlated with a long and healthy life.'

_I'm sure Trelawney could have found some way to twist that around,_ thought Harry. 'That's good to hear, thank you.'

They chatted about socks, and she asked him more about his name change, until a vaguely familiar-looking wizard opened the door and removed the sign. _Was he in there the entire time? _Harrywondered.

'Madam Steek,' said the clerk, 'please come in.'

She turned to Harry and said, 'It was a pleasure meeting you, and best of luck.'

He thanked her and peeked at his pocket watch, which said it was indeed a quarter to nine. _As long as he's quick, I should be on time to practice, _he thought.

Madam Steek finished her task in a matter of minutes, and Harry assumed he'd be next, but the clerk called someone else. Concerned, Harry called Kreacher telepathically.

_Yes, Master! _replied the elf.

_I might be late to practice, _he said. _Please tell Lara at the Cannons training grounds that it's taking longer than I anticipated at the Ministry, but I'll be there as soon as possible._

_Of course, Master! With pleasure!_

Harry wasn't thrilled he'd be late, but at least he wouldn't get into trouble, and hopefully they'd call him next. Unfortunately, the clerk called everyone else first. Several people protested, saying Harry had arrived earlier, but the clerk insisted this was more efficient. And Harry had to admit he took care of them quickly, so he was hopeful his own task wouldn't take long.

'Harry Potter,' called the clerk, not rising from his desk as he'd done with the others.

Harry entered the office, unsure what to expect from the unmistakably hostile young wizard. 'Good morning,' he said, sitting opposite him. 'You look familiar but I don't think we've met.'

'I was two years ahead of you at Hogwarts. My name is Sylvan Burke.'

Harry was surprised. 'Are you the Registrar General?' he asked, noting the name on the door to a private office.

'No, that's my grandfather. But I'll have the post when he retires. He was feeling unwell this morning, so I insisted he take the day off.'

'I hope he feels better,' said Harry. He waited for Burke to offer assistance, but the clerk was silent. 'Er, I have a form I'd like to submit for inscription,' said Harry, handing him the parchment.

Burke glanced at it. 'That's the wrong document.'

'I'm sorry, this is what the goblins gave me. Do you have the correct one?'

'I'll go look,' said Burke coldly, walking towards what looked like a supply room.

Harry remained seated, noting row upon row of filing cabinets and a wall covered with portraits. _I wonder if Phyllida Black is there,_ he thought, and he took advantage of Burke's strangely long absence to investigate.

Most of the portraits were sleeping, but those who were awake all looked at him, and several gathered in a frame to whisper. 'Excuse me,' he asked a portrait. 'Is Phyllida Black here?'

'No, she's been taken away for cleaning,' replied the wizard. 'Just last week.'

'Oh, all right,' said Harry. 'Please give her my best regards. My name's Harry Potter. Er, Potter-Black.'

'Yes, I know, and I'll tell her. But you be careful today. They're ready for you.'

Harry was about to ask what that meant when Burke returned. 'I can't help you if you won't stay put, Potter.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry, returning to his seat. 'Oh my god, is that the form?'

He was referring to a long parchment on the desk. 'Yes,' replied Burke. 'There's no precedent for hyphenated names, so we created a new process. You should feel honoured.'

Harry couldn't hide his irritation. 'Have I done something to offend you? This feels oddly personal.'

'It is.'

'I know the Burkes are a Dark family,' said Harry, recalling Borgin and Burkes, the sinister antiques shop in Knockturn Alley. 'But you weren't Death Eaters, as far as I know.'

'We weren't. But this isn't about the war. It's about a certain Miss Travers.'

_Bugger!_ _He must have been one of Lydia's suitors._

'It was her decision,' said Harry. 'I never pursued her, and I asked first whether she had a fiancé.'

'Yes, under Veritaserum. On a Thursday, as I recall. I intended to propose the next night.'

'She couldn't have known that. And I certainly didn't.'

'If you'd pressed her on the topic, she could have told you my offer was imminent. Courtship follows specific rules, and I'd already given her notepaper and a pair of silk gloves. She knew what was next.'

Harry was unsure how to reply. His obnoxious Seeker persona wanted to say, _'Clearly she didn't fancy you,'_ but his diplomatic side prevailed.

'I understand your disappointment—really, I do. I've been turned down more than once, as everyone knows. But aren't you better off not marrying someone who isn't who you thought she was?'

Burke stiffened. 'Are you maligning her?'

'Not at all. But if you were expecting a traditional witch who'd go to Dunnings with you on Sundays and only associate with other pure-bloods, you wouldn't have been happy.'

'Were you happy with her?'

Harry closed his eyes. 'It was never going to be permanent. But yes, I was very happy while we were together.'

'That's because you were play-acting at the life I intended to share with her.' Burke looked scornfully at Harry's robes. 'Did she help you choose that outfit?'

Not wanting to lie, Harry nodded.

'You look ridiculous, you know. You can become head of ten houses but you'll never be one of us.'

Harry felt his Occlumency shields rise, not because Burke was attacking him, but because they were his most defiant form of Light magic. 'I'm not trying to be one of you. I'm proud of my mother, and the Potters as well. That's why I'm hyphenating my name and not just calling myself Harry Black.'

'Yes,' drawled Burke. 'You should get started on that form. It's rather long.'

He handed Harry a quill and indicated a counter where he could work. _Is it my imagination, or is this counter slightly too high?_ Harry wondered.

The form itself was positively byzantine, with questions about all his great-grandparents. 'I don't know most of their names,' he said.

'Then you'll just have to leave them blank and request a waiver,' said Burke, casually floating another form towards him.

It took Harry nearly half an hour to complete all the paperwork, including additional waivers for his incomplete schooling and lack of N.E.W.T.s. Meanwhile, Burke assisted other clients, and Harry noticed the waiting area once again had a sofa and chairs.

'This should be everything,' said Harry, handing him the forms.

Burke looked through the array of parchments. 'Yes, I think so. All we'll need now is a hair sample.'

'Do I look daft? There's no way I'm giving you a hair sample!'

'The form demands it,' said Burke. 'Hyphenation is unprecedented.'

'You and your grandfather invented that form last week!' After a pause, he said, 'I've been more than patient. But I'm not without allies, you know.'

'I also have Ministry allies,' replied Burke, unconcerned.

Harry allowed coiled energy to fill his head and torso. 'What about Gringotts?'

Burke paled. Pulling the parchments into a neat pile, he said, 'I believe I can waive the hair requirement.' He then filled out a slip of pink paper and handed it to Harry. 'Here's your receipt, which will turn green when your request is inscribed. I don't anticipate a problem.'

'Thank you,' said Harry. 'I'm glad to hear it.'

He took the stairs to the Atrium, and before he even reached the fireplaces the receipt turned green. _Mischief managed, _thought Harry, and he wondered if goblins liked flowers.

Tuttle wasn't cross when Harry arrived late to practice, and afterwards he and the reserves went to the Black Olive. The _Prophet _cover announcing Harry's name change was already on the wall, along with the photo they'd taken together the week before. 'I suspected you'd come round today,' said Marvin. 'I even saved a baguette for your sandwich, since they're already selling out.'

'So they're popular?'

'Very. But you should talk to my father,' said Marvin, after taking Harry's order.

Lisa also arrived, and they sat with Elliott. 'He's about to tap you for a loan,' she told Harry as soon as they were seated.

'Lisa! Mind your manners!' said Elliott.

'Sorry, Uncle,' she said, grinning cheekily.

'I'm sorry, Harry—this wasn't how I wanted to bring it up.'

'That's fine, go ahead,' replied Harry, who wasn't surprised.

'You were right about the baguettes,' he began. 'The only problem is supply. The bakery is already operating at capacity, and they need larger ovens, but they don't have the gold. So they're asking us to pay up front, which will allow them to upgrade, and then we'll have first dibs from then on. But we can't afford the outlay either.'

'And you don't have a line of credit with Gringotts?'

'We had a loan when I started the business, which I slowly paid off, but now we operate on monthly revenue. It's enough to pay salaries and take the occasional holiday, but there's not much in reserve.'

'How much is the bakery asking for?' asked Harry.

Elliott told him. _It's less than I earn in a week,_ he thought. 'Are they willing to sign the contract through Gringotts? I'd want assurances they'll provide the bread and not just scarper.'

'Yes, and for our contract as well.'

'Oh right, that. What are you envisioning?'

'We'd pay you back with interest, on a set schedule,' replied Elliott.

Harry shook his head. 'I can't accept interest. Not within the family.'

Smirking, Lisa said, 'Don't let the Whites find out, or they'll expect the same treatment.'

'There's little risk here,' argued Harry. 'And I'm the one who suggested French bread in the first place.'

'That would be tremendous, if you're willing,' said Elliott. 'And I'm sure we can repay you within a few months—I'm only sorry we don't have that kind of gold lying around.'

After lunch, Harry asked Mrs Thwip to owl Gringotts for a meeting about the contract and loan. 'Don't overextend yourself, Mr Potter-Black,' she warned him. 'You're not used to relations, and they can be a plague of locusts.'

'I know, but I'm not worried in this case. It's a small loan for a short duration.'

'I'm not talking about gold,' she said. 'I'm talking about your attention. You have too many distractions already.'

He frowned. 'It does seem like that sometimes. But what can I do about it?'

'You'll have to choose, and occasionally say no. You don't need to respond to all that post, for example.'

'I can't not respond to children,' he said. 'Or to people who were abused, or are experiencing Light magic.'

'Perhaps not, but you don't need to write a long missive either. You're allowed just to add a sentence to the end of a typewritten form letter.'

'That would save time,' he admitted. 'It's got up to ten hours a week.'

'Shall I prepare those for you?'

Harry closed his eyes and nodded. 'I'd appreciate that.'

When he walked out for afternoon practice, he brought his Firebolt Ultra. Randolph Spudmore was coming, and although Harry had little hope he'd be able to use the broom in a match, he was eager for answers.

'Poor Toffer, with the broom he's doomed never to fly on,' said Gemma. 'You should probably just give up and endorse the Silver Arrow.'

'It's too late, they don't want me anymore.'

'What about a joint contract with your other sponsors?'

'Do you mean an underwear advert with a Silver Arrow in the background somewhere?' he asked.

'Or you on a Silver Arrow, wearing nothing but Y-fronts.'

'Er, that sounds really uncomfortable.'

Gemma lit up. 'Or you could endorse one of those comfort broomsticks for old people! You know—the ones that look like normal broomsticks, only they feel like an easy chair and have a top speed of about ten miles an hour.'

'That's just pathetic.'

'You're right, but you can endorse it when you're older and have fewer options.'

'Wearing Y-fronts?'

'They can use some other wizard's body,' she said. 'I'm sure they'll have wizarding Photoshop by then.'

Harry saw Bruce approaching the benches with a grey-haired wizard who had to be Randolph Spudmore. _We meet at last,_ thought Harry, but he tried to keep his expression friendly.

'Harry, Gemma, this is Randolph Spudmore. Randolph, this is Harry Potter and Gemma Rees.'

_Potter-Black,_ thought Harry. 'It's an honour to meet you, Mr Spudmore,' he said. 'Thanks for being willing to talk to me.'

'Of course, it's always useful seeing products in the field,' said Spudmore. 'Miss Rees, I understand you're a fan.'

'I am. Last year I tested all the racing brooms, and the Firebolt Ultra was far and away my favourite. I nearly had a seizure handing over all those Galleons, but I never regretted it.'

'Yes, there's something to be said for earning your broomstick,' said Spudmore, with a glance at Harry. 'My parents were broom makers, but they didn't just hand me the top of the line—I was expected to work for it.'

_I'm sorry, I was busy defeating Voldemort,_ thought Harry irritably. But he reminded himself that Spudmore was clearly still hurt. 'I was very grateful for the free broomstick last year, and I sincerely regret that I didn't know how to fly it properly until recently.'

'I suppose that's what happens when a Hogwarts first-year gets his own racing broom,' said Spudmore. 'There's a reason children usually start with hand-me-downs.'

'I'm sure I would have done if my parents hadn't died,' replied Harry, a tad sharply.

'Yes, of course,' said Spudmore, looking slightly embarrassed. 'I understand you're getting strange behaviour from the Ultra. Would you mind showing me?'

'I'd be glad to,' he said, and Bruce handed Spudmore a pair of Omnioculars. The trainers had created an obstacle course ten feet above the pitch, and Harry and Gemma began racing through it.

Harry's Light magic arose quickly, and he deliberately invited it to interact weirdly with the broom. Within minutes, not only did the broomstick misbehave, but Harry felt a discomfort bordering on nausea.

He flew to the ground. 'That was extra weird,' he told Bruce. 'Could you conjure me some water?'

'Are you all right?' asked Owen, as Bruce filled a bottle and handed it to Harry.

'I feel really choppy internally. Lots of energy, but not steady,' said Harry, sitting down. 'Did you see the broom acting up?' he asked Spudmore.

'I did,' said Spudmore, still looking through the Omnioculars.

'What was different this time?' asked Owen. 'You don't normally feel sick after flying it.'

'I invited the weirdness so he'd see what I was talking about. Which might have been a mistake.'

'Can you just glow for a minute, without flying? To settle your system?'

'I'll try,' said Harry, closing his eyes and lying down. The air was cool, and he removed his gloves so he could feel the soft grass. His energy began to calm, and his thoughts drifted towards Alex. _Oh bugger, it's still twelve more days._

Sitting up, he asked, 'Do you think my vow is having an effect?'

'Already?' said Owen. 'It's been less than two days.'

'It's been since Friday morning, actually. That's more than four days.'

Owen laughed and said, 'You're really going to hate fatherhood.'

'Are you saying Toffer-Blatch is a mess because he hasn't had his wand polished since Friday?' asked Gemma.

'What does this have to do with the Ultra?' said Spudmore.

'May I tell him?' asked Owen, and Harry nodded. 'Harry took a two-week vow of celibacy on the advice of his Light magic teacher, to help him through the accidental phase.'

'That's how much he wants to use your broom,' said Gemma.

'Do you know why it's misbehaving for me?' asked Harry, standing up again.

Spudmore was silent before speaking. 'I didn't plan this. I had no idea this would happen.'

'Did you use Light magic?' asked Bruce. 'We won't tell anyone.'

Spudmore looked at Gemma. 'Miss Rees, you should go. I'm glad you like the Ultra.'

Gemma's face fell. 'I need to know too! I might learn Light magic, but I don't want my broom to start acting all weird. It's the only one I like.'

_That was very Slytherin of her,_ thought Harry, watching Spudmore's expression soften.

'All right, you can stay. But you can't repeat it.'

'Of course, we won't,' said Harry.

'No,' said Spudmore. 'You literally can't repeat it. It's like the Fidelius Charm—I'm the only one who can tell you. But some background first. As you probably know, I released the original Firebolt in 1993 to wide acclaim. I spent more than a decade developing it, and it included numerous innovations.'

They all nodded, and he continued. 'For nearly two years I was overwhelmed with demand. Not only did the Firebolt require complicated Charms, but it relied heavily on goblin-crafted ironwork, which proved unsustainable. Labour disputes were a nightmare, and I decided my next broomstick would be entirely wizard-made.'

He sighed. 'I thought I could pull it off, but I couldn't. I made some decent prototypes, but they weren't any better than what Nimbus was selling, and they'd surely be considered a step down from the Firebolt. I knew that if I wanted to succeed, I had to try something new.'

'Light magic?' asked Harry, and Spudmore nodded.

'Broom makers have tinkered with Dark magic for centuries, but it's never provided an advantage. It can help with acceleration, but once you add safety charms the Dark magic is neutralised and the advantage is lost. So I decided to try the opposite.'

'But how did you do that?' asked Gemma. 'Except for the Patronus Charm, it's not easy to just start practising Light magic.'

'No, it isn't, which is why it took me so long. And I can't say I've mastered Light magic—not even close. Harry, you're probably more advanced at it than I am, even though you're still in the accidental phase.'

'Then what are you doing?'

'It's a Propulsion Charm. Not unlike a Banishing Charm, only with a strong, positive intent.'

Harry tried to imagine what that would be like, and he immediately started glowing. 'You're sending out love. The broom is propelled by love.'

'It varies, depending on the caster,' said Spudmore. 'Some people are more able to generate gratitude, and others do better with compassion, or protection. I've found that people with children can learn the charm more readily, since they've learnt to put someone else's needs above their own. Not all parents, but most.'

'Then why does it interfere with my magic?' asked Harry. 'Shouldn't they mesh?'

'In theory, yes. But that's not the only charm on the Ultra—not even close. Once I learnt to cast the Propulsion Charm, it was another year before I got it to work with all the other charms. A top-tier racing broom is a delicate balance, and if it's off in a single direction the broom won't work well.'

'It'll be too jerky, for example,' said Harry, and Spudmore nodded.

'Everyone warned me,' he said. 'Some of my testers loved it, but others didn't—particularly those who'd only used top-tier brooms. I dismissed their complaints, believing that most wizards cut their teeth on hand-me-downs.'

Owen looked unconvinced. 'I learnt to fly on old brooms, but I found the Ultra too twitchy. Not as much as Harry did, but enough. No offence.'

'Ron too,' added Harry. 'My friend, Ron Weasley. And he flew on crap brooms for years.'

'Is he a natural flyer?' asked Bruce.

'He's all right, but he's not league material,' said Harry. 'But what about Owen?'

'My strength is spotting, not flying. I'm a good flyer, but not like you or Gemma.'

'Or Viktor Krum,' said Harry. 'He loves the Ultra, in case you didn't know.'

'I do know,' replied Spudmore, 'and it's helped me through some dark days.'

'It's a tremendous broom,' said Harry. 'Gemma can tell you, I whinge nearly every day that she gets to fly it and I don't.'

'That's nice to hear. I didn't take it well when you touted the Silver Arrow, which I have to admit is a stellar broomstick. I'd have been proud to release something like it.'

'But it sounds like Toffer-Blatch is out of luck,' said Gemma.

'I'm afraid so,' replied Spudmore. 'Unless something changes when you get past the accidental phase, the Ultra might never behave normally for you.'

'Couldn't you tweak it?' asked Owen. 'Make a custom version that works with Harry's magic? The team would pay you for it.'

'No,' said Bruce. 'That would be an illegally-charmed object. The league would never allow it.'

'Have you started work on your next broomstick?' asked Owen. 'Perhaps you could test it on Harry.'

Spudmore sighed heavily. 'I've been less than inspired, ever since the Ultra wasn't embraced as I'd hoped. If I had shareholders, I'm sure they'd be after me to produce a Silver Arrow clone. Which I may still do, just to prove I can.'

'No!' cried Gemma. 'The Silver Arrow is boring!'

'It's not that bad,' said Harry.

'No, it isn't,' agreed Spudmore. 'I think it's superior to the original Firebolt. But it's not the kind of innovation that excites me. I'm still convinced there's something to that Propulsion Charm.'

'Too right there is,' said Gemma. 'I love that kick! But can't you work with Harry next time, and find some other spoilt toffs to see if they like it?'

'I know just the wizard,' said Harry, thinking of Draco.

'I could do, but it's early days yet,' replied Spudmore. 'And yes, I'd appreciate your input. You're a fine flyer. Both of you.'

'Why did you put off replying when Bruce wrote to you?' asked Owen. 'If you don't mind my asking.'

'Wounded pride. I'm ashamed to say the _Prophet_ accurately described my reaction to Harry's enthusiasm for the Silver Arrow.'

'If it's any consolation, the _Prophet_ has accurately described some of my bad behaviour,' said Harry.

'Like how you want to shag your dead godfather?' asked Gemma, and everyone laughed.

Spudmore stayed for the rest of the afternoon, and Harry flew the Firebolt Ultra during the practice match. He and Gemma both feinted like mad, primarily for Spudmore's benefit, and in the end Harry got the Snitch.

'I'm glad I came,' Spudmore told them. 'Harry, I'm sorry you won't be able to use the Ultra anytime soon, if at all. But it was a pleasure watching both of you fly this afternoon.' Addressing Gemma, he said, 'You in particular. Would you be interested in demoing it during the off-season? We have some publicity events scheduled, and you'd be a perfect stunt flyer.'

'Would I? I'd love to!' Collecting herself, she added, 'Assuming the pay is adequate.'

Spudmore chuckled. 'Viktor Krum is beyond our price range, and so is Harry, I expect, but I'm sure we can come to an agreement. Have you been to Chicago before?'

'For the World Quidditch Conference?' exclaimed Gemma. 'No, but I'd go in a heartbeat!'

'Gemma, you're a lousy negotiator,' said Harry. 'But I'd love to have you there with me.'

She blushed, and they all said goodbye to Spudmore. 'That went better than I expected,' said Bruce.

'It did, except for the part where I might never get to fly the Ultra in a match.'

'Maybe your celibacy vow will help,' said Gemma. 'Are you really announcing it on the radio tonight?'

'I am. I realise it might sound like attention-seeking, but I want to make this work, and it'll help if I'm accountable.'

'Yeah, every witch in Britain will know you're off limits. Although they might take it as a challenge.'

'Merlin, what a thought! Let's hope not.'

'No nightclubs for you, or pubs,' she said. 'You should probably come watch the telly at Casa Rees, just to be safe.'

'You have a VCR!' he exclaimed. 'I could watch films to pass the time.'

'That could work,' she said. 'But no "Nine and a Half Weeks."'

'Is that a smutty film?' he asked, and she nodded. 'No, let's keep it celibacy-friendly.'

After practice, Harry returned to Grimmauld Place and replied to fan mail. _This is so much easier,_ he thought guiltily as he scrawled a few lines on a form letter. But his new autograph looked weird, so he filled a page with variants, feeling embarrassingly like Lockhart.

'Oh my god, I could totally blackmail you right now,' said Lisa from behind him.

'Bloody hell! Why are you here already?'

'It's six o'clock, my lord. That's when you said I should come over. And I'm glad I was punctual, because I'm going to tease you about this for the next fifty years.'

'Can't I just buy your silence with a dowry? I even met an eligible pure-blood today who'd probably take you off my hands.' He told her about Sylvan Burke, and she laughed hysterically.

'I love that he probably spent hours preparing for your visit,' she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

'It's fairly absurd,' he admitted. 'But I feel bad as well ... he woke up that Friday morning planning to propose marriage, confident he'd be accepted, only to find Lydia in the _Prophet _with a manwhore like me.'

'Have you always been this fond of calling yourself a manwhore, or is this something new?'

'Just since the Harpies match, but I'm taking steps to address it.'

'Oh?' she asked, as they walked to the kitchen for dinner.

'Yes, and I plan to announce it tonight on the radio. I've taken a two-week vow of celibacy.'

She stared at him. 'You can't be serious!'

'My Light magic teacher recommended it. I'm tired of not being able to control my Light magic, and this could actually help.'

'If it only takes is a fortnight, we should all be Light magic experts.'

'No, it's all about intent, hence the vow. And I'm realising I use sex as a way to bypass difficult emotions.'

'But why would you have difficult emotions?' she asked. 'Your life has been so free from trauma.'

'I know, right? But Light magic can help, apparently. It's a matter of connecting the need with the source.'

'What do you mean?'

Harry closed his eyes. 'When I experience Light magic, it's like something's flowing through me. Sometimes the source feels internal, and other times it's external, but in either case it's tremendously pleasant—both mentally and physically.' He opened his eyes to see whether she was following him.

'Go on,' she said.

'But I'm realising the source and the need don't always connect. If you'll excuse the metaphor, which I know Doctor Niffler would pounce on, it's like a baby trying to drink milk, only most of it is spilling and not going into his mouth. So he just sucks harder, even though something's not working right.' He closed his eyes again and said, 'Sex is a perfectly brilliant way to close the gap. But it's off the table for the next twelve days, so I have to do a better job aligning the need with the source.'

Harry looked down at his plate. 'I suppose some people have the same relationship with food, or alcohol, but that's not my vice.'

'That's fortunate, or you'd have a lot of robes that don't fit. But I thought Light magic increased the need for sex, or in your case, anyway.'

'That's what they say, and my teacher says I'm a textbook example. And I think it's true, since the pleasure of Light magic is similar to sex, so it's easy for one to lead to the other. But I think it comes down to a need for connection and fulfilment. I'm realising this as I say it, but that's what Light magic offers, without the need for another person. But it also makes me more hungry for that connection, because a little isn't enough, and I haven't mastered it.' He closed his eyes again, and he had to pause to collect himself.

After opening his eyes, he said, 'I think that's what's going on. But I'm also nineteen, and I'm no longer as downtrodden as I was during the war. And sex is fun.'

'I still can't believe you and Hermione Granger never got together in that tent. Wasn't it cold?'

'She casts a mean Warming Charm. And she fancied Ron.'

After dinner, they went up to his room and he introduced her to Banthora. 'Banthora, this is my cousin, Lisa Black,' he said. 'She's descended from Prometheus Black and Desdemona Nightwick, by way of their son who was a Squib.'

'Yes, I remember how upset they were when they tested his magic, using the potion. I was a portrait by then, but I heard all about it. Mona blamed Prometheus for lusting after a Muggle barmaid at the local tavern, and Prometheus blamed Mona for having a half-blood great-grandmother.'

'Wow, they sound like real charmers,' said Lisa. 'What a shame my great-great-granddad never knew them.'

Harry slid a cornflower boutonnière into his lapel, and after sending Lisa downstairs he pulled out the magazine Suresh had bought for him. 'You asked to see wizarding photos of male genitalia,' he told Banthora, 'and I'm told this magazine fits the bill. I should warn you, though, that it's shocking. You'll probably learn far more than you wanted to about what wizards do together. Homosexual wizards, that is.'

'I've seen Grecian urns,' she said. 'You needn't worry about my sensibilities.'

'All right, consider yourself warned. I'll have Kreacher hover it using house-elf magic and give you the ability to turn the pages.' He summoned Kreacher, and the elf appeared instantly.

'Master has a letter!' he said, holding up an envelope.

Harry looked at the return address and saw that it was from Runnion. _Probably more numbers, _he thought, recalling a recent hint about Australia. 'I'll read it later,' he said. 'I need to leave for the broadcast, and Lisa is waiting.' He told Kreacher what Banthora needed and went downstairs.

They travelled by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry was immediately scolded by a wizard. 'I lost five Galleons on you!'

'About my name change?'

'Yes! I chose Harry Black, because of how you dress.'

Harry looked down at his robes. 'Can't I dress like this as a Potter-Black?'

'I suppose you can, but I expected you to uphold wizarding traditions.'

'Haven't you been paying attention?' asked Lisa. 'Harry torches wizarding traditions right and left. And besides, he wanted to keep his father's name.'

'She's right,' said a witch. 'Potter's an iconoclast and always has been. You should have known he'd hyphenate.'

'Like a Muggle,' muttered the wizard.

'Like someone with two people I consider my father,' said Harry. 'I'm sorry about your wager, but I'm late for the broadcast.'

He and Lisa rushed from the tavern and into Diagon Alley, where people made way as they dashed to the shop. 'There you are!' cried George. 'We were afraid of an angry mob if you didn't turn up.'

'There's still five minutes,' said Lisa. 'I think you're too demanding—Harry's a busy man. He has a whole new signature to practise.'

'You must be Lisa,' said George. 'Come in! Are you prepared to have your life completely upended by appearing on wizarding Britain's most popular broadcast?'

'It was already upended by appearing on the front page of the _Prophet _with Harry Scandal Potter,' she said as they walked through the crowded shop.

'Potter-Black,' said Harry. 'The name's Potter-Black.'

'Give it time,' said George. 'Lisa, it's wonderful to have you with us. I'm George Weasley, and you'll meet Lee presently.'

They entered the broadcasting booth, and Lee greeted them. 'Is anything off limits this week?'

'You can talk about Alex, but don't criticise her. She never misled me about having a fiancé.'

'All right, so you're a home-wrecker. What else?'

'No Malfoys.'

'Yes, of course,' said George. 'But one of these days I want him here in the booth with us.'

'Unlikely,' said Harry. 'I should warn you that I have what might be an interesting announcement tonight.'

'Fantastic,' replied Lee. 'Let's keep it a surprise until we're on the air.'

George provided water, and a minute later Lee counted down. 'Good evening, and welcome yet again to the emotionally-healing, soul-nourishing experience we call "Weasley's Wizard Wireless." With us tonight are not one but two guests, both dedicated to resolving lifetimes worth of accumulated trauma here on the air. The first is a colossal attention-whore who's so enamoured by the sound of his own name that he just lengthened it, and the second is a hapless young witch who was just minding her own business when she discovered she's related to the most notorious British wizard since, well, You-Know-Who. I give you Harry Potter-Black, and Lisa Black.'

The room shook with applause, and Harry could see that Lisa had inspired hoots and whistles from some of the wizards. 'Thank you, Lee. It's good to be here, as always.'

'It's a good thing you arrived,' said George. 'You cut it a bit fine this week, and we were afraid we'd have to go to our backup plan, which was to read Walburga that _Sorceress_ article about you.'

'Or, better yet,' said Lee, 'to have Walburga read it aloud, since it was written in the first person. I know I'd love to hear about how you pleasured her repeatedly, for hours on end. In fact, we might still do that, now that Cassia Dexter has exposed your wish to merge completely with your adopted family.'

'Excuse me, I'm right here,' said Lisa. 'And I'm not interested in merging with my attention-whore cousin.'

'Welcome, Lisa!' said George. 'Now that's what I call a broadcast debut! Do you mean to say you're the one witch in all Britain who doesn't want a turn on Harry's enormous bed?'

'Hang on, mate—that's a disturbingly broad category,' said Lee. 'Do you really mean to imply that every last witch in Britain wants a piece of Harry? Even if we scratch out the witches who don't fancy men, that still leaves your mum.'

'Sweet Merlin, you're right,' said George. 'I hereby withdraw my previous statement. But back to my question: Lisa, why don't you fancy Harry? I know you're fourth cousins, but that's nothing. And furthermore, we at Weasley's Wizard Wireless are all in favour of Black family intermarriage, in the hopes of creating another Walburga.'

'There could never be another Walburga,' said Lisa. 'But in answer to your question, Harry's lovely but he's far too notorious. Furthermore, I don't know who made him take that vow, but she was spot on—he needs to grow up before settling down, and I'd rather not just be a notch on his enormous bedpost.'

'So you'll reconsider when he's twenty-one?' asked Lee.

Lisa looked slightly embarrassed. 'That's not what I meant. All I'm saying is that as cousins we're stuck with each other for life, and we'd much rather be friends than embittered exes.'

'Can't you be both?' asked George. 'My sister Ginny was a trendsetter when it comes to dumping Harry, but they get on just fine now.'

'Er, hello!' said Harry. 'I realise it's become tradition to slag me on the air, but this feels excessive.'

'You're right,' said Lee. 'It is a tradition to slag you on the air, but we always start with your Patronus. Would you mind bringing him out?'

Pausing to remember his enchanted picnic with Alex, Harry cried, _'Expecto Patronum!'_ Prongs burst forth, and Lisa's face lit with delight.

'He's lovely!' she said. 'I've never seen him before—not in real life.'

'Where should I send him?'

'Back to Azkaban,' said Lee. 'We received dozens of grateful letters last time.'

'And no irate ones?' asked Harry.

'Not a one.'

'I'm astonished,' said Harry, and he sent Prongs to Azkaban.

'I should probably mention,' said Lee afterwards, 'that irate letters from prisoners are intercepted by the guards, and apparently there were a lot of those as well. But not as many as the grateful ones.'

'What?' cried Harry. 'You just had me send Prongs where he isn't wanted!'

'Don't think of it that way,' said George. 'It's not Prongs they dislike. It's you, Harry. You're the one they don't want.'

'And now there's even more of you to dislike,' said Lee. 'Five more letters, and a hyphen! Would you care to comment?'

'I think I said everything in the article,' began Harry.

'Ahem, I wasn't talking to you,' said Lee. 'I was talking to Lisa. What do you have to say about Harry tacking your surname onto his?'

'Do you want the real answer, or am I supposed to take the mickey?' she asked.

'I don't know,' said Lee. 'George, what do you think?'

George frowned. 'Let's have the real answer. We've been harder than usual on Harry tonight, and he deserves what I suspect will be some familial warmth.'

'Then here goes,' said Lisa. 'Personally, I'm delighted that Harry invited us back into the family and has taken our name. He hosted a reunion the weekend before last, and everyone I talked to said he made them feel extremely welcome.'

'And I assume you didn't just ask the pretty girls,' said George.

'No, I heard from people of all ages. He was a very gracious host.'

'That's positively heartwarming,' said Lee. 'But was it awkward when he took you aside and asked if you could pretend you were Sirius and ram him up the arse?'

The room shook with laughter, and George said, 'For those of you who might have missed it, in Sunday's _Daily Prophet_—that's the newspaper here in Britain—beloved Mind Healer Cassia Dexter speculated wildly about Harry's hidden desires. Harry, would you care to elaborate?'

Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'Where do I even start? Her analysis was a load of bollocks from start to finish.'

'We can go through it together if you like,' said George. 'I have the article right here, with her quotes highlighted. She started by saying you'd pursued Alex with the goal of reenacting the loss of your mother.'

'Oh, right,' said Harry. 'Because nothing gets me off like being swaddled like a baby and lying there helplessly while some tall bloke shows up and kills someone I love. By the way—thanks, Ron. You made a brilliant Voldemort.'

'Now I'm lost,' said Lee. 'There was nothing in the _Sorceress _article about that, nor in the photo with those two witches. Is this a new fetish?'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'Doctor Niffler gave me heaps of ideas. And she was right about Alex—there's no substitute for a nursing mother.'

'Just to clarify,' said a laughing George, 'when you say "Doctor Niffler" are you referring to Cassia Dexter?'

'Yes. She wrote a book called, _Be Your Own Niffler: Finding the Treasure Within,_ and the name just stuck.'

'And to clarify further, were you being serious when you said you get off on wearing nappies and having someone pretend to be Voldemort.'

'I was not being serious, and thanks for asking. The reason I dated Alex, even though I knew she was engaged, was that she's clever and beautiful and I fancied her. End of story.'

'It also sounds convenient, with your marriage vow. You didn't need to worry you were leading her down the garden path.'

'That's true, and she appreciated that about me, since she had no intention of leaving her fiancé.'

'Lisa, did Harry seem all right on Saturday, when you went to dinner with Alex and her one true love?'

'I could tell he was fond of her, and he wished things hadn't ended so soon, but otherwise he was fine.'

'But what about the "Battle of the Dandies?" asked Lee. 'That looked to me like a cry for help.'

'Bloody brilliant is what it was,' said Lisa. 'I mightn't fancy Harry, but he's done wizarding Britain an enormous service by dressing well. Every witch I know is enjoying seeing wizards make an effort. Merlin knows we're expected to look good, and now wizards are returning the favour.'

'Did you hear that, listeners?' said Lee. 'The lovely Miss Black just said in no uncertain terms that she has a thing for fitted robes and tight trousers.'

'That's not what she said,' began Harry, but Lisa interrupted him.

'I didn't say that, but Lee's right. Tight trousers are fantastic. Although they're technically unnecessary under fitted robes, which are also fantastic.'

'Do we have any statistics yet?' asked George. 'Is wizarding Britain having more sex now that Harry's revealed he's a raging shagaholic?'

'What?' said Harry. 'You make it sound deliberate!'

'No, of course not. But I think it all started when you joined the Cannons and got rid of your eyeglasses.'

'The Man Who Lived,' quoted Lee. 'You're right. And then came the robes, and the orgies– er, parties. I suspect the bookmakers are offering odds on a surge of new births starting next ...' He counted out months on his fingers. 'Next May. They'll be called the Robe and Flower generation.'

'Speaking of flowers,' said George, 'what are you wearing tonight? It looks familiar but I can never remember flower names.'

'It's a cornflower, sometimes called bachelor's button,' said Harry.

'Hang on, I don't need the book for that one,' said Lee. 'Wasn't that the celibacy flower?'

'It was, and there's a reason for it. I've taken a two-week vow of celibacy.'

Harry was amused to watch the audience members progress from shock to hysterics, and Lee and George did the same. 'But why?' pleaded George. 'Why would Harry Potter-Black, sex fiend, willingly abstain for an entire fortnight?'

'It was on the advice of my Light magic teacher, and I'll say up front that this isn't a requirement for practising the Light Arts. But I'm still having trouble with accidental magic, and she said this could help.'

'But surely you've gone a fortnight before this, right?' asked George. 'You said under Veritaserum that you never shagged my brother.'

'That's correct, and I've gone far longer than a fortnight in the past. More than seventeen years, in fact. But I never took a vow, which has a particular effect somehow.'

'How long has it been?' asked Lee. 'Should we be frightened?'

'I took the vow two days ago.'

'Is it some kind of magical vow, where you're literally unable to break it?'

'No, it's just a spoken vow. The idea is to practise ongoing restraint.'

'We need to make a sign,' declared George. 'A large sign in the shop window, showing how many days Harry's been celibate. Or a countdown timer, and maybe even an hourglass. Do you know exactly when the vow ends?'

'Sunday, the tenth of October, at seven thirty-nine p.m.,' replied Harry. 'And twelve seconds.'

'Not that you're keeping track or anything,' said Lee. 'And it looks like our shop assistant Karenna is already on the task. Which means our listeners need only stop by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to know precisely how long it'll be before Walburga's Wonderland is once again open for business.'

'But we've drifted from the topic of Doctor Niffler,' said George. 'Harry, she made some shocking allegations about you and Sirius, and by extension about Lisa. What do you have to say? And remember, we have a delay button, so don't be shy.'

'What she said about Sirius was hugely inappropriate! I don't know much about Sirius's personal life, and maybe he did fancy my dad, but–'

Lee shook his head emphatically. 'I saw that picture of your dad and Sirius this morning, and frankly Sirius could have done a lot better.'

'You're probably right,' said Harry. 'But my point is that even if I was oblivious to Sirius perving on me, there were plenty of people who would have noticed. Hermione, for example—she's probably the most observant person I know, and she's never said a thing. And believe me, she would have done.' He took a deep breath. 'As for whether I longed for comfort back then ... yeah, probably. But I was thinking about girls, not Sirius. And what I wanted most of all was a parent, and that's what he was to me. That's why I've taken his name.'

Harry looked down and saw his hands were glowing. 'I loved Sirius. I'll miss him every day for the rest of my life. More than my parents, at least consciously. So when Doctor Niffler gets awakened by some reporter in the middle of the night and craps out some rubbish theory about why I'm doing something or other, she should consider just keeping her gob shut and minding her own bloody business.'

Lee and George both leaned back. 'Well now,' said George. 'Those sound like fighting words.'

'No, I really don't want to pick a fight with Doctor Niffler. I know her books have helped a lot of people, and she's probably very insightful when she's actually met the person. But she invades my privacy right and left, and I've had enough.'

'I'm sorry, you just used a weird term,' said Lee. '"My privacy?"' he repeated slowly.

Everyone started laughing, including Harry. 'I know, it sounds mental. But my teammate Janet says Doctor Niffler wrote an entire book about positive thinking, so I've started referring to alien concepts like "my privacy" to see if it might have an effect.'

'That seems wise,' said George. 'And on a related note, it looks like Karenna has already hung a sign in the front window counting down to the end of your celibacy vow. But why did you tell us about it, if you aspire to having privacy? I'm starting to think you're somewhat to blame.'

'That may be true, but in this case it's because I want accountability. I really want to keep this vow, and what better way to accomplish that than to have all wizarding Britain keeping me honest?'

George nodded thoughtfully. 'Fair enough; I'll allow it. Is there anything else you'd like to say about "your privacy" before we move on to Walburga?'

'Yes,' replied Harry. 'I realise this may sound self-aggrandising, but that's not my intention at all. Starting last month, I've been meeting once a week with a tutor to try to fill in some of the gaps in my education.'

'What possible gaps could you mean?' asked Lee. 'Are you implying there might be British goblin rebellions we never heard about?'

'No, I'm referring to cultural topics—mostly but not exclusively Muggle. Things like films, literature, and music. At least that's what my tutor and I have discussed so far, and once my Light magic is under control I'd also like to go to Muggle art museums and so forth. I never considered those topics important while growing up, because I was just trying to stay alive, but now that I seem to be sticking around I'd like to know more about them.'

'That's very inspiring,' said Lee. 'And pretty damn self-aggrandising ... why exactly did you bring it up?'

'I brought it up because I found an absolutely brilliant tutor though FLOOF, the organisation that helps werewolves. He taught at a wizarding school until he was infected and lost his job. But he's perfectly safe, and I'm lucky to have found him.'

'So you're trying to encourage other people to hire him, since you're too cheap and self-involved to improve yourself for more than a couple hours a week?' asked George.

'That's exactly right. But not just my tutor. He specifically asked that I not mention him by name, since there are several FLOOF-compliant tutors available. So if anyone is looking to broaden their horizons, I'd encourage you to owl them and set something up.'

'Is this another endorsement?' asked Lee.

'No, except in the sense that I'm recommending them. But I'm not receiving any compensation for it.'

'Did you hear that, Quidditch players?' asked Lee. 'You haven't missed your chance at a lucrative endorsement contract promoting werewolf tutors. And what better way to put yourself in the running than to engage a werewolf tutor of your very own!'

'Everyone's going to want a werewolf tutor now,' agreed George. 'But enough about tutors—it's time for Walburga. Lisa, have you met her before?'

'Not personally, but I've heard her on the radio, and my friends dragged me here once to see if there's a resemblance.'

George looked at Lisa appraisingly, then up at Walburga's portrait. 'Don't take this the wrong way, but you and Walburga are clearly related.'

'Actually, you've brought up an important point,' said Lee. 'We've never addressed it on the show, but we hear it from a lot of our customers: Walburga's not bad-looking. People expect her to be some kind of crone, based on the way she talks, but she has good bone structure, and she definitely kept her figure. And I'm not sure if I should mention this, but she has more than a few admirers.'

'Admirers?' said Lisa. 'You mean people fancy her?'

'Fancy's a strong word,' said Lee. 'More like she scratches a certain itch, if you know what I mean.'

'For verbal abuse?' asked Harry.

'That's right. I should also mention that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is a family establishment, and we don't allow any shenanigans in Walburga's booth. So if that's your interest in her, you'll just have to take photos or use a Pensieve or something.'

'But Lisa, are you ready to meet her?' asked George.

'Yes, I am,' she said, squaring her shoulders.

Harry tapped the portrait with his wand. 'Walburga, it's me, Harry. There's someone I'd like you to meet,' he said, indicating Lisa.

'_By Salazar, who's this? You look like Callidora Black,'_ she declared. But then she pulled back in disgust. _'You're a half-blood!'_

'This is Lisa Black,' said Harry. 'She's from one of the branches of the family you scorched off the tapestry.'

'It's nice to meet you, Mrs Black,' said Lisa politely.

'_Common!'_ she cried. _'Common as dirt! With a Mudblood mother, just like our odious Head of House!'_

'How do you do that?' asked Lisa.

Walburga seemed not to have anticipated Lisa's question. _'How do I do what?'_

'Know people's Blood Status. You're not even sentient, but you took one look at me and cried "Half-blood!" And you even knew about my mother, although that may have just been logic, since my surname is Black.'

'It couldn't have been logic,' said Harry. 'Walburga's an old-family pure-blood.'

'Oi!' cried George.

'He has a point,' said Lee.

'_I just know,' _replied Walburga haughtily. _'The same as how our debauched Head of House seeks sensory pleasures.'_

'Not for a fortnight,' muttered George.

'So it's instinct?' asked Lisa. 'Yes, that makes sense, particularly if you're not sentient. It's like how certain flowers track the sun.'

'Did you say "flowers?"' prompted Lee. 'Mustn't get your debauched Head of House all hot and bothered.'

Harry was tempted to start glowing for comic effect, but he knew it would be misinterpreted.

'_Muggles and animals have instincts. Wizards have intuition,' _declared Walburga.

'This is big talk for someone who's not sentient,' said George.

'Could I cultivate this Blood Status trick of yours?' asked Lisa. 'I'd be a hit at parties, particularly if I dress up as you.'

'_No, it's an inborn gift.'_

'I think you meant "inbred,"' said Lee.

'_Silence, rabble!'_ cried Walburga.

'Nope,' said Harry, tapping the portrait with his wand. 'So, Lisa, what did you think?'

'I'd like to come in sometime when the shop's not so crowded and take a picture with her. I think it would be perfect for this year's Christmas letter.'

'You're welcome anytime,' said Lee.

'I think this is enough oversharing for one episode,' announced Harry. 'I have a long night of celibacy ahead of me, so I should get going. Thanks as always for having me on the show.'

'Thanks as always for coming. Or not coming, as it were,' said George.

'I suspect you just earned yourself another Howler,' warned Harry.

'And let's have a round of applause for our bonus guest, Lisa Black!' said Lee. 'Anyone who can take the piss out of Harry is a friend of ours.'

Harry and Lisa left the booth to loud cheers, and they made their way through the shop to the front door. 'Well done,' he told her. 'Were you happy with it?'

'I still can't believe all wizarding Britain just heard me on the radio.'

'Actually, they listen on the Continent as well.'

'I've been sucked into your weirdness vortex, haven't I?'

'I call it "home,"' said Harry. 'And yes.'

She bade him goodbye, and he looked at the countdown timer hanging in the shop window. _It's still twelve days, _he thought glumly before Apparating home.

The letter from Runnion was waiting on his writing table, so Harry opened it, expecting more numbers. But he found this instead:

_Dear Harry,_

_We've been busy making deals, and the news is all good. I alluded to this earlier, but our distribution partner in America is extremely enthusiastic about your participation and wants to extend the arrangement. As it happens, they specialise in women's undergarments—mostly brassieres and knickers—and they see enormous potential in your endorsement. This would involve additional photographs featuring you and a female model, wearing our respective products. I've enclosed a sample Muggle advert to show you what we have in mind._

_Naturally you would receive a percentage of sales, although not as high as with our own product line. But margins are considerably higher for women's lingerie, and the attached document shows your anticipated earnings, should you agree to participate._

_If so, please reply at once, because time is of the essence if we want to be in stores in time for holiday shopping. To this end, we'd like to schedule an initial photo session this Sunday to cast your counterpart. With your leave, we'll invite a dozen or so models and photograph you with each of them, to evaluate your shared alchemy. During this preliminary session you are welcome to remain clothed, but for verisimilitude the witches will all wear lingerie._

_Again, time is of the essence, so please notify us at your earliest possible convenience whether you're interested in the endorsement and whether this Sunday will work. With your interim approval, we can proceed with the casting session and finalise the contract at leisure._

_Best regards,_

_Dominic_

'Fuck!' cried Harry aloud. 'They want me to spend the day with more than a dozen scantily-clad models to evaluate our alchemy? During a celibacy vow?'

He numbly looked at the enclosed advert and immediately imagined himself in place of the male model. _No! Not for twelve more nights!_ Next he looked at the numbers, and he needed to sit down. _That's several dowries right there,_ he thought, looking at the bottom line.

He took a piece of stationery and wrote:

_Dear Dominic,_

_The numbers are indeed compelling. And yes, I'm available on Sunday for casting. Although if you heard my radio broadcast tonight, you'll understand why I'm less than thrilled about the timing._

_Such is life. Please consider this my interim approval, and I'll review the contract in due time._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry_

He posted it with Viola and walked to his bedroom to look in on Banthora, whom he'd previously left with the issue of _Blood Traitor_. _Should I knock first? _he wondered.

His knocking was initially met with silence, but eventually Banthora replied. 'Come in,' she said, and Harry entered. The magazine was closed and on the dresser, and Banthora's expression revealed nothing.

'Hi, how are you doing?' he asked.

'I'm very well, thanks. And you?'

'I'm fine. Did you have a look at the magazine?'

'I did indeed. Thank you, it was most edifying. Enlightening, even.'

'Was it what you were expecting?'

She took a deep breath, prompting Harry to wonder whether portraits breathed air or paint. 'The wizards were exceptionally fit. Quite enjoyably so. I've never been tempted to engage in sexual intercourse—that's why I didn't marry—but tonight I learnt I rather enjoy watching it.'

_At least someone got their rocks off tonight,_ thought Harry. 'I'm glad. Should I get you other magazines, or will that one keep you busy for a while?'

'It had an abundance of photographs, and the subjects seemed quite inventive. I believe it will suffice for the foreseeable future. But I'll refrain for the next twelve days—in solidarity. And then perhaps your house-elf can set up a podium in my usual room.'

'Yes, of course,' said Harry, feeling relieved he wouldn't catch her in the act in his own bedroom.

After settling on a signature, he replied to fan mail and then read for the rest of the evening. Dominic wrote back to thank him and apologise for the timing. _'Although my nephew Randall points out this may be fortuitous, if we take the actual photographs on the final day of your vow,' _he wrote.

Harry had to agree. _Even a Muggle photograph will capture what I'm thinking,_ he realised, as he prepared for another night on his own.


End file.
